#i said to him <brother's name> is acting so weird | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rinhaler · 4 months ago

Note

can I make a request pretty please?? step-brother Satoru no penetration 🤤

omg thank you for this req I had so much fun with it! I haven't written anything in so long and I'd like to say this is the start of the comeback but I don't wanna lie LOL

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, step brother!satoru, stepcest, virgin!reader, fingering mention, love bites, tit sucking, pussy job, photo taking ++ filming!, use of nii-chan, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart etc.), manipulative!gojo.

words: 3.3k

“You’re lying.” Suguru says with ease, nose scrunching at the sight of his best friend grinning from ear to ear. A smirk that he knows, without a doubt, wouldn’t be on his face if he were a liar.

“I did.” he continues to smile. “She came in my room last night, said she was scared ‘cause she had a nightmare.”

“… And?”

“And, I dunno, man. She said she wanted to sleep but we were talking. Kept getting closer and closer ‘n we started making out.”

Suguru smiles, dumbfounded by the statement. He still can’t believe he’s being honest. But he looks at him, still smiling, only to say: “You made out with your little sister?”

“Don’t be weird. She’s my step sister, it ain’t the same.” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he thinks about it. “She’s cute though, right? Think she’s a virgin, too.”

“She seems like one.” Suguru says plainly. “Come on, then. What else happened? I know you wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t have something real to brag about.”

“… You know me well.” Satoru smirks. “… I just fingered her a little. Barely touched her ‘n she came like—”

“A virgin?” he chuckles, cutting him off as he speaks.

“Exactly.” Satoru smirks.

Suguru folds his arms and relaxes into his seat. He looks around, making sure no one is listening before he speaks again.

“Prove it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t believe you, Satoru.” he laughs lightly, leaning forward again. “I don’t believe you fingered your little sister because it didn’t happen. She let you do that because she had a nightmare? Please. Girls like you, but not that much.”

“You know what?” he stands up, irritation evident in his tone before he laughs, too. He regains his composure, effortlessly, leaning over the table between them. “I’m not gonna chase her, I’ll let her come to me. And I’ll film it for you.”

“No, you’re not. It didn’t happen and it won’t happen.” Suguru snickers.

“We’ll see.” he says, finality in his voice before he turns to walk away. He waves without looking behind him, unaware of his best friend grinning wickedly behind his back.

“You’re too easy, Satoru.” he says to himself quietly.

He feels your eyes on him, and it’s almost constant. Your face flushes with heat each time he grants you the honour of looking back at you, a lazy, cocky grin etched on his face. You instantly look down at your feet or your hands when he does, unable to shake the events of last night out of your mind.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet all night. Are you getting sick?” your mother asks, obvious concern in her words as you sit between her legs. You’ve been letting her braid your hair over and over again for no real reason other than she finds it soothing. She stops, though, pressing the backs of her fingers to your cheek. “You’re burning up!”

“I-I’m fine.” you say, voice almost warning her to stop as Satoru can’t help but look at you again. It’s embarrassing enough to have her fuss over you in front of your older brother who is so obviously cooler than you’ll ever be. But seeing that obnoxious smirk on his face, both of you knowing the real reason you’re so flustered, makes it a million times worse.

“Did something happen, little sis? You almost look embarrassed.” Satoru grins, eyes glittering as he stares at you. You abruptly jump to your feet, body stiffening at the implication of his words.

“I said I’m fine!” you yell. “I’m gonna go to bed, g’night.” you say, hastily rushing off before anyone can stop you.

Satoru and your mother look at each other, and he acts oblivious. He pretends he can’t possibly imagine what’s gotten into you. But eventually, he smiles, standing up not long after you and heading towards the kitchen.

“I’ll get her a glass of water,” he tells your mother, placing a hand on her shoulder and offering the warmest, insincere smile he can. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” she smiles up at him. “You’re such a good boy.”

There’s a knock at your door not long after you get comfortable in your bed. You hope if you ignore it long enough, they’ll think you’re already asleep. But of course, you’re mindlessly scrolling through your phone trying to distract your intense thoughts.

“It’s barely been five minutes, princess.” your brother tells you from behind the door. He waits a few beats for a response, but you don’t give him one. You jolt when your door creaks open, quickly hiding your phone underneath your pillow and feigning sleep.

You hear the gentle thud of a glass hitting a coaster as he sets it down on your bedside table. He doesn’t leave after that, but he doesn’t say anything, either. He simply watches over you and you can’t help but panic. It’s like you’re being assessed, whether you’re really sleeping or not.

Your brother isn’t stupid, though. You both know that. He knows as well as you do that you’re wide awake. And yet, whatever snide comment you’re expecting him to make doesn’t come. Nothing but silence settles between the two of you. And soon enough, you wonder if he’s going to watch over you like this all night.

But instead, you hear movement. And then you are moving. Your body sinks as he places a knee on your mattress and you dip a little closer to his body as he crouches over you. His nose breathes softly against your cheek as once again, he doesn’t move or speak for a few uncomfortable beats.

“Goodnight, sis.” he whispers in your ear, and your body reflexively trembles from the vibration of his words. He always speaks so softly to you, whether he’s teasing you or being genuine. It’s a dead give away that you’re awake, so you decide to scrunch your eyes closed tighter. He chuckles softly, at that. Giving your temple a chaste kiss before pulling away.

“S-Satoru…” you say meekly, He stops when he hears you, changing his position to sit comfortably.

“Are you done playing pretend, now?” he smiles. “What is it? Look at your nii-chan if you've got something to say.”

You shuffle awkwardly as you angle your body to look at him, glistening blue eyes stare down at you while you feel your words begin to choke in your throat. It’s as if you have lumps of sand lodged in there. He tucks a stray hair out of your face and behind your ear, your eyes instinctively flutter closed. And even without being able to see, you can feel his smirk on you.

“Last night…” you start, looking at him to gauge his reaction. But his face is stoic, giving nothing away as you scramble to piece together the rest of your sentence. “It was… bad.”

“I know.” he replies. And it shocks you a little. You hadn’t expected him to say that, you thought he’d be proud. He’s been teasing you about it, after all. Making little comments and trying to make you crumble at any given moment.

“You—” you say, losing track of what you even want to say to him. “O-Okay… well, goodnight Sato—”

“Been thinking about it all day, though, haven’t you?” he grins. And there he is. This is more like what you’d expected. And soon enough, you’re burning up again. The dim light bleeding through the cracks of your door isn’t enough for him to see what he’s done to you again. But he’s sure he knows. You’re so easy to tease, after all. “Was that your first time?”

You don’t react, you roll back onto your side and fold your arms. He chuckles a little, at that. Your petulant reaction is just so cute. He smooths a heavy hand over your hair, feeling a few of the small braids still in your hair from your mother. He stands up, and you feel the mattress return to where it belongs.

“If you have another nightmare, you know where my room is. Goodnight.” he says calmly before departing.

Yeah, right. Like you’re ever gonna do that again.

Fuck.

It’s been hours since you came to bed. You slept for around an hour but now you’re wide awake. That’s always been your curse when you go to bed earlier than usual. You wake up at an ungodly hour and can’t get back to sleep until daybreaks.

You’ve spent a while reading since that usually helps you drift off. But no such luck tonight, not when Satoru is still raging through your mind.

He was right, after all. It was the first time you’ve done anything like that with a boy. And it was your step brother of all people. You’re ashamed, but you can’t get it out of your head. He’s such a good kisser. His lips are soft and his tongue played with your own so divinely.

Your pussy begins to throb as you think about the way he touched you. The way he made you cum. He had to cover your mouth so you didn’t disturb your parents. It becomes to much, and before you know it your hand slithers between your thighs. You’re eager to chase the high he gave you the previous night.

But, of course, he’s ruined you now. Your own fingers aren’t going to cut it anymore. It doesn’t feel nearly as nice as what he did. The way he alternated toying with your tits to rubbing your clit. The way he had you whimpering like a kicked puppy as his fingers plunged into your untouched walls. Your toes curled as he delved deeper to find your pressure point and abused it until your eyes crossed and you drooled all over his palm.

And you slept so soundly afterwards.

Without giving it a second thought, you throw off your duvet and get out of bed. The line has already been crossed now. What does it matter if you do it again? It’s not that bad. It’s not like you’re actually related. And it’s a nice feeling, knowing that someone as popular and cool as Satoru has taken an interest in you.

You always see girls flirting with him in the hallways while you’re with your friends at college. Even they fawn over how hot your step brother is. He’s got more than enough attention. And yet, for now, he seems the most interested in you.

As you reach his room, you knock gently on the door. It’s quiet, though you can hear the TV playing. Eventually, you hear him hum, a subtle signal for you to come in.

“Hello again.” he smiles. “Did you have another nightmare, sweetheart?”

“… Mhmm…” you nod, lying effortlessly. He pats the space on the bed beside himself and you hurry over to him. “C-Can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I know.” he says, not even looking at you as he talks. You have no idea what he’s watching, but he seems to be more fixated on it than he is on you. “But you were right. It is wrong, what we did. You can sleep here since you’re scared. Just sleeping, though.”

You freeze at his words, not expecting this response at all. Had you blown it by saying that earlier? Did you leave it too long to come to his room, giving him too much time to think and have the same realisation that you had after last night?

“… Don’t wanna sleep.” you tell him. And that, gives him cause to look at you. “That was my first time… with a boy c-can’t stop thinking about it, Satoru.”

“You’re gonna have to. It was a mistake.” he warns you. “I shouldn’t have done that with you, ‘m meant to be taking care of you and looking out for you. Took advantage—”

“No! No. I wanted you to do it.” you assure him. “All my friends like you… ‘n I pretend I don’t see it but I’ve had a crush on you since we met… so I’m glad I got to do that with you. And I wanna do it again.”

“… you’re cute. You’ve got a crush on me, hah?” he laughs lightly, pulling you closer to him. He grabs your jaw, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he looks between your eyes and lips. “You think I didn’t already know that, sweetheart?”

“S-Shut up.” you stutter, barely able to look at him. He forces you to, though. Piercing blue eyes stare into yours as he silently waits for an acknowledgement of what he’s about to do. And you offer it, leaning closer to him before he meets you halfway. His lips press against yours, and you feel him smile when he hears a moan accidentally leave you.

He moves you so that you’re flat against his mattress with your head in the pillows, caging you below him. You wrap your arms around him as he lowers himself to kiss you again, you moan as he pushes your legs apart so that he can hump his growing bulge against your sleep shorts.

“Satoru… touch me, please.” you beg, mewling as he bites your lower lip as he pulls away. You allow him better access to your body as he kisses your neck, sucking deeply against it to sign his name in pretty blue blooms.

“Wanna do somethin’ else, tonight.” he tells you. Your eyes open a little further as you look down at him. He grabs your vest, helping you remove it to expose your tits to him. “I wanna feel good, too.” he explains, cupping your breasts and suctioning his lips around one of your nipples.

You freeze as he speaks, but you can’t wriggle away from him.

“’m not ready to go all the way, nii-chan…” you whisper. He shushes you, quickly swirling his tongue around your other nipple before relinquishing it with an obscene pop.

“I know you aren’t, don’t worry.” he stands on his knees, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. You help move your body as he slowly peels them off you, a sodden patch in the seat of your shorts makes him smile. And it becomes more devilish as he sees the culprit at the apex of your thighs. “You’re drenched, such a good girl for nii-chan.”

“Fuck… stop it. S’embarrassing.” you tell him.

“No.” he responds, pushing your legs further apart to admire the way your tiny virgin hole clenches around nothing. You could barely take his fingers, he can’t imagine what you’d be like if he slipped you his length. “Can I take a picture? Look so pretty, baby. Don’t wanna forget it.” he asks you.

“U-Um…” you struggle. He looks at you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. And despite your better judgement arguing not to do this. You nod. For him, you can’t help it. You nod dumbly and proudly. He thinks you’re pretty. Of course you’ll let him take a photo.

It doesn’t really matter, anyway, when he’s taking snaps of your body rather than your face. You hear a vocal sound leave him that’s not quite a moan, almost a desperate grunt and he frees his cock from his sweats and begins to touch himself. His phone still in his hand as he jerks himself off over your body.

You’re none the wiser when he scrolls along his camera app and selects the video function, pressing the big red button as he focuses the camera on your pussy as he slaps his cock head on your swollen clit.

“Promise I won’t put it in, baby…” he assures you. “Gonna let me feel good with you, though, yeah?” he asks, the tacky sound of your pussy coating his tip is the loudest sound in the room, even with the TV playing in the background.

“Yeah… please. Wanna cum f’you…” you plead, jolting as he slaps his cock down on your pussy, sandwiching his cock between your folds. He slowly begins to rocks his hips, his pretty cockhead cautiously catching on your clit with each roll. You silence yourself, covering your mouth with your hand as lazy strokes become overwhelming.

“Baby… will you let me take a video of you?” he says, it’s low and guttural, somewhat out of character for your elder brother. It’s almost as if he’s losing his senses as he kisses your clit with his cock. “Won’t show anyone… promise.”

“S-Satoru… I— I dunno…” you whisper, whimpering a little as he grabs his cock and smacks it against your folds. He raises the camera, and you can’t help but look directly in the lens. “Is that on?” you ask meekly. He nods, smirking.

“Don’t make me turn it off, pretty girl. You look so good f’me, y’know? Wanna remember it forever.” he tells you. He watches as you swallow thickly, knowing what’s happening between you is becoming actual evidence. You nod, though. You want to keep being his pretty girl.

“O-Okay, Satoru…”

“No, want the camera to know who’s dick is gonna make you cum. Go ahead, look at the camera ‘n say it, baby.”

“Satoru…” you say again, but he shakes his head. Your eyes roll back as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust between your lips, rubbing so perfectly on your sensitive pearl that you squeak pathetically. “Nii-chan! Nii-chan is gonna make me— cum…”

“Goooood girl, that’s right…” he grins, lowering the camera to capture what is happening to make you sound so pitiful for him. “Nii-chan’s gonna make your pretty pussy feel good.”

