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written-in-flowers · 4 months

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His Obsession: Demon!Mingi x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubi!Mingi x Fem!reader | side pairings: demonline x fem, yunho x mingi

Word count: 17k

Genre: smut, fluff, and slight angst MINORS DNI

Summary: A startling realization has YN questioning everything she knew about herself. With help from Mingi and the mysterious "Dennis", she learns quickly that she's more than a mere slave.

Tags: master/slave dynamic, enslavement, bondage, poly relationship (mmmf), animal death (a mouse), monster fucking, tentacle sex, demon fucking, bisexual sex, foursome (m/m/m/f), threesome (m/f/m?), science experiments mentioned/implied, suspension, tit fucking, dirty talk, name calling, cream pie, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of violence/torture, very slight feederism, voyeurism, auralism (slight), double penetration, rough oral sex, oral sex.

Previously on Pretty Pet > Next

***

Must he be tortured this way? Mingi thought he might lose his mind at this rate. Standing outside Seonghwa’s bedroom, he overheard everything. From the “fight” with Yeosang to you accepting the loser's punishment, Mingi stood by as always and listened. He considered sneaking inside to watch from the shadows, but knew better. Part of being a bodyguard is remaining at his post unless called elsewhere. The young lords hired him for a reason; he won't give them an excuse to fire him.

Instead, Mingi stood by the door and listened. He heard your loud moans and groans. The images your sounds created tortured him. He spent his entire day around you whether you knew it or not. Mingi stood watch as Jongho helped you bathe. He stayed outside the rooms you occupied. On the few times you went into the city, he walked right behind you. That was his place: five paces behind you. This meant he was subjected to your body. Your soft floral scent wafted over to him each time you moved; his eyes constantly landed on your ass, taking in the shape and curve of it from afar. The night he watched Hongjoong tie you up was the best thing he'd ever seen. Mingi couldn’t count how many times he stayed up late thinking of his dick in your throat.

Mingi turned his head when the door latch clicked. Yeosang walked out of the room, dazed and exhausted from his time with you. He felt compelled to ask his cousin how things went. He died to know the details. Yet, all he said was:

“Rough fight?”

“Brutal, but I won.”

“As expected.”

“It got me the weekend off too.”

“Nice and well deserved.”

Yeosang bid him good night and walked towards the stairs. Mingi pictured himself in Yeosang’s position, floaty and giddy from the entanglement. You always sound so good. He yet to find a slum girl who fucks half as good as you. The ones he came across only did it because he paid them well. You sincerely enjoyed it and that alone aroused him.

“Are they finished yet?”

Yunho came around the corner with a tray of tea and biscuits. No doubt San or Seonghwa called for food to feed their pet. Yunho, handsome and tall, was the most devoted out of all the servants. He truly did not let his emotions get the better of him or let it interrupt his work. Though Mingi noticed that you tempted even the strongest of the staff. Cold serums and syrups became regular parts of his meals since you arrived.

“I think so,” Mingi answered. “You're free to go in and attend to them.”

Yunho glanced down to his crotch to see the bump. Mingi’s cheeks flushed a light pink at the realization. He covered them with folded hands, acting natural and casual, but Yunho already saw. He stepped to him, eyes downcasted at the bulge, and he smirked.

“Again, Mingi?’

“I can't help it,” he defended. “She's…”

“I know. She sounds so pretty,” he said. He then caressed the bulge with one hand, and Mingi crumbled. “She's not the only one. How about once they're asleep, you come to my room and we take care of our problems together?”

“Oh? You're a bit compromised, Mr. Jeong?” Mingi reached out for his groin, already feeling the length hidden in his pants. “I thought the house manager controlled his urges.”

“I can hold them off,” he said in a low voice, tracing the seam of Mingi’s pants. “Unlike some demons I know…”

“You'd get hardons too if you heard her getting fucked multiple times a day.”

“I bet I would. Too bad she's a slave,” he said, “I don't think I'd be able to control myself otherwise.”

“Then let's hope they throw her in the greenhouse. I don't mind getting a bit dirty.”

“I know you don't.”