Soon enough, you’re stifling yourself once again as he picks up the pace. The sticky sounds emiting from between your legs has your body heat rising. Your shimmering skin isn’t lost to the camera as you break out in a sweat. Whether it’s shame, embarrassment, arousal, or a deadly concoction of each, it doesn’t matter. The cool flickering light from the TV behind Satoru captures it all perfectly.

“You’re so shy baby, makes you even cuter.” he tells you. “You’re shakin’… gonna cum f’me?”

You nod, again, still too terrified to risk removing your hand from your mouth for fear of alerting your parents to the twisted tryst taking place in your big brother’s room.

“Love this little pussy, gonna let me fuck you one day, yeah?” he asks, but doesn’t expect an answer. He will. He’s determined. The thought of being the first to corrupt your tiny virgin slot is driving him wild. It’s evident in the way he’s bucking his hips, barely even aware to the way you’re pussy begins to clench and your toes curl.

You moan, boisterously, into your hand. And it’s the only thing that coaxes him out of his train of thought. But it’s too late to think clearly. He’s already sputtering pretty globs of cum as white as his hair on your clit and tummy. Your pussy lips decorated so sweetly in your big brother’s love as he moans and drops down from his high.

It was short, but sweet.

He’d be embarrassed if he thought you had something to compare it to.

It’s your own fault he didn’t last longer, you came first. And your pussy is made for him. He’s sure of that, now. He’s especially sure when he lowers the camera to perfectly capture your twitching hole and messy folds. Before raising it again to record your face. Hard evidence for Suguru, he needs to make sure he knows he wasn’t lying.

“Nii-chan… please.” you pout. “Promise you won’t show anyone else? S’embarrassing…”

“Awe, you think I’d do that to you?” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you. “C’mon. Who’d I even show?”

“I dunno…”

“I promise, baby. It’s our little secret.”

#💌 — luxe mail #📨 — requests #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo #tw stepcest #tw possessiveness #tw praise

758 notes · View notes

ham1lton · 8 months ago

Text

her silly rabbit.

pairing: lando norris x gymnast!reader.

faceclaim: simone biles.

warnings + summary: nothing. just lando being the most supportive wag ever. he gets down… he don’t play. irl mr biles needs to be acting like this. bare minimum fr.

author’s note: just realised this is barely about gymnastics. omg. but i hope this is a decent enough smau for you 😍❤️

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by yourbffsuser, landonorris and 1,383,729 others

yourusername: just an average day for me. practice, the presidential medal of freedom and a late night dinner with my greatest prize 💕

view all 87,928 comments

landonorris: I LOVE YOU 😍😘🤤❤️

-> yourusername: i love you too babe!!!

-> landonorris: OMG YOU NOTICED ME…. putting this in my bio. y/n noticed x163 😍🤤😘❤️

user2: Y/N I LOVE YOU!!!

landonorris: that’s my girlfriend guys 😍

-> danielricciardo: are you sure… be honest yourusername… is he paying you? blink twice if you’re being held hostage.

-> landonorris: you guys never let me have anything 😒😒

user1: lando is so in love with her it’s so cute!!

-> user5: need me a man like lando fr.

-> landonorris: too bad. i’m taken by the love of my life. so unfortunate for you.

-> user5: … throuple?

user3: you inspired me to pursue gymnastics!! and i’m attending college on a gymnastics scholarship thanks to you!! 💕

-> yourusername: omg!! i’m so proud of you!!! this is incredible news!! so excited to see you grow and learn more. it’s so worthwhile i promise. even the harder days are worth it. wishing you nothing but success and happiness!! 🫶🏾💕

user4: girl why is your bf a bum 😭 like your girlfriend gets the presidential medal of freedom and you buy her three wings and some fries 😭

-> user6: no cause literally 😭 and he’s a millionaire he’s got no excuse.

-> landonorris: did you read the caption 🤨 late night snack…. i took her out for a celebratory dinner at her favourite restaurant earlier in the night. don’t worry about me and what we do.

-> user7: lando don’t play when it comes to the cheapskate allegations 😭 he said shut that shit DOWN 😭😭

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 672,829 others

landonorris: me omw to the love of my life, me with the love of my life and me when i have to leave the love of my life.

view all 48,828 comments

charles_leclerc: you a grown man posting this btw…

-> landonorris: no i’m not. i just pretend to be one when it’s convenient for me.

yourusername: … i’m only leaving for three days?

-> landonorris: i shall spend every day waiting by the door for you.

-> user1: what about your job? 😭

-> landonorris: this is my job. full time boyfriend. part time gymnastics wag.

user2: he’s her biggest fan!! i love this for her.

-> landonorris: i’m more than that. i’m y/n’s right-hand arm man. i’m y/n’s everything. i’m her confidant. her best friend… her silly rabbit.

-> user3: oh brother … this guy STINKS 🗣️❌

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by lewishamilton, zendaya and 792,139 others

yourusername: another olympics down!! this achievement is so incredible!! i want to thank everyone who helped me to get this position. your support was invaluable.

also to my right-hand arm man. my everything. my confidant. my best friend… my silly rabbit? landonorris. this wouldn’t be possible without you. i love you. flower creds go to him 💕.

view all 67,938 comments

landonorris: i’m so proud to be your boyfriend 💕

-> alex_albon: a normal lando comment under a y/n post? this is an unprecedented turn of events

-> user1: so weird not to see him frothing at the mouth under her posts….

-> landonorris: too busy spending time with my super successful and hot and sexy girlfriend in person. only true bad bitches can understand me.

user3: we love you!! so proud of you here in (your country’s name).

*liked by yourusername*

landonorris: last picture is me if having the best gf in the world was an olympic sport 😍😍😘😘🤤🤤💕💕🗣️🗣️

-> user2: how is your gf the literal gymnastics goat and you have no wins?

-> landonorris: STAY OUTTA GROWN FOLK BUSINESS!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by beyonce, bellahadid and 1,383,982 others

yourusername: if you had told the little girl in the first photo that one day she would be time’s person of the year, the most decorated olympic medalist and engaged to the love of her life, she wouldn’t have believed it.

check out my interview with TIME magazine out now! 💕

view all 90,737 comments

user1: you look incredible!!! so beautiful!!!

user2: lando truly beat the cheapskate allegations with that massive rock on her finger.

-> user3: only the best from her silly rabbit.

*liked by landonorris*

user7: her going in to how much gymnastics helped saved her life is gonna make me cry. she’s so inspirational 🥺

-> user8: she’s truly the best person to have cover TIME magazine.

landonorris: brb buying a million of these magazines and plastering them all over my walls.

landonorris: MY FIANCÉE LOOKS SO GOOD IK Y’ALL JEALOUS 🤣🤣

-> user4: we are jealous!! spare another diamond ring for a poor suffering college student 🥹

-> user5: oh naw… he’s gonna become even worse now the baddest bitch is his fiancée 😒

beyonce: you look beautiful. so proud to have seen you grow <3.

-> yourusername: 🥹💕💕

user8: SHE’S OFF THE MARKET??!!! NOO!!!

-> user9: just fell to my knees in the middle of walmart.

-> user10: i waited three and a half years… white man did it in one week….

landonorris: text me back btw… need to know which birkin you’d like 😍

-> user5: WE GET IT!!! YOU’RE RICH!! 😒🖕🏼

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

bonus:

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

#jayde’s works ☆#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 smau #lando norris x black reader #f1 x black!reader #formula one x black reader #f1 x you #f1 texts #lando norris x you #ln4 imagine #ln4 #f1 fanfic

1K notes · View notes

depresssant · 21 days ago

Text

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second.

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care.

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air.

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things.

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup.

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

712 notes · View notes

il-miele-che-scrive · 10 months ago

Text

Go for his brother part 3

Part 2

Part 1

charles_leclerc The day @/y/n_leclerc and I decided to spent the forever together

view all comments

y/n_leclerc Did I mention I'm in love with you? 😭

↳charles_leclerc Yeah I think you mentioned that a few times in the vows, ma chérie

y/n_leclerc I love it when you call me french terms of endearment oh my god 😩

username1 SHE'S HOOKED

↳username2 FOR LIFE 🤞

pierregasly And I really thought I wouldn't see that day

↳y/n_leclerc Life's full of surprises isn't it?

username3 Charles calls her ma chérie, Arthur used to call her mon bébé 😭 do you get deja vu

↳username4 y/n: *breathes* y'all: do you get deja vu omg she used to breathe with Arthur 😭

↳username5 You remember mon bébé but do you remember chouchou? 😭

username3 OMG YES he used to call her chouchou and she used to call him Thurthur 😭

username4 GET. OVER. THEM. Y/n is now married to Charles BESIDES Arthur CHEATED on her. She deserved better than Arthur and now she has it.

pascale_leclerc Congratulations my loves ❤️😘 the wedding was beautiful

↳y/n_leclerc Merci maman🫶

↳username3 Pascale is just happy to have Y/n in her family and I live for this

username2 Maybe it was all Pascale's idea, when she found out Arthur cheated, she told Charles to keep Y/n in the family lmao

username3 And he stayed committed to the job💪

danielricciardo The instant photos part was awesome, I bet it was Y/n's idea

↳y/n_leclerc Yes it was 🫡and it was really nice to see you, Max, Lando and Carlos having lots of fun with it once the alcohol kicked in

charles_leclerc Not to mention now we have some things to blackmail you with

danielricciardo Bold of you to assume I'd be ashamed of any of these, Charles

carlossainz55 Looking forward to seeing Y/n in the paddock more often! 😊

↳y/n_leclerc You know, Carlos, some people have jobs... You should look it up sometime...🫶

↳username5 Is she now gonna go for Carlos lmao

scuderiaferrari Big day for our favorite couple ❤️ evviva gli sposi 👏

↳charles_leclerc Grazie mille❤️❤️

↳y/n_leclerc We're the favorite couple 🥹

georgerussell63 Even though you were engaged I didn't believe you'd actually do it until it happened

↳charles_leclerc Thanks George, supportive as always

username1 That's what I call KARMA

username2 But when are we going to talk about the argument Arthur and Charles had before the wedding?

↳username3 What were you in their house? Lmao

username2 Another gossip page said that Arthur and Charles argued in front of the wedding chapel

username3 That's so unrealistic, don't trust everything you see on these pages

username4 Hey so do we know if there were any arguments?

↳f1gossip There's no way we'd have any information on that, it was a very private ceremony. That is highly doubtful though, I don't think this could've happened. Even Arthur knows better than acting like this on his brother's wedding day.

username3 That's so right, Arthur isn't dumb enough to act like a dick on his brother's wedding day, he knows it's his own fault

username5 Yeah it would be so weird if Arthur was playing angry now like man it's all consequences of your own actions, be an adult

username6 Even if it wasn't showing, Arthur was definitely dying on the inside. Imagine seeing your ex girlfriend at the altar next to your brother. You're thinking "it should be me with her", but it's too late

↳username7 One day Y/n and Charles will have kids, they'll be a happy family. Charles will have everything Arthur could want - a seat in F1, Y/n as his wife, little Leclerc(s) running around. Arthur will always be the "less successful" Leclerc. No wonder Lorenzo stays out of the spotlight

username8 Now you're making it sound depressing lol

username7 Tbh I cried a little thinking about this even though I know that's what Arthur deserves for cheating on Y/n

username9 I wonder what happened between Arthur and [ex best friend's name]

↳f1gossip She allegedly broke up with him and a few days later was seen on a date with a fellow Formula 2 driver.

username7 This keeps getting better

username9 WHO???? I NEED TO KNOW???

username8 I saw someone say she was seen with that Piñacolada guy

username9 Piñacolada?? Do you mean Franco Colapinto?? 💀

y/n_leclerc Charles isn't my fiancé anymore 👰‍♀️🤵

view all comments

charles_leclerc I told you it's not the best way to say it

↳y/n_leclerc You can't stop me, tesoro

username1 OMG I've just noticed Y/n changed her username

↳username2 well, she got married...

lilymhe Wedding of the century

francisca.cgomes Every little girl dreams of a perfect wedding. That was this wedding

↳exbestfriend I've never dreamt of a wedding as a kid

francisca.cgomes Girl nobody asked

exbestfriend Why would a kid think about it? Don't they have better things to do? Like playing with toys and BEING A KID?

y/n_leclerc Pls not under my wedding post, get your jealous ass outta here

yoursister I'm so proud of you Y/n 😭

↳y/n_leclerc I know, you couldn't stop crying 😭

yoursister You know it were happy tears, I love you so much 😭

username3 LMAO [ex best friend's name]'s comments are pure comedy 💀 do you think she'll try to steal Charles now?

↳username4 Doesn't matter, Charles will never cheat on Y/n

arthur_leclerc You looked amazing

↳username2 Get the fuck out of this comment section

↳username3 All you can do about it now is cry, you wasted your chance

↳username4 The way Y/n doesn't even bother to reply

alex_albon I bet you wouldn't have the guts to wear the dress to the paddock next race

↳y/n_leclerc You're right, I won't 🙌 it's too beautiful to take any risks

charlottesiine Dream dress 🤍

↳y/n_leclerc I know right 🥹 when I saw it I knew right away THAT'S THE ONE

↳username5 wtf what's Cha doing here

username6 They follow each other since that one time they hung out together

username5 ahh the famous "we both suffered a Leclerc" thing

username7 GUYS I AM CRYING Cha said dream dress, I wonder if she's thinking it should be hers, like she should be in Y/n's place 🥹😭

↳username8 Y'all need to stop, first talking about Arthur, now about Charlotte. Go touch some grass

username7 but, unlike Y/nArthur, ChaCha broke up on good terms, so this could be her

username8 But it's not. Grow up. So disrespectful to talk about it on a wedding post

username9 I am really happy for Y/n and Charles. But I can't stop thinking this could be Y/n and Arthur. Or Charles and Charlotte

↳username7 I bet Arthur also can't stop thinking about this lmao he'll never find someone who'll love him as much as Y/n did

username9 Let's not go that far maybe...?

username1 Their voices are so similar 😭 do you think Y/n sometimes accidentally calls Charles Arthur?

↳username2 Do you think she sometimes says the wrong name in bed? 💀

username3 This whole story, from the moment Arthur cheated to the end of this interview, is my Roman Empire

username4 I love that they stay on good terms even after what happened with Y/n

↳username1 In this exact interview Arthur said he didn't talk to Charles for WEEKS, he didn't even show up on the family dinners, until one day he understood he can only blame himself

username5 You can see that Arthur is happy for his big brother, but in his voice you can hear the pain 😭

username6 When Arthur said "Now I see what I did was hurtful and I'm glad it was Charles who took care of Y/n after it happened, instead of some random guy who would possibly repeat my mistake" it broke me 😭

↳username7 "Y/n is an amazing woman and I hope Charles will give her everything I couldn't." 😭😭

username8 when Ch asked "do you think you'd deserve a second chance? if Y/n and I weren't married, of course" as a joke and A replied "honestly? no, I was a douchebag and the cheating wasn't the only issue in our relationship, she truly deserved better" AND THEN GAVE HIS BROTHER A BIG SMILE WTF?? 😭😭

username9 At least he realizes his mistakes😭

username4 Not only cheating?? What else?? I need to know immediately

username8 They didn't say it in the video, I doubt they would ever say it publicly unless Y/n decides to speak about it (but I don't see why would she, being happily married now)

username10 They should release one interview of the Leclercs just talking about this whole Y/n situation

y/n_leclerc Maybe it all happened a bit quick, but my husband is a race driver for a reason

view all comments

lilymhe I GASPED when I saw the caption

↳charles_leclerc I asked her nicely to look for some basic quote 🙁

pascale_leclerc Can't wait to meet our little Leclerc❤️

↳y/n_leclerc You'll be the first one to find out❤️

yoursister That's how I find out? Through a post?😭

↳y/n_leclerc I wanted to surprise you 🥹

yoursister I'm kidding, I'm happy for you guys 🩷

francisca.cgomes Someone check on Arthur

↳y/n_leclerc KIKA!!!!

↳username1 I love Kika 😭

↳username2 Jokes aside someone really needs to check up on him

arthur_leclerc It really suits you 🩷

↳y/n_leclerc Don't say that to Charles, he already told me he'd like 2 more 😭 I don't think I wanna go further than just this one

charles_leclerc I'm not gonna force you! If you wanna stop at one, that's fine by me

y/n_leclerc We can get a puppy instead? Right now it would be perfect so the puppy and the baby can entertain each other and grow up together

charles_leclerc Alright, ma chérie, we can talk about that 😂

↳username1 "I hope Charles gives her everything I couldn't" 😭 so that's what he meant

↳username2 Alexa play the one that got away by Katy Perry

username3 I just know Arthur will be the fun uncle omg

↳username4 I don't think he'll spend much time with the baby, if I were him it would always make me think "wow, that baby could be mine if I didn't mess up" 💀

username3 It seems like he understood his mistake and came to terms with the consequences. Plus, he didn't say it, but I feel like in the video shared by the gossip page he implied not wanting kids

username4 What do you mean? How?

username3 "I hope Charles gives her everything I couldn't" and then said the cheating wasn't the only reason for the breakup and now, a few weeks pass and we get the pregnancy announcement

username4 Well, maybe getting cheated on didn't work out so badly for Y/n in the end

alex_albon Project Verstappen? 😏

↳georgerussell63 *project Hamilton

charles_leclerc *project Leclerc 😌

alex_albon Better start saving up for the baby's therapy then

charles_leclerc Welcome home, Jules Hervé Leclerc, born July 17 🤍

comments for this post have been turned off

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #charles leclerc smau #Charles leclerc social media au

2K notes · View notes

solxamber · 2 months ago

Text

Match Made in Madness - Floyd Leech x reader

Soulmates get updates of each other's lives through an overly enthusiastic dream narrator. What's worse is that your soulmate seems to be completely unhinged.

It all starts on another one of those nights—the weird dream where your soulmate’s day is narrated to you in the most ridiculous fashion imaginable. No names, no faces, just an over-the-top, enthusiastic narrator who acts like they’re introducing a daytime soap.

"Good evening, soulmate! Ready for another wild day? Well, buckle up, because your beloved got into a fight with a vending machine!"

You groan in your sleep, already bracing for what’s next. The narrator continues with gleeful energy:

"After losing said battle, your soulmate kicked the machine and declared, ‘I’ll have the last laugh, metal box!’ Later in the day, they spent 45 minutes trying to convince a bird to become their personal spy. Spoiler alert: the bird didn’t agree, but they’re not giving up anytime soon!"

When you wake up, you rub your eyes and mutter, "What the hell is my soulmate doing?" Clearly, the universe decided to match you with an absolute madman, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll even survive meeting them.

The dreams continue for weeks, and the updates get progressively weirder. Whoever this person is, they have the chaotic energy of a tornado in a convenience store. One night, you get this gem:

"Exciting news! Today, your soulmate tried to see if they could juggle three eels at once. Spoiler: they couldn’t, but they did manage to send one flying into a professor’s lunch. Next on the agenda, they challenged the ocean to a race. The ocean won."

You’re so used to these bizarre updates by now that you don’t even flinch. Instead, you’re beginning to wonder why the universe thinks it’s funny to torture you with someone who clearly doesn’t have a firm grasp on reality.

And then one night, the narrator drops a bombshell:

"Your soulmate spent the entire afternoon wondering if there’s any way they could convince their twin brother to switch places with them on a date— Oh wait, forget I said that! That one’s classified!*"

What? Now, you’re officially on edge. Not only do they have a twin, but they’ve been thinking about dating? This is spiraling out of control.

You’re sitting at the Mostro Lounge, thinking about the increasingly unhinged dreams when you spot Floyd Leech across the room. Normally, you’d ignore him because, well, Floyd has a reputation, and it’s not exactly “outstanding member of society.”

But today, something feels off. You’ve heard a few things—people say he’s chaotic, unpredictable, and obsessed with “playing” with his victims. And suddenly, you can’t stop thinking about the dream where your soulmate tried to juggle eels.

Floyd catches your eye, and before you can look away, he’s making a beeline for your table. Oh no. Please no.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” he says with his usual, lazy grin, flopping down in the seat next to you like he owns the place. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Close enough.

You swallow hard. “Uh… just thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” Floyd leans in, uncomfortably close. “What about?”

How are you supposed to say, I think you’re my soulmate, but I’m also convinced you’re a lunatic? Instead, you nervously laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just… dreams.”

“Dreams, huh?” Floyd’s eyes narrow, but he looks more interested than suspicious. “Like… those ones where some random guy is juggling eels?”

Your blood runs cold.

“Wait—how did you know about the eels?”

Floyd’s grin widens. “Oh? So it is you! I knew it!” He laughs, leaning back with a satisfied look, like he’s just solved the greatest mystery of his life. “Shrimpy, you’re hilarious! I’ve been having those dreams about you, too. You’re always doing weird stuff, like… rescuing ducks or tripping over your own feet.”

Your heart races. “Wait, so—you're my soulmate?”

“Duh,” Floyd says, rolling his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The universe has a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

At first, you’re convinced this is a prank, a cruel joke. But the more you talk to Floyd, the more everything starts to click into place. He’s chaotic, sure. Completely unpredictable? Absolutely. But he’s also the same person who, according to your dreams, once wondered if seaweed could be used as a fashion statement. He’s also the guy who—oh right—challenged the ocean to a race.

And now that you’ve met him, you realize one important detail: he’s perfect.

Well, perfect in the most unhinged way possible.

A week later, you find yourself in an increasingly ridiculous situation—Floyd has somehow convinced you to help him “steal” a giant fish from the campus pond.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask, holding the bucket as he dives headfirst into the water.

“Because,” Floyd says between splashes, “the fish looks like he’s having a bad day, so we’re gonna give him a makeover.”

You stare blankly at the pond. “You want to makeover a fish.”

Floyd pops back up, water dripping from his hair, with a grin that could melt glaciers. “Yeah! Why not?”

You don’t have a good answer for that, so you just shrug. This is my life now.

That night, you’re lying in bed, starting to doze off, when the dream narrator pops up again:

"Good evening, soulmate! Today, your other half tried to give a fish a new look. It didn’t work, but they still had fun! Also, they’ve been thinking about holding your hand."

You wake up with a groan, rubbing your face in disbelief. Of course, Floyd would think about something like that in the middle of a fish-stealing escapade. But there’s something undeniably sweet about it, too.

The next day, Floyd grabs your hand without warning as you’re walking through campus. “I had a dream about this,” he says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “So did I.”

Maybe the universe isn’t such a prankster after all.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #floyd leech x reader #floyd x you #floyd leech x you #floyd x reader #floyd #floyd leech

592 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 1 month ago

Note

I can't remember if you already answered or wrote this, but when was the first time Ryan and Luke called reader "mom"?

+ AYW request for ya--Eliza has started saying "mama," which prompts Ryan & Luke to discuss what they call Reader and whether or not they want to call her "mom."

+ When was the first time Reader referred to Luke & Ryan as her sons and when was the first time Luka & Ryan called Reader their mom?

+ What was the first time like when Ryan and Luke started calling Reader "mom"?

+ What was the first moment like when Ryan and Luke first called Reader "mom" or how did the Munson boys react when she called Ryan and Luke "my sons"?

I love how so many people wanted to see this 💜 This does get kind of cheesy and corny at the end (more so than usual), but I couldn't get the song out of my head while writing this, so it gets put in lol

Words: 4.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Say it again, say it again,” you gush, grinning at your daughter.

“Mama!” she gleefully replies.

You clap your hands together and she copies your motions with the same enthusiasm.

“Still making her say it, huh?”

You look up and see your husband leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smile on his lips.

“Like you didn’t have her saying ‘dada’ over and over when she first learned it last month.”

“Dada!” Eliza chimes in.

“Hi, sweet pea.” Eddie steps into the room and leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

The little girl preens at all the attention she’s getting. Her short legs happily bounce as she wiggles from side to side on the couch.

“Mama, Dada, Mama, Dada,” Eliza singsongs.

“My little smarty pants!” You grin and gently tickle her soft belly.

“You girls have fun,” Eddie says, mussing up Eliza’s curls before heading down the hall.

“Well, do you want to?”

The shaky tone of Luke’s voice has Eddie coming to a halt a few feet away from the younger boy’s bedroom.

“I mean…yeah. I think so,” Ryan replies. “Do you think she would mind?”

“I don’t know,” Luke says. “I don’t think so. But it feels weird to ask.”

“We’ve said it a lot trying to get Eliza to say it. It felt…”

“Good,” Luke finishes for his brother.

Eddie’s brow furrows as he tries to piece together what’s troubling his boys. He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop on the two of them, but it’s become second nature to pay close attention whenever Luke is talking in case there is a scheme in the works that needs to be foiled.

“She’s always felt more like our mom than Mom does,” Ryan says.

The words are the key Eddie needed to unlock the stronghold. It makes complete sense now. The boys have been encouraging Eliza to say “Mama” for weeks now, so they’ve been referring to you in that way in front of their sister. Eddie feels like an idiot for never considering the internal storm that must’ve brewed in his sons. It’s no secret that they feel that you’re their mother more than Brittany ever was, but it’s become so normal for them to just refer to you by name. But Eddie can’t blame them for wanting to use the more official title they’d like to bestow on you.

Slowly, Eddie walks past Luke’s door, acting as if he was always going this way straight from the other room, without making a pitstop to solve a puzzle.

A long yawn further reminds you of how tired you are as you pull the blankets down on your bed. Curling up between the sheets is all you’ve been able to think about for the last hour.

Your husband walks into the room, unhooking the black watch from around his wrist. He’s already comfy in his green plaid pajama pants and holey Dio t-shirt.

“So, um, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Eddie says, placing his watch on his nightstand.

“What’s up? You climb into your shared bed and get comfortable on your side, facing him.

“Well, I heard the boys talking this afternoon.” Eddie lifts the blankets on his side of the bed and slips in right next to you. He clicks off his bedside lamp before getting comfortable and laying nose to nose with you. “They were talking about you.”

“Me?” you ask, a frown pinching your face. “Did I do something?”

“Not at all, baby,” Eddie is quick to assure you. He reaches out and gently trails the rough pads of his fingers against your jaw. “They were talking about how Eliza finally said “mama” and how they refer to you that way for her.”

Dread pools in your stomach.

“Oh no. Did that make them uncomfortable? I never asked them to, they just started saying it to help her learn. I feel so—”

“Baby, baby,” Eddie says, gently cupping the side of your face. “No, that’s not it at all. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.”

“What do you mean?” Your face is still pinched up in concern, so Eddie gently rubs his thumb over your scrunched up forehead.

“They were saying that it felt good when they called you that. That you’ve always been their mom more than the witch ever was.”

Love’s warming touch cocoons you in an embrace as you process Luke and Ryan talking about calling you “mom.” It’s not something you ever would’ve forced on them. They call you by your name, it’s been that way since you’ve met.

“They were wondering if you’d mind. And that it would feel weird to ask you about it,” Eddie adds.

“The boys…” you trail off, needing to clear the emotion out of your throat before continuing. “The boys want to call me ‘mom’?”

“It looks that way.” Even in the dim lighting of the bedroom, you can see your husband’s grin. It’s contagious.

“I feel kind of speechless,” you admit. “I never expected it. I mean, they already have a mom. I guess I just thought that was her and I’m…me.”

“Do you not want them to call you that, princess?” Eddie asks, his tone completely devoid of judgment.