Yunho grazed his lips over Mingi’s, then stepped away to open the door. The tightness Yunho created swelled inside his boxers. An image of having both you and Yunho made him internally whimper. He'd do anything to taste you again. He couldn't wait for tomorrow at least. It'd be a Hongjoong day, and the middle brother never refused a third partner.

But Yunho’s body is equally delightful.

****

His lips always felt so good on your skin. His plush mouth started at your shoulder before making its way to the curve of your neck. His thin arms always encompass you entirely to keep you close as he kisses you. You could hear him faintly inhale your scent, taking in your aroma amongst the mess around you. He didn't care if his brothers happened to be right beside you. To Hongjoong, for those few minutes of daybreak, in the silence of the bedchamber, you are his and only his.

“Morning,” he said sleepily in your ear, kissing you just underneath the lobe. It'd become his favorite spot to kiss.

“Morning,” you croaked, your voice hoarse and body aching.

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.”

You slid from San’s arms and into Hongjoong’s completely. His smooth creamy skin glowed in the rays of light breaking through the curtains. Out of all the brothers, Hongjoong continued to be the enigma. Spending time with the brothers one at a time gave you an idea of their expectations. San expected hot meals and a clean apartment. Seonghwa liked intelligent conversation and listening to you play the piano. Hongjoong left you guessing and wondering. His schedule remained ambiguous, his preferences and kinks changed daily, and he never did the same thing twice. At times, he acted like a child, but you learned he mostly did it to annoy Seonghwa. He kept you on your toes, and you liked that. You snuggled against his chest when he pulled you in, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Laying in Seonghwa’s bed, underneath the warm blankets, you could sleep in his arms forever.

“Do you still feel any pain?” he asked, his hand gently rubbing your back.

“Nothing out of the usual,” you said, shutting your eyes and washing yourself in his touch. “Your hands are rough,” you pointed out suddenly.

“Do you not like that?”

“I do,” you assured him. The hand on your back slid down to your ass, tenderly cupping before coming upwards again. You put your hand on his chest, idly swirling patterns into the soft flesh. “It feels good on my skin.”

“I work with my hands often,” he told you, brushing hair from your face. “It comes from handling weapons and other things all day.”

You refused to learn what ‘other things’ are. “Gloves are a thing, you know.”

“I use them,” he said with a soft laugh, “But I sometimes like using my tools with bare hands. Something about breaking someone with nothing between me and them but my knives just…” you felt him shudder against you, “It gives a rush. It is the only time I feel anything, to be truthful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve done every drug and drank every drink known to man,” he began, fingers gently tracing your spine. “I have tried every stimulant possible. Nothing has yet to beat torturing the people who end up in my chair. There’s a specific type of high you get when you’re slicing someone apart, and there’s nothing they can do but scream.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because you’ve seen my dungeon,” he replied in a soft laugh.

“I’ve also been on the receiving end of your whip. Many times, I might add.”

“I’ve never done it to an extent you don’t like,” he added.

“And I imagine your victims don’t get that luxury.”

“They were terrible people in life, and it’s what they deserve now. I mean,” he scoffed, “You’re telling me that I should’ve let Hitler live out his afterlife in peace?”

“Hitler?!” your eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he shook his head. “I’m not killing single moms that I stalked in the park or beating up old people. The people who end up in the lower dungeons deserve to be there. It makes what I do a million times more enjoyable than it already is.”

“Still, it’s…”

“Gruesome? Gory? Psychopathic?”

“Sociopathic. You know what you’re doing is wrong.”

“Eh, is it, though? I’m only doing to them what they did to people in life,” he defended.

“It really is a fine line.”

“Very fine.” He then gave you a sly smirk, “Just like you.”

You giggled, letting him lean in for another kiss. Tenderness laid in every caress of his lips on yours. A hand squeezed your breast, a rough thumb passing over your nipple softly. He drew it out of you so easily. Each of them coaxed your need from you like a milkshake through a straw. You loved and hated it. Rolling onto his back, Hongjoong swung your thigh over his groin and let you straddle him. He’d remained naked throughout the night, which brought on more torture for you. Hands falling to your thighs, he gently squeezed them and grinded into you. You rested your arms on either side of his head, somewhat trapping him underneath you as you kissed.