“No, no, it’s not that!” you’re quick to assure him. “I would be…so honored if they wanted to call me that. I just don’t want them to think I’m trying to overstep or take their mom’s place.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a laugh, “they wish you would take their mother’s place. Brittany may have birthed them, but you’ve given them more maternal love today alone than she’s done their whole lives.”

“They’re my boys. My sons,” you say, unable to keep a smile off your face at the words.

“And you’re the mom they always wanted. The one they deserve.”

That causes the tears to finally spill over. You lean forward and bury your head in the juncture between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. He slips his lean arms around you and holds your body against his own.

“I’d be so happy if they called me that,” you whisper against Eddie’s skin. “Ecstatic. But I don’t want them to feel pressured to do it.”

Eddie nods, one hand rubbing up and down your back.

“Why don’t we wait to see if they bring it up? Luke said it would be weird to come out and ask, but they might bring it up in another way. I just wanted to talk to you about it so if they do bring it up, you’re not caught off guard.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” You tilt your head up to gaze at your husband through the pale moonlight shining into your room. “You raised such wonderful boys.”

“You mean, ‘we’ raised,” Eddie counters. “You’ve been around for more than half of their lives now.”

“Sometimes it feels like yesterday that Luke was four years old and trying to convince me he needed candy to live.” You chuckle at the memory. “They’re becoming little men now, though.”

“That they are,” Eddie says with a sigh. “Guess I should teach them how to use basic tools and shit then, huh?”

“Well, who’s going to teach you?” you tease with a playful smirk.

“Wiseass,” Eddie mumbles as he rolls you onto your back and hovers over you.

“I learned from the best!”

It takes just over two weeks for the subject to come up. Eddie is at work, Eliza is spending a little time with her grandpa before he has to get ready for work, and you’re picking the boys up from basketball practice at Hawkins Middle School.

You step into the gymnasium and are immediately choked by the stench of over a dozen boys going through puberty, and not all of them have discovered deodorant yet.

Luke is still running around on the court, where a few kids linger, and Ryan is sitting on the bench, talking to a friend. It doesn’t surprise you. Ryan was initially excited to join the basketball team when Luke first brought it up. But now, a few months in, Luke is loving it and Ryan would rather be doing almost anything else. But he made a commitment to the team and Eddie told him it’s the right thing to do, to honor that commitment. So, he’s counting the days until the end of the season.

You catch Ryan’s eye as you walk over to the sign out sheet, so he says goodbye to his friend and comes over to join you as you scribble down your name. One of the parent volunteers glances down and then smiles up at you.

“Munson?” The perky blonde woman asks in a chipper voice. “You must be Ryan and Luke’s mom.”

Just as she says this, Ryan reaches you and smiles up at you in greeting.

It’s not unusual for people to assume you’re Luke and Ryan’s mom, so navigating answers like that have become second nature, and in most cases, it’s just easier to say yes. But with this, you see an opportunity to broach the topic with the boys.

“Yeah, I’m their mom.” You grin and wrap your arm around Ryan’s shoulders. See? I’m saying it. I would love for you two to call me that.

You feel Ryan lean more into you and you breathe a sigh of relief that he’s acknowledging what you said as well.

“Luke!” The volunteer calls out onto the court. “Your mom’s here!”

The eleven-year-old turns his head in your direction, sweaty curls whipping around, and gives a smile when he sees you. He waves to his friends and jogs over.

“How was practice, boys?” you ask as you head with them toward the gym doors.

“Good!” Luke says, an extra spring in his step because he’s wearing the new sneakers he just had to have. “I’m getting better at shooting.”

“Atta boy.” You muss his hair, then have to wipe the sweat clinging to your hand on the side of your jeans. “What about you, Ry?”

“Was alright,” he replies with a shrug. “Got bored.”

“Where’s Liza?” Luke asks as the three of you get into the car.

“At Grandpa’s. We gotta go pick her up so he can get ready for work.”

Ryan buckles his seatbelt in the front passenger seat and turns on the radio. It’s quiet except for Stacy’s Mom coming from the speakers as you back out of your parking space and head off school property.

As you pull up to the first red light you’ve encountered, you turn down the music a few notches so the boys can hear you.

“Is that blonde lady from practice a team mom?” you ask.

“Who?” Luke asks.

“The lady who called out to you that your mom was there.” Why do you feel so nervous? This is Luke and Ryan. Your boys.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s Gavin’s mom,” Luke says. “I think she does sign-ups for if other moms wanna bring snacks or something.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Would you guys want me to do that sometime?” The light turns green, and you start down the main strip of Hawkins, towards Forest Hills.

“You wanna be a team mom?” Ryan asks, looking over at you.

“Hell yeah,” you say with a nod. “Show those other moms what it’s like to raise the two best boys in Hawkins. But I’ll only do it if you want me to. I don’t want to embarrass you guys or barge in on your activities or anything.”

“No, it’d be fun!” Luke interjects. “Whenever you bring snacks, everyone will go, ‘Thanks, Ryan and Luke’s Mom!’”

“Um, if you want them to call you that,” Ryan adds softly.

This is it. The opening you’ve been waiting for. So, why do you feel so tongue-tied all of a sudden?

“Guys,” you speak slowly and deliberately, wanting them to know just how much you mean this, and that it’s not some throw away comment, “I love when people call me your mom. But…does it bother you?”

“No!” They’re both quick to answer simultaneously.

“We like it, too,” Luke adds.

You nod and adjust your hands on the steering wheel, psyching yourself up to get the next words out.

“Listen.” You pause to clear your throat. “If you guys ever want to call me that yourselves, that is perfectly okay. I would never force you to call me that, of course. But if that’s something you’d like to do, that’s good with me.” It’s actually much more than good with you, but you don’t want to bear down too heavily on them.

“Really?” Luke asks, voice almost as soft as you’ve ever heard it. “We can?”

“Absolutely,” you assure them. “You’re my sons. You can call me whatever feels right to you.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks.

“Yes.” You say the word with more confidence than you’ve ever said it before. The conviction of the answer rivals that of when you said “I do” to Eddie.

“I’d like that,” Ryan admits, a sheepish smile growing on his face.

“Me too,” Luke says.

“I think I just…” Ryan trails off, so you take a quick look at him before looking back to the road. “I think maybe another version of it. Because, like, when I think of calling someone ‘Mom,’ I can’t help but think of her.”

“Yeah, it’s like she ruined the name,” Luke agrees, nodding his head vigorously.

“That makes sense,” you tell them. “There are definitely different variations of the word. Whatever feels best for you is fine with me.”

“What about, ‘Mother-I-Wish-I-Always-Had?” Luke suggests with a small playful giggle.

“That’s quite a mouthful!” You laugh as well, looking at your younger boy in the rearview mirror again.

“I mean…” Once again, Ryan trails off, but this time he’s fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

“What is it, Ry?” you ask. “You know you can tell me anything. Or ask me anything.”

“Well, it felt nice when we were trying to help Eliza say your name.”

“Yeah!” Luke seconds. “Calling you ‘Mama.’”

“Is that too childish?” Ryan asks, a slight tremble in his voice.

You turn the car into Forest Hills trailer park and wait until you come to a full and complete stop outside of Wayne’s place before speaking. Wanting to see both boys better, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn your body to look at them from your seat.

“It is not childish,” you assure him—assure both of them. “I liked hearing you guys call me that, too. When you were helping your sister.” You smile and tilt your head to the side. “I actually feel like that name suits me better than ‘mom,’ anyway. It feels right to me. Like, I’ve been waiting my whole life to be called that.”

“You’re better than ‘mom’.” Ryan confirms with a nod.

The urge to reach out for him is too strong, so you gently cup the side of Ryan’s face and gently rub your thumb back and forth over his cheek bone. Luke unbuckles his seatbelt and moves forward—closer to you, signaling he wants the same affection. You’re more than happy to give it to him.

“You’re my sons,” you tell them. “You’re my everything. You, your sister, and your dad. You guys are my whole world. And there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So, if you ever want to talk about anything—and I truly mean anything, no matter how weird or uncomfortable you think it might be—you can come to me. I’ll always be in your corner, no matter what. And nothing you tell me will ever change the way that I feel about you. There’s not a force in this world that can do that. You guys are stuck with my love forever.”

Trying to drive home the point as much as you can, you look them straight in the eyes to make sure they know how serious you are. Ryan nods and gives you a small smile. Luke has unshed tears gathering at his lash line, and when he nods as well, they pool over and run down his cheeks. You’re quick to wipe them away for him.

“Is there anything else? Anything else you guys want to talk about while we’re here?” you ask.

“No,” Ryan says softly but strongly.

“Nothing for me,” Luke echoes. “Oh! Except that I love you.”

Now your eyes start to fill with moisture.

“I love you, too.” Your words are quiet because you know if you speak any louder, you’ll start full out crying. “Both of you. So much.”

“Mamaaaaaaaa!”

Little hands pound against the driver’s side window, and you look over your shoulder to see Wayne holding Eliza just on the other side of the car door. She’s leaning in towards you, possibly trying to figure out how to get through the glass.

With a soft chuckle, you roll down the window and raise an eyebrow at her.

“Is there something I can help you with, madam?” you ask.

“Mama!”

“That’s me,” you tell her. A pleasant buzz in your stomach reminds you of just how true that is.

“We were waiting for ya inside, but she knew you were out here and was adamant about seeing her mama,” Wayne says, adjusting the one-year-old in his arms.

“I am sorry I took so long, Your Majesty,” you tell the young toddler. “I was having a conversation with your brothers. Is that okay with you?”

“Mama!” is her only response. Then she pauses, thinks about it, and adds, “Dada!”

“He’s not here, squirt,” Ryan says. “But I think next we have to get you working on my name.”

“Mine’s easier,” Luke argues.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ryan says with a shake of his head. “She’s learning names from oldest to youngest.”

“She skipped me then!” Wayne laments.

“Cause ‘Grandpa’ is harder to say!” Luke informs him.

“Alright, Little Miss, let’s get you buckled in your seat so Grandpa isn’t late for work,” you say.

When you pop open your door, Wayne shakes his head and gestures to the back seat.

“You stay there, I can get her in,” he insists.

Luke leans across Eliza’s car seat to open the back door for his grandfather. Wayne leans in and Luke makes sure all the straps and snaps are out of the way, so Eliza won’t be sitting on any.

When Eliza realizes her brother is there in the backseat, she squeals in delight as Wayne sets her down. Between the older man and the youngest man, they’re able to secure Eliza snugly in her seat.

Wayne presses a kiss to Eliza’s head and reaches to rub over Luke’s curls before he stands up straight and closes the car door.

“See you kids later,” he says.

You’re included in that, you know. To Wayne, Eddie is still a kid, which means you’ll always be one in his eyes too. But that is something else that you are perfectly okay with.

“Everyone buckled in?” you ask.

The boys answer the affirmative and you shift the car into drive.

“Let’s go home.”

Eddie was running late at work, so he doesn’t walk through the front door until you’re setting dinner on the table.

He lets out a long sigh and rubs a grease-stained hand over his face.

“Hey, baby,” he greets you.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

You walk over and give him a proper kiss hello, which has his tired face pulling up into a small smile.

“Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you get cleaned up and then all you have to do the rest of the day is relax.”

Eddie grunts in agreement, nodding his head before he shuffles down the hallway.

You chuckle to yourself as you finish getting dinner on the table.

“Okay, Liza Bean!”

She’s happily roving around the kitchen and living room in her pink walker, but she scoots over to you at the sound of her name.

“Time for dinner.”

You scoop her up and bump the walker with your leg to make it roll into a corner and out of the way. Eliza gets set in her princess high chair and her tiny hands bang on the tray as she awaits her food.

“Gotta wait for the men of the family, you.”

She coos when you press a kiss to the top of her soft, downy baby hair. Eliza continues her drum solo as you take a few steps into the hallway and call, “Boys! Dinner!”

The middle schoolers make it to the table before their father, so you start doling out the food onto everyone’s plates. Eddie saunters out, looking much better and more energized now that he’s no longer covered in dirt and grime.

Eddie takes his seat at the head of the table and manages to give your ass a light swat as you walk past him. You giggle, despite hearing Luke pretending to gag.

Once you take your seat, you pick up your glass of water and take a sip.

“Want some peas, Liza?” You spoon a handful onto her plate, and she immediately grabs one and smooshes it into her mouth.

“Mama, can I have some more applesauce?” Luke asks.

Eddie’s breath hitches as his eyes meet yours. The warm and elated smile you give him tells him all that he needs to know for right now. Pressure forms behind his own eyes and he clears his throat before spearing a chunk of meatloaf with his fork. He does his best to push the emotions down for now, but he can’t help but beam from ear to ear.

“That depends,” you respond to Luke as you pick up the jar of cinnamon applesauce.

“On what?” Luke asks.

Your grin grows to match Eddie’s.

“Say it again.”

It takes Luke a second but then he laughs.

“Mama, can I have some more applesauce, please?”

“Mama! Mama!” Eliza cheers.

“You guys,” Ryan whines, giving an over-the-top roll of his eyes to show he’s not being serious. “You're gonna drive her crazy. Be nice to Mama.”

You feel as if you could explode from all the happiness growing inside of you. All three of your babies calling you “Mama” right in a row? A giddy light-headedness takes hold of you, and you can’t help but giggle girlishly.

“I’m Mama,” you say to no one in particular as you hand Luke the jar of applesauce.

“Well, now I feel left out,” Eddie says, letting his fork drop onto his plate.

“Mama,” Eliza says, looking at her father.

“Oh yeah, you little wisecracker? Rubbing it in?” Eddie narrows his eyes at her and the baby giggles.

“You can say, ‘mama’ too,” Ryan tells him.

“Ah, I’m not gonna say it just for the hell of it,” Eddie says with a dismissive hand wave. “There has to be a reason.”

He picks his fork back up, but as soon as he spears another piece of meatloaf, he drops it again, the utensil clinking against the ceramic dinner plate.

“Wait! I got it,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow at your husband as he sits up straighter and clears his throat. Whatever is about to happen should be interesting.

“Mamaaaa, just killed a man! Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead!”

Both you and the boys start laughing, which makes Eliza laugh as well.

“Mamaaaa, life had just begun!” Luke continues the song, “But now I’ve gone and thrown it all awaaaaay!”

“Mamaaaa, ooooooh!” Ryan picks up the next piece. “Didn’t mean to make you cry! If I’m not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you say as you stand up. “Bravo, everyone.”

You give a slow clap as you walk over to your iPod dock on the counter. Its music kept you company while you were making dinner, but now it’s about to serve another purpose. Little clicks fill the quiet as you scroll through your small silver iPod and make sure to increase the volume from where you had it before.

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do this right,” you say as you come upon the correct song. “And we need to start teaching Eliza how to headbang, even if she doesn’t have a whole lot of hair to whip around yet.”

The moment you press play, the opening notes of Bohemian Rhapsody fill the air. As you walk back to your seat, you slowly wave your hands in front of you, as if you were conducting the tinkling music.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality

Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see

Luke slides off of his chair and walks on his knees over to you, hands clasped together just below his chin as he sings the next line to you.

“I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.”

His theatrics make you chuckle, and you run your hand down the side of his face.

Because I'm easy come, easy go

Little high, little low

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me

“Okay, we all ready for the next line?” you ask, tugging Luke up off the floor and half onto your lap.

Ryan nods and you grin as Luke wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans his head against yours.

“Two, three…” Eddie counts down before everyone at the table—sans the very confused and entertained baby—belts out the next line.”

“Mamaaaaaaaaa!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #eddie munson imagine #AYW #AYWS #request

359 notes · View notes

seiwas · 4 months ago

Text

three-part honesty | todoroki shouto

wc: 16.3k

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

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

sequel to: two-part something ao3 mirror

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

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

I. LISTEN CLOSELY

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

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

Except for this one thing—

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

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

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

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

So—

A… Crush?

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

This isn’t what he was expecting at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natsuo raises an eyebrow, knowing.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto lets the realization settle in.

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

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

The two-part thump continues, beating.

A crush. On you. Huh.

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

This feels… new, he thinks.

Shouto knows his Mondays.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is part of his Monday routine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto nods, catching himself lingering.

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

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

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

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

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

Except now, when you speak—

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

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

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

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

So, why are you even asking?

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

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

But—

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

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

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

Shouto doesn’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And as for that—

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you even respond to this?)

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

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

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

“What seems to be the problem then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brows furrow, crease deepening and heart still sinking.

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

You’re endeared, touched by his consideration.

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze flits to you once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is part of your job, after all.

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

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

He gives you a look.

You stop moving.

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

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

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

Besides—

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

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

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

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

Cameras flash as Shouto steps down from his van.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take his offer.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile sheepishly, mumbling, “Thanks.”

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

Shouto looks at you then, again, too.

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

And—

Kirishima’s right.

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

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

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

You.

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

But—

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

—maybe he can try again next time.

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

The corner of his lips curl only the slightest bit.

Bakugo watches.

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

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

“Y’coming or what?”

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

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

“Old hag told me you’re dating.”

Bakugo speaks, his back still turned to Shouto.

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

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

It works, as evidenced by right now.

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

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

Shouto pauses mid-sip.

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

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

He doesn’t think he insinuated anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you know?”

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

Shouto stares right back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thinks about it.

A thump.

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

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

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

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

You and Shouto leave the gala early.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It begins to sink in.

A thump.

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

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

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

He furrows his brows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You can’t deny the facts.)

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

“At least let me place this over you.”

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

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

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

(It’s just like the gala—)

It’s just like the car—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto nods, taking one step back.

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto tilts his head.

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

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

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

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

II. IF I SPEAK

The Todoroki family home comes alive on the weekends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—but still equally as snarky.

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

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

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

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

The corners of Shouto’s lips curl up slightly.

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

These family lunches keep them connected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For you, she adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touya does this pretty often: provoking just for fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just for fun.)

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

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

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

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

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

All Shouto hears is a thump.

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

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

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

Today is the visit to the estate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows this is just how his older brother is.

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

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

Shouto sighs, clenching his jaw.

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

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

Touya scoffs, “Sure.”

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

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

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

Another thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You just have to go for it!”

He takes a step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you—

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

And you—

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

He can’t stop staring.

Touya snorts as he passes him.

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

(You feel warm at the reminder.

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

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress.)

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

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

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

“Was he sabotaging you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles softly, matching your steps in comfortable silence.

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

Touya’s words come back to him.

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

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

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

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

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

“The lighting was nice. See!”

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

Now, he wonders—

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

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

“The lighting is nice here, too.”

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

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

He puts down his phone, tilting his head.

“Are insects biting you?”

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

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

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

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

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

But—)

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

For you.

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

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

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

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

A thump.

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

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

He blinks, and you only get prettier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto looks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

III. LET ME TELL YOU (HONESTLY)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, his mind ruminates on you.

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

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

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

You still care for him in the same way.

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

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

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

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

He thinks you look cute.

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

You and Shouto attend only one day of teambuilding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two.”

You take a deep breath.

“Go!”

“Three.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Shouto waves it off, smiling softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t need first-aid. But—)

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

(You don’t need first-aid. But—)

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

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

A whistle is blown to call everyone back to huddle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The lighting was nice. See!”

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

And he decides—

He should get you flowers too.

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

It’s only right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks, and that thump beats once more.

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

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

“Would you want me to have this wrapped?”

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

Your grip on the stems tighten.

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

“It’s for you.”

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

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

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

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

“There’s no occasion…?”

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

Shouto blinks.

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

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

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

Thump.

He takes a deep breath.

Thump.

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

Thump.

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

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

“No occasion.”

Shouto knows your Mondays.

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

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

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

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

Shouto knows your Mondays.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thump.

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

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

“You’re back!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So for you to keep it for this long—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, this is out of the ordinary.

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

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

Shouto furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly.

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

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

He places his palm on the top folder.

“What else do you have to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That promptly shuts you up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But—

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

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

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

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

It’s one of his favorite shirts.)

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

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

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

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

A thump.

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

A thump.

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

A thump.

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

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

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

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

You know him better than anyone else does.

The flowers he gave you are still on your desk.

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

You freeze, holding your breath.

Another thump.

His honesty spills outs—

“I like you.”

A three-beat thump.

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses, watching your expression shift into curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

additional material: moodboard + playlist

a/n: so much to say about this fic but i'll sum it up with saying this is my baby! and i hold it close to my heart for many reasons. writing this made me love their dynamic and i hope you did too! also maybe slightly unrealistic office/hr rules but 🤷‍♀️ he’s the boss he makes the rules 🤧

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

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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

951 notes · View notes

waitimcomingtoo · 11 months ago

Text

Sugar And Spice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets jealous when a guy keeps coming into the bakery to flirt with you

Masterlist

“Can you watch the bakery for a second while I frost a cake?”

“I can do it but I have to warn you. I’m super charming so we’re probably gonna get a bunch of customers and sell out immediately.” You said and held up your hands in defense. Peeta couldn’t help but smile as he watched you tie an apron around your waist. Something about you wearing something that had his last name on it made you even more endearing. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t doubt your charm but we haven’t had any customers all day.” He reminded you.

“That’s because you’ve been keeping me in the back. Go frost your cake. This place will be packed when you return. Just watch”. You said and shooed him okay.

“Okay.” He replied sarcastically.

You were only alone in the bakery for a few minutes before someone came in. It was a guy around your age wearing a hard helmet so you could only assume he was a coal miner.

“Hello.” He smiled at you as he walked up the counter.

“Hello.” You replied. “Welcome to Mellark Bakery.”

“Do you guys sell bread?” He asked you.

“Here? At the bakery?” You asked and stepped to the side to give him a full view of all the baskets of bread behind you.

“Okay, it was a dumb question.” He admitted.

“It’s okay. It’s probably the only question you can ask that I could actually answer. I just learned what yeast was a little while ago.”

“Oh, so you don’t usually work here?”

“I don’t. My best friends family owns the place. But his brother gave his mom a cold and then the whole family caught it. I’m just filling in until they’re better.” You explained.

“That’s a shame. I thought I’d have two reasons to come in here now.” The boy said with a coy smile.

“Two reasons?”

“For delicious bread and a chance to see the pretty girl working the counter.” He replied. You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his flirting before smiling. You’d never had a boy flirt with you so boldly so it made you feel good.

“Well, thanks. How can I help you?” You asked him.

“My mother sent me to get that brown bread but I keep forgetting the name of it.”

“Isn’t all bread brown?”

“Well, yes.” He realized. “But she said this one is browner than the others.”

“I actually think I know what you’re talking about. Is it pumpernickel?” You asked and pulled out a loaf of pumpernickel bread.

“Yes! That’s the one. Look at you being smart. I’ll take a loaf of that.” The boy said. You didn’t really like the way he acted like it was shocking you’d say something smart but you didn’t say anything.

“Surely. Anything else I get you?” You asked as you handed him the wrapped up loaf.

“How about your name?” He smiled as he handed you the money.

“It’s Y/n. You?” You said through a nervous laugh. You weren’t entirely sure you liked the attention anymore.

“Hi. I’m Lycan.” He said and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lycan.” You smiled politely and shook his hand.

“It is nice, isn’t it? Will you be filling in all week?”

“Most likely.” You told him.

“Then I’ll be back. Thanks for the help.” He winked at you just as Peeta came out from the back. He saw the much taller and stronger looking Lycan leaving the bakery and stopped in his tracks.

“No problem.” You called after him. Peeta caught the way Lycan’s eyes lingered on you after he left the shop and he didn’t like it. He got a weird feeling in his stomach when he noticed that you were flustered.

“Who was that?” Peeta asked.

“That was Lycan. And he bought the last loaf of pumpernickel so we knead to make more. And that was a baking pun, by the way. But it would’ve worked better on paper.”

“Oh. Do you always learn the customers names?” Peeta asked as the weird feeling in his stomach grew. He was feeling jealous already and now that he knew you learned that guys name, it was even worse.

“Not always.” You shrugged. “But he asked my name so I asked his.”

“He asked your name? That was nice of him.” Peeta said through a forced smile. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you had caught the attention of the attractive stranger. Maybe because you’d caught Peeta’s attention years ago but still hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. I guess he was nice. He called me pretty.” You said and looked at Peeta as if you were expecting him to disagree with that statement. Peeta clenched his jaw but kept a straight face.

“You are pretty.” He insisted. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess because no one’s ever just called me pretty before. Except maybe my mother. But I’ve never heard it from a boy. It was kinda, I don’t know, nice.” You said as you stared out the window. Peeta was kicking himself for never vocalizing how beautiful he found you because now you had to cling to the compliment of a stranger.

“I think you’re pretty.” Peeta said quietly. Your head turned to Peeta and you had a surprised smile on your face. Peeta turned a deep red as he waited for your answer.

“You’re pretty pretty yourself, blondie.” You replied as you passed by him. You started to rearrange some of the baked goods but Peeta was still hung up on this stranger who called you pretty.

“Did you like that guy?” Peeta asked you and feared for the answer.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “It was nice to be noticed. But I don’t him enough to know if I like him.”

“Right.” He nodded and desperately tried to take his mind off it. You noticed the far off look in Peeta’s eye but didn’t understand what was bothering him.

“So how’s your cake?” You asked.

“Not good. I made the frosting a weird color. Can you go look at it and tell me if I should scrap it or not?”

“Sure. But if you go check on it later and there’s a piece missing, it wasn’t me.” You teased.

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically.

“I know, right?” You laughed and went to the back. Peeta laughed as well but his smile quickly dropped when the door to the bakery opened. Lycan walked back in and Peeta gulped. He’d only seen him through the window before so now he got to see just how tall and handsome this guy was. Peeta nervously fumbled with the tie on his apron and felt a little insecure to be wearing it when this guy was covering in soot and dirt from being down in the mines.

“Hi. How can I help you?” Peeta asked him. Lycan was visibly disappointed to see Peeta there and was ignoring him as he looked around the bakery for you.

“What happened to the girl that was working here just a few minutes ago?” Lycan asked.

“Who’s asking?” Peeta asked without dropping his cheery smile. Lycan looked Peeta up and down and scoffed a little.

“I am.” He replied. “I wanted to ask her where she lives.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Peeta frowned.

“So I could see her again. I was planning on stopping by sometime. I figured she’d like that.” Lycan answered with a smug expression.

“Well I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t want me telling a stranger where she lives so…” Peeta trailed off and let Lycan fill in the blank.

“Hm. You must be the friend she mentioned. I guess I’ll just have to ask her myself. But why don’t you do me a favor and tell her I stopped by?”

“Surely.” Peeta replied. Lycan recognized the same word you had used and narrowed his eyes at Peeta.

“Thanks, baker boy. Bye.” Lycan smirked and left the bakery. Peeta blinked in surprise at the unexpected rude tone. If he was feeling insecure before, he was feeling even worse now that Lycan made it obvious that he looked down on him.

“Who was that?” You asked when you came out from the back.

“No one.” Peeta lied. “How’s the cake?”

“I actually like the grey color. You should leave it as it is.” You told him.

“But it was supposed to be a wedding cake. Won’t the customer be mad?”

“If I was getting married and my cake was baked by you, I wouldn’t care what it looked like because I would already know it was delicious. But you don’t have to worry about that because the cake looked great. Your cakes always look great. You’re the best cake decorator I know. So stop worrying about it.” You said and playfully smacked his chest.

“I’m the only cake decorator you know.” He said with a shy smile.

“That may be true.” You agreed. “But even if I knew more, you’d still be the best. You’re an artist. All your cakes are lovely. I promise.”