“Grind into me,” he said in a breathy moan, encouraging you with a push of his own. “I want you to get wet for me again.”

The both of you laughed softly and you did as asked. You really took in the length and width of him underneath you. Some people noted that your ability to handle a demon’s cock was impressive. Your body must be accustomed to them, you supposed. You certainly did not complain. His mouth finding your nipple, he sucked firmly while you rolled your hips over his hardening tip. This added a sprinkle of pleasure to top what was already built within you. Soon, needy whimpers and low grunts became muffled by your kisses.

Excitement boiled in your stomach when he aligned himself with your entrance. You didn’t hesitate to slide down to the very hilt. Your body froze with the fullness he brought, only able to move because of your need for him took over. Hongjoong laid underneath you, hands on your thighs as he watched you rock your hips back and forth. Dark eyes rolled back, his head tilting into the pillow as your walls snuggly gripped him. When you started riding him up and down, you noticed another hand reach up to tease your nipple.

“Now this,” San said, voice hoarse from sleep, “I love waking up every morning.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Hongjoong groaned, teasing the other nipple. “She makes me hard without even trying all that much.”

“You started it,” you smiled, taking a particularly slow and shallow bounce. Leaning over him, you brought him in for another kiss, “I was fine laying here and talking until Yeosang came.”

“Yeosang won’t be taking you for today.” Seonghwa wrapped himself around San from behind, and you couldn’t help noticing the hand hidden under the sheet. “I gave him the weekend off. Jongho will be taking care of you for a while.”

“Though, I doubt you’ll be complaining, huh?” Hongjoong, taking both your hands, started pushing up into you. You freely let out your moans, his tip pressing into the sensitive core. “Or did you like hate fucking him?”

“I lo-loved it,” you admitted. “I loved it so much.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” said San, eyes dropping as Seonghwa’s hand worked him slowly. He reached down to your clit, and you whimpered when his thumb started teasing it. “I’d love to man handle you that way. If you can't fight off skinny little Yeosang, you’ll definitely have trouble with me.”

“I think I’d lose on purpose.”

Seeing you eyeing both him and San, Seonghwa removed the covers for you to see them pressed together. His narrow hips snapped up into San’s pert, firm ass, as he jerked him with the other hand. Hardly anything turned you on as much as watching your masters with one another. Something about their hard bodies pushed together, and strong hands roaming each other aroused you. San whimpered meekly when Seonghwa languidly stroked him in time with his thrusts. Nothing seemed off limits with your masters. Incubi, you’d learned, engaged in sexual acts regardless of gender or sex. It appeared to energize and fuel them rather than slow them down.

Soon, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had you and San on your backs and knees in the air. Your hand snaked its way to San’s raging hardon, and he did the same to you. The slow build up quickened into a dire need that all four of you shared. In that moment, in the privacy of Seonghwa’s curtained bed, it was only you and them. Nothing could penetrate through the fine velvet curtains and interrupt you. With San’s fingers teasing your clit, his cock throbbing in your hand, Hongjoong’s dick filling you and Seonghwa pounding away at San, sent you over the edge sooner than you’d liked. But, this didn’t upset your masters at all. In a few quick pushes, Hongjoong spilled his thick hot seed inside you. This heightened your climax, and you pushed down to meet him.

“You really do love being cummed in, huh?” he teased, holding you close and keeping himself deep inside you.

“Yes,” you breathed, the last few drops of arousal disappearing in your orgasm.

“Fuck, thaT’s so hot.”

You both gave breathy laughs before kissing. Next to you, San’s back arched as Seonghwa prodded his prostate dead center. You continued stroking him until the tiniest of drops reached up to his chest. His stomach tensed and covered in white streaks, he never looked better. The four of you laid in silence, your collective breathing being the only sound in the room. Any minute, you expected the curtains to open and shatter the peaceful bliss floating around. You didn't want to leave the bed, not when you had your masters with you. Their arms kept you safe even if sticky and sweaty. But, Hongjoong left you first.

“I'm starving,” he said, kissing you. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

You whined when he rolled away and left the bed. “I'm going to wash up,” San told you, “I'll be in the dining room later. You get some more sleep, if you want.”

It left you and Seonghwa alone. Even in your sleepy haze, you sensed the tension building. Not the passionate, sexual urge that usually boiled over between you, but something much more serious. Nervousness fumbled your insides, and you didn't know how to diffuse it.

“YN,” Seonghwa said softly. Not your pet name. He said your true name; you thought you imagined it at first. When you didn't respond, he turned his head, “YN.”

“Master?”

“I am giving you one chance and only one,” he said. All tenderness from before left his voice and you wondered what you'd done. “I want an honest answer. If you answer honestly, I won't be upset with you.”

“Yes, Master?”

“Are you a cambion?”

The question made you pause. “Why would you think that?”

“Answer my question.”

“I'm…I'm not, obviously. I'm human. I've always been human. I would know if I wasn’t, wouldn't I?”

Seonghwa stared at you intently. Even in the dimness of the curtained bed, you saw the crimson rimming his eyes.

“I'd have eyes like yours, wouldn't I?” you continued, “I'd have horns and a tail-”

“-Not necessarily,” he said. “You can easily take more after your human parent than your demon one.”

“Master,” a trickle of fear started down your throat to your lungs, “I'm not. I can't be. If I was, they would have known when I came here.”

“If your demon parent didn’t register you, then no, they wouldn’t. What were your parents’ names?”

“Jimmy and Andi.”

“What was Andi short for?”

“Andromeda,” you answered. “It's actually my middle name in my previous life. Relatives liked calling her ‘Big Andi’, and me ‘Little Andi’. They still did it even when I grew up-” you stopped when you saw his eyes widen. “What…Master?”

“Andromeda? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He sprung out of the bed, wrapping himself in his satin bathrobe. You saw a realization come to him, and right when you sat up, he looked to the door.

“Mingi!”

Your bodyguard came from out of the shadows, giving a head nod. “Master Seonghwa?”

“Make sure Kitten gets her bath and breakfast,” he said distractedly, tying his robe. You could tell his mind ran ahead of his body. “Tell Yunho I'll be having my breakfast in the library today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Master,” you crawled to the foot of the bed, “What's going on?”

He left you confused on the bed. You stared at the doorway in hopes he may return and explain himself. Yet, he never did. Why did your mother's name bother him? Why did he think you weren't human? You are. You can't be anything else. Rufus tried passing you off as a demon before, and they'd seen right through that. Everything he listed could be coincidence. The thought stayed with you as you slipped off the bed. Mingi made to grab your chemise for you, but you walked past him to the bathroom. As you moved around preparing your own bath, you wondered what brought up the question. You thought back to last night. Nothing appeared too out of the ordinary other than you wrestling with Yeosang, a demon. He must be mistaken, you realized sliding into the tub.

“Here.”

Mingi came up beside the tub with a small glass bottle. You recognized the bubble bath mixture Jongho usually put in the water. Looking at the water, you realized you'd forgotten to put it in.

“Oh, thanks,” you said, watching him pour a few drops into the water. Long fingers moved through the water to create small trails of bubbles for you.

“What's going on?” he asked, shaking water off his hand. “He had that determined look in his eyes.”

“He thinks I'm a cambion.”

Mingi paused, as bewildered as you felt. “He's not serious?” he finally said.

“He is,” you replied. You started cleaning yourself off, feeling the grime of last night coming off with each stroke. “He freaked when I told him my parents’ names. I don’t see the big deal. It's not like he'll find anything. I'm not a half-demon. If I was, I wouldn't be a slave. I wouldn’t have gone into a circle. I'd be living here like a normal demon, not like this.”

“You must have done something that caught his attention,” he said, taking a seat on the stool beside you. “Like, the door. Whoever did that nearly broke it off the hinges.”

“It was Yeosang,” you told him. “He's the demon, not me. He obviously got pissed at me, and blew them open without meaning to.”