“Thanks for saying that.” He blushed. “We can have a grey cake at our wedding then.”

“Oh? Our wedding?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your wedding.” He quickly corrected. “I meant your wedding. I will make you a grey cake for your wedding.”

“What if my groom wants a white cake?”

“He’ll want whatever you want.” Peeta said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked skeptically.

“Just a guess.” He said quickly. He wasn’t about to tell you that if he was the groom, you’d get whatever and however many cakes you wanted.

“Well he better. My mother is already on me about finding someone and settling down. That’s all she thinks I’m gonna be apparently. A wife.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Is there anyone in particular you’re thinking of?” Peeta asked without looking at you.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be against running off and eloping with you to get her off my back.” You joked. Peeta blushed at the joke and hoped there was some truth to it.

“Or maybe I’ll just marry this Lycan guy to shut her up.” You added, making Peeta’s smile drop. He was definitely jealous now and it was only gonna get worse.

The next day, you went to the bakery again and helped Peeta run the shop. He had you handling the customers while he stayed in the back to bake. Even though you had said it as a joke, you actually were bringing in a lot of customers and selling through baked goods fast. Unfortunately, you brought in Peeta’s least favorite customer.

“Oh no.” Peeta said when he saw Lycan through the windows.

“What?” You asked just as the door opened.

“Hello again.” Lycan greeted you and didn’t acknowledge Peeta in any way.

“Oh, hi, Lycan. What can I get for you today?” You asked him.

“How about you get me your favorite thing in the shop?” He asked with that smug look Peeta hated. Peeta rolled his eyes at the lack of manners but held his tongue.

“Well, that’s hard to pick. Peeta bakes everything and it’s all delicious. He’s an amazing baker.” You said and patted Peeta’s back. Peeta and Lycan made eye contact and gave each other tight smiles.

“Oh, so this is your friend who runs the bakery? Did he tell you I stopped by yesterday to see you?” Lycan asked knowing full well Peeta didn’t mention it. You looked at Peeta in surprise and Peeta gave you a sheepish smile.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention that.” He said quietly.

“Right.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I love the cinnamon buns Peeta makes. And we just frosted some so I’ll go grab one from the back.”

You went to the back to grab a cinnamon bun, leaving Peeta and Lycan alone together. Peeta kept his eyes down as Lycan stared at him with a smug expression.

“So how come you had her running the shop all alone yesterday?” Lycan asked with judgement in his voice.

“She was fine. She was only alone for a few minutes but she would’ve been perfectly capable of running the shop all day. She’s great at this stuff. She’s better than me and I grew up in this bakery.” Peeta defended you.

“I could tell.” Lycan snorted. “But running a business is no place for a lady. She should’ve been doing the baking while you handled the customers. A girl like that should be able to sit still and look pretty while you man the place, you know what I mean?”

“Um, no, I don’t know what you mean.” Peeta smiled tightly. “She’s not the type to sit still but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her. And we “manned”the shop together all day. I just happened to be in the back decorating the cakes when you came in.”

“Oh, so you make all these? Where did you learn how to do that?” Lycan asked with a condescending smile as he looked at the cakes on display.

“My mother taught me.” Peeta said quietly.

“Oh, I see. My mother taught me that a man’s job involves getting your hands dirty but hey, what does she know?” Lycan shrugged.

“Clearly not how to teach her son manners.” Peeta mumbled. You came out from the back and Peeta relaxed.

“Here. One hot cinnamon bun.” You smiled kindly and handed the treat to Lycan.

“Thank you. It looks almost as good as you do.” He said with a much kinder tone than he had given Peeta.

“Oh. Thank you.” You laughed in surprise and looked over at Peeta. Peeta was too busy staring daggers at Lycan to notice.

“See you tomorrow?” Lycan asked you.

“See you then.” You waved as he left the shop. Once he was gone again, Peeta could finally breathe.

“I don’t like that guy.” Peeta shook his head.

“What? Why not? He’s so nice.” You said. As much as Peeta disliked that guy, he wasn’t about to burst your bubble and tell you Lycan had implied you could not and should not run the bakery by yourself.

“He’s too nice.” Peeta insisted. “And I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“How was he looking at me?” You frowned.

“The same way every guy looks at you. Only he looks dumb enough to try something.” Peeta mumbled. You let out a laugh and Peeta was confused.

“What?” He wondered.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard you call someone dumb before. Here I was thinking you were all sunshine and flowers.” You shrugged with an amused smile.

“I can be tough. You don’t think I can be tough?”

“Well, I’m sure you can be. I’ve just never seen it. I’ve only ever seen your good side.”

“I can be tough. I can be a real tough guy.” Peeta insisted but it sounded unnatural coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, tough guy.” You chuckled. “Show me what you got.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say something mean about me.” You said and gestured towards yourself.

“What? I would never do that.” He laughed but meant it.

“I knew it. You’re too sweet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re all sugar.” You said and squeezed his arm. Peeta blushed at the contact and felt a little better about himself.

“Here’s something mean. That guy just tracked mud all over the floors. Why are coal miners so messy?” He scoffed and grabbed the mop.

“Maybe because they’re in dirty mines all day? Just a thought.” You teased as Peeta cleaned the floor.

“This is just gross.” Peeta huffed. “And did you see his hands? They were filthy.”

“I didn’t notice them.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, cause you were too busy flirting.” Peeta grumbled.

“Flirting?” You laughed. “I was not flirting with that guy.”

“Yes you were. I’ve never seen you bat your eyelashes like that before. And when’s the last time you warmed something up for a customer? You did that to flirt.” He half joked, half meant entirely.

“That wasn’t me flirting. I was just blinking because of all the dust he brought in.” You said simply. Peeta stopped mopping and looked up to see if you were serious.

“You really weren’t flirting with him?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“With a stranger? Who do you think I am?” You scoffed and grabbed the mop from him. You cleaned up the rest of the mud tracks before handing the mop back.

“Okay.” Peeta smiled. “Good.”

“Why’s that good? You didn’t want me to be flirting with him?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Psh. No. I don’t care who you flirt with.” Peeta quickly explained but even he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t you?” You asked and took a step towards him.

“I don’t.” He gulped.

“All right then.” You smiled sadly and went back behind the counter. Peeta looked over at you and wondered if you had wanted him to say that he didn’t want you flirting with anyone else.

The next day, Peeta was hesitant to leave you alone in the bakery in case Lycan came back to ask you out. If he actually made a move on you, Peeta knew he didn’t stand a chance. There weren’t a whole lot of options for dating in your district so if he asked you out, you’d probably say yes. But Peeta couldn’t stay in the front forever and eventually had to go to the back to frost cakes. And as soon as he was gone, the wolves descended.

“Good morning.” Lycan greeted as he came into the bakery. Your heart started to beat faster when he came in but it wasn’t from excitement. His presence was starting to make you anxious and you didn’t know if you liked the attention anymore.

“Good morning. What will it be today?” You asked politely.

“Some more pumpernickel please. But only half a loaf. I had some of my worker friends over last night and we went through it. We just get so hungry being down in the mines all day. You know how real men’s work is. It’s brutal but hey, someone’s gotta do it.” Lycan shrugged and leaned on the counters that you had just cleaned.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“A smile. From you.” Lycan added. You gave him a tight smile back and realized you really didn’t like the attention. At least, not from him.

“Have a great day.” He said as you handed him the loaf and he handed you the money.

“Thanks. You too.”

“I already did. Because I got to see you.” Lycan said and pointed to you. You forced a smile back and watched as he tracked mud on the floor as he left. Peeta came out from the back a little while later and saw the mud.

“I see Lycan returned.” He said stiffly.

“He sure did.” You replied. Peeta rolled his eyes and grabbed the mop before looking at you.

“Don’t give me that look.” You laughed. “It’s not my fault Mr. Muddy Boots keeps coming in here.”

“Yes it is. I heard him telling you to smile. He likes you.” Peeta mumbled and mopped the floor. His jealousy was back and in full force so he kept his head down.

“Maybe he was just being friendly.”

“But he wasn’t being friendly to me. Only you.” Peeta pointed out.

“Okay, true. But that still doesn’t mean anything. He might just want to be friends.”

“No way. No guy wants to be just friends with a girl as interesting and funny as you.”

“What about you? You just want to be friends, don’t you?” You asked and smiled at his words but he didn’t see it. He was too busy keeping his head down so you couldn’t see how much he was blushing over what you asked.

“There. Finally clean. But if he comes in here and gets the floors muddy one more time, I’m gonna ban him from the bakery.” Peeta said to change the subject.

“Maybe he’s had enough of your baked goods and won’t come in anymore.” You shrugged.

“He’ll be back. Although he might stop buying things and just start coming in to stare at you.” Peeta grumbled, making you laugh. When your laughter died down, you thought about what it would mean if this guy actually wanted to be more than friends.

“Do you actually think he likes me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course he does. And I can’t blame him. But I can be annoyed about how often he comes in here.” Peeta said and continued to avoid eye contact with you.

“But him coming in here means you get more customers.” You reminded him. “And what do you mean you can’t blame him?”

“Him coming in here means I have to look at his dumb face while he bumbles around and tries to flirt with you. All while making the bakery muddy. I wouldn’t mind losing him as a customer.” Peeta replied and conveniently ignored the second half of what you said.

“Well we should probably bake another loaf of pumpernickel in case he comes in tomorrow.” You shrugged and started to gather the ingredients. Peeta froze and watched you tie on an apron as jealousy burned a hole inside him.

“What?” You asked when you saw Peeta’s face.

“You want him to come back?” Peeta asked in a soft voice.

“I didn’t say that. But if he does, which I’m assuming he will, we should have bread for him.”

Peeta was quiet again for a minute as he looked at you. He didn’t think you liked this guy back until he watched you gathering ingredients to make something specifically for him.

“Do you, um, do you like him back or something?” Peeta asked you. He didn’t sound angry or anything, just sad.

“What I like is earning money. Which customers bring in. Customers like Lycan.” You said and headed to the back where the oven was.

“Fine. But just don’t bake that with love, okay?” Peeta called after you. He heard you laugh and felt a little better because it reminded him that no one made you laugh quite like he did.

“I’ll try.” You called back.

The next day, Peeta was ready for anything. He asked you to bake some muffins in the back while he dealt with the customers during the evening rush. He had made it through almost the entire day before he saw Lycan coming in to the bakery. He looked around for you as soon as he walked in before walking up the counter.

“How can I help you?” Peeta asked with a forced smile.

“Actually, I was hoping Y/n could help me. She here?” Lycan asked and peered behind the counter.

“She’s busy with the baking in the back.”

“Really? I thought frosting cakes was your job? Tell me, how do you make them look so pretty?” Lycan asked in a mocking tone.

“It takes a steady hand. And a clean one.” Peeta said as his eyes dropped to Lycans dirt covered hands.

“These are workers hands. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, baker boy?” Lycan said in a low voice as he leaned on the counter. Peeta gulped but was determined to stand his ground.

“I know about hard work. Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s any less important.” He replied.

“Are you serious?” Lycan laughed. “I risk my life everyday to get the coal that you use to bake your pretty little cakes. You’re not important. I mean, your work isn’t important. I know that, and she knows that.” Lycan whispered so only Peeta could hear. His words were getting to Peeta and he wasn’t feeling as confident as before.

“She’d never go for you.” Peeta said quietly.

“What other choice does she have? You?” Lycan scoffed. “I asked around about the two of you, you know. Everyone had the same thing to say. That the bakers boy absolutely adores her but isn’t man enough to do anything about it.”

“I could do something about it.” Peeta insisted.

“Oh really? Then why haven’t you?” Lycan asked him. Peeta opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He had no answer to give.

“That’s what I thought.” Lycan snickered. “She’d never go for you either.”

Peeta looked down at the ground and believed what Lycan was saying. You came out from the back and immediately sensed the awkward tension. You first noticed Peeta’s sad expression and then Lycan’s smug smirk.

“Oh, hi Lycan. Back so soon?” You asked as you looked between the boys and tried to figure out what had just happened between them.

“I just needed to get some bread. And seeing your pretty face never hurts.” Lycan said and switched to a nice smile.

“Aw, thanks.” You said with a fake smile.

“You know, being a coal miner is really dangerous. Nothing like the easy job this guy has.” Lycan said and nodded towards Peeta. “When the boys and I go down into the mines, we never know if we’re gonna get to come back out. So I try to take a minute and appreciate the beautiful things in life as much as I can. And that includes you.”

“Aw, thanks.” You repeated in the same uncomfortable tone. Peeta looked up and saw that Lycan was staring at him with a puffed up smile. In other words, he thought he ate that.

“See you around, doll.” Lycan winked at you before leaving the shop.

“That was painful.” You said once he was gone.

“For us both.” Peeta mumbled.

“I think you were right. I think he may be more than just friendly.” You laughed nervously.

“What gave it away?” Peeta smiled sarcastically.

“I just don’t understand what he wants from me. I don’t even know what to say when he talks like that.” You said and grimaced at the memory of his little speech.

“He probably wants a wife. And he wants you to say it can be you.”

“A wife?” You laughed in shock. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“But he wants to. That’s why he keeps coming in here. He probably wanted to ask you out today but wouldn’t with me in here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say yes even if he did. So there’s nothing to worry about.” You shrugged.

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing to worry about.” Peeta snapped. You were both surprised by his tone and stood in awkward silence following his exclamation. Peeta was too embarrassed to look at you so he kept his head down and played with the ties in his apron. He heard your footsteps coming over to him and suddenly, you were lifting his chin to get him to look at you.

“What’s this about?” You asked quietly. Peeta sighed and looked to the side.

“He works in the mines and risks his life. I work in a bakery and decorate cakes. He’s covered in soot and dirt and I end the day covered in flour and sugar.”

“So?” You laughed.

“So, he’s a real man.” Peeta insisted. “And that’s what you deserve.”