“Yeosang might be a grandson of Satan, but he's an expert at controlling his emotions,” Mingi said. “Yesterday was one of the few times he’d broken it. When I saw you all torn up and limping, I thought he'd hurt you, but you said you'd both fucked instead. Yeosang can usually hold himself back; he only indulges when permitted, but there he was, forcing you into submission and making you cum like crazy.” He hesitated, watching you clean up, then he said, “I can see why Master Seonghwa might think you're not human.”

“What?”

“You…Most humans, normal ones, can't handle demon dick like you do. I know it's a weak excuse, but it's a start.”

“I've been a pleasure slave for a long time. My body is used to it.”

“Humans don't get used to it. You get trains run through you, and all you get is a bit of soreness the next morning. Come to think of it…” He let his fingers aimlessly move though the water. “Master Hongjoong’s whip doesn't leave lasting marks on you.”

“I heal quickly.”

“Your body isn't supposed to heal quickly here. Any injury you get is supposed to last much longer, getting infected or possibly worse instead of better. It's part of anybody’s punishment.”

“Then…” you found it hard to counter his point. “Then, I don't know.”

“And not to mention, if you were human, I wouldn't want to fuck your brains out every time I'm around you.” He saw you laugh at his lewd confession, and he grinned, “I mean it. There’s something that…” he let out a deep breath, eyes free to scan your naked chest, “Makes it hard to resist you.”

“It’s not me. It’s your preference for humans over other demons. I don’t get why you like us anyways,” you said. “Humans aren’t as beautiful or sexual as succubi or incubi. We’re not, you know, sex personified.”

“They might not be, but you are,” he replied. “The humans that have come through here aren’t able to handle living here. Children born from Prince Asmodeus have incredibly high sex drives,” he laughed softly, “They can fuck multiple times a day and feel nothing. You might get a bit weary, but that must be the human in you. I’ve heard you, YN,” he let his fingers linger over towards you, “You love dick…” you gasped when his fingers grazed up your collarbone to your neck. “You seek it out sometimes.”

“I do not,” you laughed, letting him bring you closer by the back of your neck. “It seeks me out.”

“But you take it,” he said, voice low between you. His eyes fell down to your lips, a longing filling his eyes, “Hard and long and as many times as you could get. You have one orgasm, and you want more.”

“Orgasms are great,” you said simply. “They’re like cookies. You eat one, and you want a second.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Giving him a smirk, you stood up from the water. Your body soaking wet, you let Mingi take a good look at you before stepping out of the tub. “Do you mind getting me a towel? I always forget to keep it near me.”

Mingi went to the shelves of towels and toiletries, and brought you a large fluffy towel. Rather than hand it to you, he wrapped you in it snugly. You let him dry you himself, enjoying his hands on your body. The arousal he stirred became nearly intoxicating. It wasn’t your fault you lived in a house full of horny incubi. If they didn’t want to sleep with you, they wouldn’t. If you didn’t want it, you’d push them away when they tried. Being with one of the servants or one of your masters was a regular part of your routine. It became your favorite part of the day. You knew you should have a little bit of self-control, but that didn’t exist here. Not when Mingi slowly moved down your body, thorough with his drying. Biting the inside of your lip, you held back a whimper when he brushed lightly over your sex.

Alright, you loved sex, so what? That didn’t make you a cambion. Loads of people had copious amounts of sex every day. You knew you’d done it plenty in your previous life and in your new afterlife. You simply had more stamina and energy. It didn’t mean anything.

Mingi delicately moved the towel down your thighs to your legs and feet. He didn’t spend much time there, since he easily came back up. Your pussy clenched when his thumbs pressed against your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart. You reached down to your sex, and rubbed it in circles inches from his face. Mingi’s mouth hung open when two fingers pushed your lips apart to reveal your hard clit.

“See?” he said, looking up at you, “A regular human wouldn’t be so eager to fuck again.”

“You started it,” you accused, wetting two fingers with your mouth and returning to your touching.

“And you have to finish it, right?”

“Unless you’d rather I didn’t?” you stopped touching yourself, despite your body’s protest. “I can go about my day just as easily,” you picked up a bathrobe hanging by the door, “Without a single care.”