“Do you think I don’t see you as a real man?” You asked and wrapped your arms around Peeta’s neck. He turned bright red and finally looked at you.

“Look at me. And look at him. We’re not the same.” Peeta said softly.

“Just because he works down there and you work up here doesn’t make you any less of a man.” You assured him.

“It feels like it does. Especially when…”

“When what?” You asked when Peeta trailed off.

“When I thought you liked him. I assumed he caught your attention because he’s all big and tough and I’m just…soft.” He shrugged and gave you an embarrassed smile.

“He caught my attention because he’s annoying and dirty. And I happen to like that you’re soft.” You told him.

“You do?” Peeta asked skeptically.

“Of course I do. I like that you never have a mean thing to say about anybody. I like that you decorate cakes and smell like cinnamon all the time. And I like that you stop to pick flowers that you like. But you know what I don’t like?”

“What?”

“That guy. I don’t like how he thinks I shouldn’t run the shop by myself. I don’t like how he can’t compliment me on anything but my looks. I don’t like how he thinks his job makes him superior to us. And I don’t like that he made you feel bad about yourself.” You said. Peeta looked into your eyes and saw how serious you were. A smile tugged at his lips as he believed that he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“He made fun of my cake decorating.” Peeta added with a coy smile.

“What? Now that’s too far. Let’s ban him.” You played along. Peeta laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“I never want you to think you’re not good enough ever again, okay?” You said as you rubbed his back.

“Okay.” Peeta reluctantly replied. You pulled out of the hug and rubbed his shoulders.

“If he comes in here again, I’ll tell him to back off. Of both of us.” You assured Peeta.

“Good. Because I’m not much of a fighter.” He said through a relieved laugh.

“I know. You’re a lover. Thats what I love about you.” You told him and went to go clean the counter. Peeta watched you for a minute with a content smile on his face.

“It is?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Amongst other things, but yes.” You replied.

“There are a lot of things I love about you too.” Peeta said without looking at you.

“Are there?” You asked with piqued interest.

“Of course. Dozens of things.”

“Dozens?” You pretended to gasp and looked over at him.

“Uh huh. A bakers dozen.” He replied with a coy smile.

“Hey.” You laughed. “Baking humor is my thing.”

“I know, I know. But I think that’s another reason Lycan bothered me so much. I thought he was gonna take you away before I got a chance to tell you any of them.” Peeta said simply. Your expression changed but he didn’t catch it as he went to change the sign on the door from “open” to “closed”.

“Well. It’s quitting time.” Peeta sighed and looked the front door.

“Right. We should go.”

The next day, Lycan came in bright and early in the morning. He was the first customer and walked in before you had even arrived yet. Peeta gulped when he saw him and hoped you’d get to the bakery as soon as possible. Then he remembered what you had said about what you loved about him and felt a little braver.

“Hey, Peeta. Just you today?” Lycan asked in a condescending voice.

“For now.” Peeta answered calmly.

“These are nice. You pick them yourself?” Lycan asked as he flicked one of the flowers Peeta had in a vase on the counter.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I did.”

“I thought so. Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore pathetic. It’s no wonder Y/n doesn’t want you.” Lucan snorted. He hadn’t heard you entering the bakery from the back so when you appeared behind the counter where Peeta was, he gulped.

“Oh, hi, Y/n. Good morning.” He said nervously and hoped you hadn’t heard what he just said. You gave Lycan a big smile before turning to Peeta.

“Good morning.” You greeted Peeta before pulling him into a long kiss. Peeta was stiff with shock at first but then kissed you back as his hands found their place on your waist. Lycan watched this with a dropped jaw and angrily cleared his throat when he felt like it was going on too long. You pulled out of the kiss with a big smile and patted Peeta’s red cheek.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled as you wrapped an arm around Peeta’s shoulders. Peeta and Lycan were both silent as they processed what had happened. You made your choice loud and clear to the both of them and they were both too stunned to speak. Peeta finally smiled and took one of the flowers out of the vase to place behind your ear as a little thank you. You smiled in appreciation before looking at Lycan.

“So.” You shrugged. “What can we get you?”

Tag List 🥖

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @

@ilykitwalker @mayemperess @scenesofobx

#peeta mellark whump #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark x you #peeta x reader #Peeta mellark jealous #peeta mellark fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

del-thetiredwriter · 5 months ago

Note

There's so much we can do with that Cheater Daemon x wife reader AU

Like Daemon witnessing his wife's burning hatred towards him. She didn't express it in front of him rather it's other actions that prove her hatred

He saw his wife in a storeroom, holding a knife to rip off and slash multiple cuts on a portrait with his face in it. She didn't care that her palm is bleeding from gripping the knife too hard, she's just focusing on saying how he's such a pathetic trash,how ugly he is despite his beautiful face and basically disfiguring the entire portrait. When he asked her about her bandaged hand afterwards,she just said it was an accident while she's walking and none of his business at all

He read her diary full of her regrets for marrying him as well as her hateful words towards his entire existence,even a list of men she should've had married instead of him,Criston Cole was on the list and even the fact he might be into his own niece. Hell she's even planning on how to push him towards Rhaenyra so that she can freely escape him. She even wrote that she rather died or killed by him than suffering by living with him

She even had a conversation with Criston Cole about how terrible her husband is and the knight just listened to it all,he knows how the Targaryens are,he did work for them after all Criston Cole maybe Daemon's potential love rival

Sometimes Reader even pretended Daemon didn't exist,just ignore him and how in her sleep,she sometimes say other men's names except Daemon,it was never his name that came out of her lips when she was sleeping

Part1 , part2

Well these are great ideas. And like you said we have so much material to use. And I did a little work from the things you said. It’s like a part 2.1?

——————————————————————————

Daemon sighed. Visersy would rarely see your brother this thoughtful and sad? Seeing, Visersy clapped him on the shoulder.

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing." replied Little Brother.

“Come on Daemon, you can't fool me. Come on, talk to me. What's your problem?”

The white-haired prince sighed.

"My wife. It's just that my wife has been a little weird lately?"

"Strange? your wife? Y/n? You are kidding."

Visersy handed Daemon a glass of wine.

"Yes. She’s been acting really weird lately. Recently I saw her in the storeroom with a knife in her hand, injuring herself..."

“The gods gave you outer beauty, but there is nothing left for your character!” You shouted and added another cut to the portrait.

"Damn you!" And one more cut...

While you were combing your hair in front of the mirror, you heard that damn voice. “My wife~” your beloved husband hugged you from behind. You tried to ignore him.

"What happened to your hand?" ' he asked in a worried but also angry voice. He held your bandaged hand.

"Nothing. I fell while walking, That's all." You pulled your hand back.

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure."

“…I won't even talk about what was written in her diary!” Daemon took a harsh sip from his goblet.

“But seriously, how can she compare me to those damn knights! Moreover, her conversation with that guy yesterday! I will kill that guy!”

Visersy nodded understandingly.

"What am I going to do with this woman? She acts as if I don't exist!"

Daemon groaned. Visersy patted his brother on the back.

"What can I say? You reap what you sow.”

#hotd angst #hotd daemon #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #cheater daemon #house of the dragon angst #house of dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #yandere daemon targaryen x reader #yandere daemon

614 notes · View notes

joelslastofus · 5 months ago

Text

[SUMMARY: Joel deals with his jealousy as Tommy and you get more serious.]

PART TWO to my last reblog!!

Smut, drama, infidelity, angst

“Did he make you cum?” His sudden question catching you off guard. His eyes darkened as he waited for your response.

Sarah’s mother showed up the next morning to take Sarah to school since Joel had to leave early with Tommy. When she arrived she noticed Joel acting stranger than usual, he was quiet not making eye contact with anyone, he seemed like he was in a bad mood.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” She whispered leaning toward him making him look up.

“Just gettin’ ready for work”

Tommy showed up and poured himself coffee yawning as he greeted Sarah’s mother.

“Well you missed the show last night, these two gettin’ locked in the basement”

“Who?”

“My brother and my girl” Tommy raised his brows as her mother quickly turned to Joel who kept himself with his back to both of them drinking his coffee.

“Oh really?” She raised a brow.

“Mhm, but it wasn’t for long” he continued.

“You ready to go or ya gonna keep yappin’” Joel uttered before taking another sip from his mug.

“I’m ready, let’s go” Tommy grabbed his bag as Joel walked out yelling out to his daughter that he would see her that night and not saying a word to her mother.

“I wanted my dad to take me to school” Sarah came out the room as she grabbed her backpack.

“Well we all can’t get what we want, can we?” her mother snapped at her before walking to the bathroom and slamming the door shut. Sarah didn’t understand why her mother had returned if she acted like she couldn’t stand being a mother.

As usual, Tommy would see you in the morning on the porch while Joel got the truck ready. Packing his stuff in the back he watched Tommy greet you with a kiss. He failed miserably at trying to keep his eyes off you, his eyes blazing with envy as he watched your lips touch his once more before Tommy walked back to the truck. Joel looked away before he could notice, walking to the front of the truck he looked up and locked eyes with you for just a moment before you quickly turned and walked inside.

Joel drove in silence, his expression rather serious as he kept his eyes on the road.

“You got back in late” he suddenly spoke, thinking about how his brother left with you and didn’t return till nearly three in the morning.

“What are you monitoring me now, dad?” Tommy chuckled but Joel quickly became lost in his thoughts thinking about what you two were doing so late together. Thinking about what you had said the night before in the basement.

His brother fucking you.

The thought making him breathless with anger before realizing Tommy was calling his name.

“Joel! You listening?!”

“What?” He snapped looking over at him, the look in his eyes weirding out Tommy. It was rare when he saw his brother angry to this extent, yet he didn’t understand what was triggering it.

“Nothin’” Tommy uttered before turning back to the road as Joel pressed his foot on the gas and continued driving.

Little did he know, you and Tommy hadn’t slept with each other that night. Instead you cuddled watching a movie and ended up falling asleep in his arms. The guilt still eating at you as you continued to think over and over what Joel admitted to you the night before.

After all this time.

After all this fucking time.

Now when you were giving his brother a chance, now when you were getting to know the sweet charming man his brother was, Joel admitted something to you that you would’ve killed to know earlier.

It didn’t matter, it didn’t change anything. Joel forgot about any history the two of you had when Sarah’s mother showed up. He forgot how much the two of you had in common, how twice for Sarah’s birthday you baked her a cake when Joel called that he would be running late from work. Hell, how you baked him a cake and helped Sarah surprise him with a gift. He forgot about it all…

“It’s Friday night brother, how about a double date with your lady and mine at the bar?” Tommy hesitantly approached his brother at work hoping he’d be in a better mood.

“No, uh, I don’t want Sarah alone and-“

“I’ll call the sitter and set it all up, come on, it’ll be fun. Cheer up a bit” Joel remained silent giving in to the plan.

That night you wore a brown milkmaid dress with a pair of heels you forgot you even owned. You were excited to spend time with Tommy while also secretly excited to get a rise out of Joel. Maybe you were being immature but the more you thought of how he treated you that very day he cut ties, it all made sense to you.

Meeting them at the front of their house you walked out of your door looking out to see if they were there. Joel being the first one to look up spotted you walking in their direction, his eyes drifting down to your body, noticing just how well the dress complimented you.

“Jesus-“ he whispered to himself before quickly looking away. How the fuck was he suppose to ignore you all night?

“Tommy” you poked a finger at his back making him quickly turn and immediately get taken back by how you looked.

“Look at you, you look gorgeous, baby” you smiled before all four of you got in the truck.

Sitting in the back with Tommy, Joel was given the perfect view of you through his rear view mirror. You could feel his eyes on you while Tommy looked out the window, Sarah’s mother complaining about things she had to do for her daughter, Joel was over it ignoring her. Tommy unexpectedly turned around and kissed you making you smile, Joel bit the inside of his cheek and looked away.

Once getting to the bar, Tommy was quick to order more drinks which you were more than excited to try to relieve the bit of anxiety you felt. The night continued and you found yourself drinking more than you had planned yet you felt just right.

“You wanna take another shot?” Tommy leaned over to you with the drink in his hand.

“Sure” you laughed before the two of you took the shot together.

“Oh that one was strong” you made a sour face as Joel watched with furrowed brows. Joel had never seen you drink that much before. Apart of him wondering if you were doing it on purpose just to get under his skin. Whatever you were doing, it was working.

“We should dance” you excitedly turned to Tommy who bit his lip with excitement and got up with you to the dance floor.

“What the hell are we even doing here?”

Sarah’s mother complained while Joels eyes subtly followed you.

“I came to have a drink” He responded without turning to her.

“And you have to figure out something with your daughter cause I’m not gonna be taking her to school everyday” Joel raised a brow as she sucked her teeth. She wanted nothing to do with being a mother. All he heard her do was complain about any little thing she had to do for Sarah.

“Did you hear me, Joel?”

“You can leave if you want, what the hell was the point of you comin’ back?” he responded bluntly before chugging his drink not caring the way Sarah’s mother felt.

He had enough. He knew she wasn’t for him, he knew too late in time that she wasn’t right for Sarah. Angrily she got up and grabbed her bag leaving the bar. Joel watched as you danced with Tommy, your arms wrapped around him, his hands running down your waist. Joel brushed his hand over his lips and looked away, the sight was too much to bare. After a few minutes he could hear the sound of your laughter coming closer before he looked up.

“That was fun” you sighed as you slid into the booth.

“Hey where’s your lady?” Tommy asked as he sat beside you. Joel simply shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

“That’s done” his words making you look up at him. For some reason hearing he was no longer with Sarah’s mother bought you some kind of happiness.

“Well forget her, I never liked her for you anyway” Tommy responded before he took a shot. Just as he did you and Joel looked at each other for a moment before you quickly looked away.

“Im gonna go get us some more drinks, I’ll be right back” Tommy leaned in towards you, before you could say anything he left you and Joel alone together. Uncomfortably you swallowed looking away as Joel stared you down, the jealousy in him rising the more he thought about what his brother had told him earlier. You staying the night with him the night before, Joel hated the thought of it.

“We should get going soon” you spoke casually trying to find something to speak of.

“Wouldn’t wanna keep you from another night with Tommy” he responded with sarcasm.

“What was that?” You raised a brow as he leaned forward.

“You and Tommy…ya know I ain’t surprised you already slept with him, that’s just what girls like you do. I guess Sarah’s mother was right about you after all” Joel letting his anger and drinking take over, allowing himself to insult you in a way he never had.

“Excuse me? Girls like me?” Was he calling you a whore? Before you could respond Tommy showed up beside you making you quickly look away.

“One more drink before we go” Tommy smiled looking down at you.

“Yes…but I need to use the restroom” you quickly stood up almost stumbling as Tommy caught you by your waist.

“You alright?”

Joel almost stood up for a split second to help you before catching himself. Even through the anger he couldn’t help his immediate response.

“Yes….I’ll be right back” you quickly made your way to the bathroom as Joel glanced at you with the corner of his eye watching as you hid your face.

“I hope she invites me back to her place again tonight” Tommy grinned.

“Im sure you’ll get lucky again, don’t worry” Joel uttered low.

“I didn’t get lucky last night,-“ Joel quickly looked up not expecting what he was told.

“She doesn’t move like that, it ain’t what I’m used to but I like it. It’ll happen when it’s suppose to”

A part of him relieved to know nothing had ever happened while the other half of him feeling like a dick for what he said to you. He knew he fucked up, his jealousy getting the best of him, he regretted what he had said. You stepped out of the restroom looking at Joel from where you were. You couldn’t believe the audacity he had to speak to you in such a way, you knew you didn’t deserve it.

“We should get going” you showed up to the table making both men look up.

“What’s a matter, don’t want your drink first?” Tommy pushed the shot towards you.

“No…I’ve had enough” Tommy shrugged and took the shot before he stood up and walked out with you with Joel right behind. Joel’s eyes following Tommy’s hand move lower and lower down your back.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

The three of you too intoxicated to drive you took a cab as Tommy assured his brother he’d pick up the truck in the morning.

Sitting in the back of the cab next to Tommy you looked out the window thinking about what Joel had said to you until Tommy’s voice distracted you.

“You wanna stay with me tonight?” Tommy’s question making his brother look up into the rear view mirror from the passenger seat. The thought of seeing any more of Joel in that moment only irritated you but you knew him seeing you with Tommy would bother him more and so you agreed to stay over.

Once you all walked inside you quietly sat on the couch with Tommy and watched some tv. Joel ate in the kitchen attempting to sober himself up and slowly he did. Silently watching you two as you both were distracted with the tv when the phone rang making you look up.

“I gotta pick up Sarah!” Joel called out as he hung up the phone.

“Ain’t she sleepin’ over her friends?” Tommy asked.

“That’s what I thought- I’ll be right back” you watched as he walked out and slammed the door as you stood quietly until Tommy turned to you.

“You feel ok?” He asked caressing the side of your face. You nodded just as he grabbed your face and began to kiss you. Yet, somehow you still managed to think of what Joel had said to you. It didn’t sound like him at all. The anger towards him driving you to wrap your arms around Tommy eagerly . His hands touching every part of you he could grab as he kissed your neck and began to undress you.

Joel drove tensely not liking that he left you two alone, not liking that he hadn’t apologized for what he said. His mind racing when Sarah once again called him and told him she didn’t need to be picked up. With a sigh he turned back around and headed home.

By the time Joel returned he noticed the lights were out and no one was in the living room. He walked towards the kitchen when the sound of your sudden moan made him stop in his tracks. Joel froze in place as another moan echoed from down the hall. It wasn’t the first time he overheard his brother sleeping with a woman but this time it wasn’t just any woman…it was you. Angrily he grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the counter and began to drink it. A rage he never felt before settling within him when there was a sudden silence.

Tommy gave you a pair of shorts and a t shirt of his as you stood aside watching him put on a shirt. You couldn’t believe you just had sex with him, having sex with him out of pure anger against Joel. It didn’t feel right.

“I’m gonna go use the restroom” you spoke low as he finished cleaning up before you quietly walked out.

Just as you closed the door behind you, you looked up to find Joel standing by the kitchen. You gasped in shock as he took a step forward, you noticed a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“I…I didn’t know you were here” you whispered as he looked down at you. The sight of you wearing his brothers t shirt, your bare legs in his view. He didn’t say a word but the silence was very loud. Pure pain in his eyes he took another chug of his drink, the sounds of your moans still echoing in his mind before he abruptly walked away and slammed the door loudly making you jump. Anxiously, you ran to the bathroom with tears in your eyes. You didn’t understand why you felt this way, you were suppose to be angry with him, he was the one who did wrong, not you.

“I’m so fucking stupid” you whispered to yourself just as you heard Tommy come out of the room. Trying to compose yourself you washed your face and freshened yourself up before walking back out. Not wanting to run into him again you quickly went back to the room and lay in bed.

The next morning you dreaded leaving the room, afraid to find Joel in the living room. Tommy nudged you playfully as you got dressed before kissing your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” He asked pulling you against him.

“Nothing, just tired”

“Yeah, we got in pretty late. Come on, let’s go” he took you by the hand as you took a deep breath and followed him out.

There was Joel sitting at the head of the table having breakfast when he looked up at you both, adjusting himself in his seat.

“Where’s Sarah?” Tommy asked.

“Gonna pick her up in the evening” Joel uttered low without looking at his brother. He couldn’t bare to look him in the eye, not yet.

“Ain’t you late for work” Joel took a sip from his cup as Tommy raised a brow.

“It’s Sunday- oh shit!” Tommy went running through the living room grabbing his bag.

“I forgot I told those two guys I’d meet with them today, and I gotta get the truck- fuck!” You watched as he paced around the house before grabbing his keys and going for the door.

“Tommy?” You screamed out confused.

“I’m sorry baby, it’s a big contract, have some breakfast I’ll call you as soon as I’m done”

“But Tommy-“ the door slammed leaving you and Joel alone together. Awkwardly you stood as he looked down at his paper, his broad shoulders rose high with each deep breath. He looked pissed, you didn’t know what to say.

His knee jumping under the table the more he thought about it before you finally decided to say something.

“You know, it’s not fair for you to act this way” you hesitantly spoke as he suddenly stood up grabbing his plate without looking your way and walked to the kitchen.

The loud sound of his the dishes hitting the sink making you jump before he turned to you.

“It’s not fair?” He spoke low as he walked towards you making you step back.

“I had to hear my brother fucking you last night in my own house, your moans so god damn loud I heard it the second I walked through the door” he continued walking towards you until he backed you against the wall.

“Well-“ you took a deep breath not expecting him to have been so blunt.

“You did say it was easily expected of me…you know girls like me?” Joel regretted saying that to you knowing damn well he didn’t feel that way about you.

“I know he never slept with you before last night, he told me”

“Oh great, so now that he did I guess he will report that to you and brag about it-“

“Did he make you cum?” His sudden question catching you off guard. His eyes darkened as he waited for your response.

“Joel-“

“Did he? Did he give you what you were lookin’ for?” You were speechless, your lips parting yet you couldn’t make a sound. Joel didnt take his eyes off you, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

“I’m not having this conversation with you-“

“Tell me, or are you afraid-“

“What the hell would I be afraid of?!” You yelled back just as he roughly pulled you against him and kissed you muffling your shocked whimper. His hand brushing up the back of your head grabbing a hand full of hair, pulling at it as you smacked his chest before he pulled his lips away. Still, he held you close forcing you to look up at him as he tugged at your hair. As much as you looked like you were trying to stop him, you wanted him to do anything but stop.

“What are you doing?” You whispered as he looked down at you. Joel knew right there he needed to have you, he needed to feel you with whatever time he had alone with you. Carrying you on top of the closest thing near by, he sat you on the edge of his desk and quickly began unbuttoning his pants with one hand. You didn’t stop him, wanting it just as much as him you pulled your dress up above your thighs watching as he pulled out his hard member.

He was ready for you, panting you quickly pulled down your underwear and let it fall to the floor. Joel placed himself between your legs and spit in his hand, his eyes looking into yours as you felt his fingers touch you and make sure you were ready for him. Placing his cock at your entrance he slid himself in you as you both breathed into each other’s lips. He wasted no time in moving at a steady pace pushing himself as deep as you’d take him. Grabbing onto him you kissed him passionately, moaning against his lips wanting to feel every part of him. Throwing your head back you moaned as a wave of pleasure burst within you. He kissed your neck moving his mouth slowly up against your ear.

“This is mine, you hear me?” He spoke breathlessly as he continued to fuck you. His cock filling you up more than his brothers had, stretching you with each thrust. Unexpectedly he carried you off the table, taking you to the couch. He sat down with his hands on your hips as you took over and began to ride him.

“Oh shit baby…just like that” he squeezed your ass as you moaned bouncing on him when you suddenly heard the truck pull up in the driveway.

“Oh my God Joel-“ you froze.

“No don’t stop” he slouched down on the couch and began thrusting upward.

“Joel- he’s there-“ you panted but Joel wouldn’t stop. His eyes squeezing shut as he bounced you on his cock and came inside you. Joel cried out deeply, holding you in place as his pelvis jerked beneath you.

“Oh my god” you whispered looking down at Joel, your hands on his chest balancing yourself when you heard the car door open.

“He’s coming!” Quickly jumping off Joel you ran to the bathroom as he struggled to get up catching his breath.

“Tell him I left!” You screamed from the bathroom hoping Tommy would leave fast. Joel quickly dressed himself wiping himself wit paper towels noticing how drenched in sweat he was.

“Shit” he whispered before noticing your underwear still on the floor. Quickly Joel picked it up and put it in his pocket just as the door unlocked and Tommy walked in.

“I forgot the damn paperwork” he rushed inside not even taking a look at Joel. Rushing past him, Tommy grabbed the folders off the very desk he had just finished fucking you on.

Tommy so distracted with being late to the meeting it slipped his mind to ask about where you were and he simply left. Joel waited for the truck to pull out and called for you.

“He’s gone!”

Hesitantly you came out of the bathroom still in shock with what had just happened.

“I have to go” you awkwardly tried to walk past him until he caught you by your arm slowly pulling you to him.

“Ya don’t have to-“

“No” you pushed him away.

“Why the hell did we just do that?! Tommy doesn’t deserve that”

Joel looked down at you not knowing what to say as he knew you were right.

“I guess you were right after all” you chuckled sarcastically.

“About what?” He looked down at you confused.

“Girls like me right, now I really am a whore-“

“Don’t say that” he pulled you against him hard.

“You know damn well I ain’t mean it when I said that” he whispered.

“Doesn’t matter, cause it’s true. And…and-“

“What?”

“I have to get a morning after pill now”

“I’ll get it for ya”

“No! Just leave it. Look I gotta go” you pulled your arm back and quickly ran out to your home next door.

Your thoughts running a mile a minute you rushed inside and locked your door. Heading straight for the shower you let your dress fall to the floor as you began to cry in guilt…in confusion. Never had you felt like such a shitty human being.

That same day you ran some errands and noticed Tommy had left you a couple messages. Of course, talking about the night before, telling you how he wanted you even more. His messages making you sick to your stomach you didn’t respond.

Out at the pharmacy you picked up a plan B rushing home hoping you wouldn’t run into Tommy or Joel. With your luck, just as you pulled up Tommy was right outside.

“Hey babe,” he walked up to you as you got out of the car.

“You alright? I called you a few times”

“Yeah sorry I just-“ you dropped your bag on the floor making the after pill come out of the bag. Tommy furrowed his brows as he picked it up from the ground and suddenly chuckled.

“Baby, we were careful. We used a condom, I don’t think you need to take this” your skin hot from anxiety you awkwardly took back the pill.

“Yeah…I just…I’m sometimes paranoid and I-“

“Alright, it’s ok. I understand” Tommy smiled making you feel ever shittier. Why would he expect you were taking the pill because his brother had just came in you. You smiled and began to walk to your door as he followed.

“Why don’t you come join us for dinner-“

“I don’t think I can” you responded anxiously trying to unlock your door as fast as you could.

“Please baby, I really enjoy spending time with you” he left you speechless. What the hell else could you possibly say?

“Sure” you whispered. Tommy happily leaned in and kissed you before walking back to his house.

Tommy walked in to his brother fixing something beneath the sink for the third time that week.

“I tell ya, I’ve grown tired of fixing this damn thing” Joel lay on the floor as Tommy laughed.

“Well maybe you’re not even fixing it, that’s why it’s always broken” Tommy teased.

“Haha. Hey do me a favor, the laundry’s been sitting in the washer for twenty minutes now, mind puttin’ em in the dryer for me?”

“Yeah sure” Tommy went on to walk to the laundry room as he informed his brother that you would be coming for dinner.

“You ok with y/n comin’ for dinner again right?” Joel froze and cleared his throat.

“She’s comin’?” He asked surprised that you didn’t find an excuse to not show up.

“Yeah,” Tommy began moving the wet clothes into the dryer when he noticed something sticking out of his brother’s pocket.

“Well, alright but I ain’t cookin’” Joel responded as Tommy grabbed Joel’s pants and pulled out the black material that was sticking out only to see it was the same underwear you had on the night before.

Tommy didn’t move, in disbelief he stared down at the underwear not knowing what to even think.

It couldn’t have been…at least he hoped not.

But what other explanation would there be for this?

“Tommy you hear me?” He suddenly realized his brother was still talking in the background and quickly put the underwear away in his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah I hear you” he called back out to him. Tommy had no idea how he was going to deal with the situation but he decided to first move in silence and see how the evening was going to go with you around Joel…you had no idea what was in store….

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst #tommy miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader

517 notes · View notes