“Tease,” he hissed, eyes focused on your body.

You laughed at his disappointment, and walked out of the bathroom. Hongjoong didn’t like you dressed, so you walked right to his personal dining room down the hall in his own quarters. He sat on a high backed chair at the head of the table. He looked up from his plate when you approached. Without a word, you untied your robe and hung it by the door. Hongjoong’s eyes scanned over your body walking over to him. Before you could reach your seat, Hongjoong pulled you onto his lap and wrapped an arm around you.

“You're sitting here,” he declared, snapping his fingers for a maid. “I have great plans for us today.”

“Such as?”

The maid placed a rice bowl with an egg and sliced beef on top. Hongjoong mixed it with a pair of chopsticks, then held it to your mouth. You ate the mixture, enjoying something more filling than the light meals Seonghwa and San serve. Hongjoong watched you eat, eyeing your mouth and seeing you swallow. Everything. Anything. Despite what he told you, there appeared to be very few limits to your master's kinks. He fed you again, and you ate normally rather than put a seductive spin on it.

“Firstly, I'd like to take you to work with me,” he began. He poured you coffee, adding your preferred cream and sugar, “I think it'd be good for you to see where I work. You'll get a better sense of what I do, and its importance.”

“Do I have to? I'd rather keep my food in my stomach today.”

He laughed, dabbing your mouth, “Yes, sweetheart. I feel I hardly spend any time with you because I'm always working. I don't want you to think I'm avoiding you.”

“I don't think so. I know you're busy.”

“But I still want to be with you,” he said. He held your coffee cup as you drank, “And then I thought we would go into the city together. The nicer part, not the slum areas, of course.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. I told Seonghwa you need to stretch your legs outside the house. You should see the world outside the little errands San has you do. There's so much more out there.” He fed you another mouthful of rice, and watched you eat. Unlike others, even when aroused, Hongjoong kept himself together. “Besides, I want to fuck you in other places too.”

You kissed the tip of his nose, “Of course, you do.”

He laughed, “I've told you how irresistible you are. It's pure torture. You're the slave, but here I am completely enthralled by you.” He kissed along your jawline, “It's vastly unfair. I want my money back.”

“You didn't pay for me,” you laughed.

“Then I want a replacement,” he joked, kissing down your neck. “How am I supposed to focus on my work when I have you in the back of my mind, hm?”

“Prioritize?”

The two of you laughed before kissing again. He gave an audible sniff that curved a smile on his face. “You're wet,” he said, hunger lacing into his voice. “I can smell it. Who?”

“Mingi.”

“What did you two do?”

“Nothing. I may have teased him a bit.”

“You're so mean,” he chuckled, kissing you again. “Maybe I should leave you naked in a room with him? Let him take out that frustration you're always leaving him with.”

“As long as you watch…”

He breathed deeply before bringing you in for a kiss. He'd just snaked his tongue into your mouth when the doors opened.

Seonghwa marched into the dining room with purpose. Fear jumped into your throat at the sight of his eyes trained on you. He still wore his satin robe from the bedroom, his hair messily pushed back from his face and you're sure he hadn't bathed yet either. You gasped when you saw a knife and a small mouse in his hands. You heard its hysterical squeaking, wriggling in Seonghwa’s fist trying to escape.

“Morning to you too, Brother,” Hongjoong drawled. “Please, join us…”

“Give me your hand,” he said to you, roughly taking your wrist.

“Master!”

“Hwa! What the hell are you-Hwa!”

You yelped in pain as the blade slipped down the pad of your thumb. Seonghwa squeezed it until thick droplets of blood started spilling. He brought the mouse up to your thumb, and you saw the pure white coat stained with red. The creature wriggling in his hand, Seonghwa placed it on the table. Your stomach turned seeing the suffering animal. Reaching forward for water, you moved to relieve and clean the animal before Seonghwa snatched the glass from you. Manic squeaks and squeals slowly faded, its tiny limbs eventually coming still as the mouse fell limp. A few final breaths became very still in seconds.

“Oh no,” you frowned, allowed to draw closer. “Why would you do that?” you snapped at Seonghwa, forgetting yourself. “He was an innocent little mouse-”

“-He did exactly what I expected. He drank your blood, YN,” he cut you off. “He drank your blood and died.”

“What? That's…”

But he was right. Looking down at the table, your blood still stained its mouth. You never heard of mice dying from drinking blood. Your mind tried pulling an explanation to counter Seonghwa's theory but nothing came. The mouse sat dead next to your breakfast, eyes still open and mouth gaped. You rubbed the dried blood between your thumb and forefinger in thought. Something inside you refused to believe it. Seonghwa and Hongjoong must be playing some sort of trick on you.

“Um, okay, wow,” said Hongjoong uncomfortably. “That's interesting. Care to explain what this is all about, Seonghwa?”

“Andromeda.”

“What about her?”

“YN is her daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. Pet is a cambion, sure,” Hongjoong laughed in disbelief.

“She is.”

He withdrew a piece of paper from his robe pocket and placed it in front of you. By the frailty and faded ink, it came from one of his older books. Your mouth dropped when you saw the portrait of a young woman wearing the medieval garb of a lady. Her face so similar to yours, she kept her hair underneath a cloth held with a golden circlet. Mama. It reminded you of that one Halloween party from your childhood. You'd dressed as a fairytale princess, and you requested your mother be a queen. She'd worn something similar then too. Your head started shaking. Underneath it, Seonghwa had written over the name.

“Andromeda, daughter of Princess Lilith, botanical sorceress, Lady of Eden, 1st generation.”

Hongjoong said what you'd been thinking. “Andromeda? Our half-cousin Andromeda?” he scoffed. “No way.”

“Nobody knows what Andromeda got up to when she left. She didn't contact anyone down here,” he said. “She very easily could have married a human and had a child with them.”

“Then why didn't she register her?”

“She might not have wanted Lilith to know about her,” he replied. He turned to you, “Your mother was a demon. She was a half cousin through Lilith, our aunt. Her blood was poisonous; so poisonous it killed people in seconds. You can do that too.”

“No, I can't.”

“Then explain what just happened,” he challenged, nodding to the dead mouse. “Did the mouse eat some bad cheese? Maybe it passed out due to shock? Got sleepy? YN, so many things are strange about you. Other people around here might not have noticed, but I am starting to.”

“I'm human. I have to be,” you disagreed again. “I can't be anything else. If my mother was a demon, she wouldn't have let my dad beat her. She'd fight back. She could've killed him. My mom…” you looked down at the picture, “She was an angel. I was the bad one. Sh-She liked baking cookies and knitting. She read me bedtime stories, looked after me when I was sick, made me lunch, watched movies with me and took me everywhere with her. My mama wasn't a demon. Demons are cruel and mean. My mama was a sweetheart, the nicest woman you'd ever meet. If she were a demon, she wouldn't have…”

Your throat closed up and you stopped speaking. You tried finding the lie in your memories. You might have missed it in a passing moment; she may have tried telling you and you ignored her. Mama never kept secrets from you. You held her photo in your hands. Her face bloomed in the forefront of your mind. Not the face of a demon, but of an angel. You pictured that face with a busted lip, or a black eye, sitting by your bed to check your temperature. You saw her in the backyard garden, gently touching the flowers as they bloomed. She’d admire them on her fingertips. You remembered one daisy blooming right in her palm.

“She was,” said Seonghwa, breaking into your thoughts. “There are too many similarities to ignore.”

Hongjoong touched your braid, letting it wrap around one of his fingers. “I’ve never fucked a second-cousin before…” he said lustfully, “Sounds hot.”

“Hongjoong, please,” Seonghwa said sharply. “Kitten, there is one more thing I’d like to test.”

“Because using my blood to kill a little mouse isn’t good enough?”

“A real scientist doesn’t base their hypothesis on a single test,” he said. He stood up straight and said, “I want to take you to the greenhouse.”

“What? No!” Hongjoong protested, “The greenhouse is for the other servants and slaves, not Pet.”

“Dennis is the only thing that can prove the other part of my theory.”

“No,” Hongjoong said more strongly. “Dennis will devour her.”

“No, he won’t. She has demon blood. She has Andromeda’s blood in her veins. If anything, he’ll love her.”

“Seonghwa, no,” he shook his head. “It's my day with her and we already have plans.”

“Your plans will have to wait. This is important.”

“And who exactly are you to be ordering her around on my day?”

“The eldest son of Prince Asmodeus, The Duke of Lust, a Lord of Depravity and Master of this house,” he retorted firmly, anger flaring in his eyes. “You can skip work and go with her if you want. You can be the heroic knight to her damsel in distress.” Seonghwa looked down at you, cupping your chin gently, “This is really important. If you’re an unregistered cambion, we need to fix it before anyone else finds out.”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because it means you’re not a slave.”

The words took you by surprise. “But, I’ve seen cambion slaves before?”

“They’re there by choice or circumstance,” he shrugged. “Cambions live freely here, and can live well depending on how high they are in the food chain. If someone found out you lived here, we'd all be in serious trouble.”

“Pfft, what kind of trouble? You guys are nobility. It's not like you'd get thrown into prison or anything.”

“We would,” said Hongjoong, serious as he gazed at Seonghwa. “Having an unregistered cambion in your house is almost like having kidnapped someone. Since we stole you rather than paid for you, they'll think we kidnapped you.”

“Obviously with a little look in my head, they'll see that's not true.”

“They won't care. San…” he sighed defeatedly, rubbing a temple. “He shouldn't have killed him.”

“Is murder illegal around here?”

“If it's demon on demon crime, yes,” he said. “Just because we're in Hell doesn't mean there aren't rules or laws in place. How else would our society keep going without it?”

“A lot of things would come out if the wrong person found out about you,” Seonghwa said. “I have to fix this. If I get down to the registration office now, I can head this off.”

“They'll ask about her.”

“Jackson is there,” he said. “He's head of the registration department. He'll help me out with a bit of money.” He quickly pecked your lips. “I'll see you tonight, Kitten.”

“This greenhouse sounds pretty unsafe,” you said anxiously.

“Nonsense. You’ll have me, Hongjoong and Mingi with you.”

“No, you’re not going to inject yourself into my day with Pet,” Hongjoong said firmly, putting his arms around you. “You go sit in someone’s head and learn all the terrible things they’ve done. Pet and I will be going to the dungeons like I’ve planned.”

“Hongjoong-”

“-You can do your little experiment on your own day with her. I honestly do not care either way if she is a cambion or not. She’s still going to be my sweet pet,” he said, taking a drink of wine. “It only seems to matter to you, so do it on your own time.”

“As the eldest-”

“-Take your age and shove it up your ass, Hwa.”

“Don’t make me drill a hole in your head. We’d hate for you to lose any brain cells still left to you-”

“-Try it then, pretty boy-”

“-Hey, have you guys seen the mouse I had in this trap?” San came through the door holding a small metal box. Too distracted by trying to peek inside, he didn’t notice his brothers glaring at one another. “I was going to give it to the hellcat that keeps sniffing around the scullery door.” He looked up and saw you first. He gave a soft smile, “Well, don’t you look pretty like that? Maybe we should keep you naked all the time.” Then he saw the mouse next to your plate and frowned, “Aw, man. Who killed it?”

“YN did, technically,” said Seonghwa, still staring at Hongjoong. “She has poisonous blood.”

San let out a soft laugh, “Ridiculous. If that were true, we’d all be dead by now.”

“We never drank enough. This mouse, however, drank plenty.”

San came over to poke the dead animal. “I guess that hellcat will have to eat scraps again.” He looked at Seonghwa again, then at Hongjoong, “Have you two been arguing again?”

“Seonghwa wants YN to go to the greenhouse and see if Dennis will eat her.”

“What?” San’s eyes opened wide, “Seonghwa, we can’t do that. She’s a human. Dennis will devour her.”

“He won’t,” Seonghwa said confidently. “If she’s anything like her mother, and if this mouse isn’t already an indication, Dennis won’t do anything to seriously harm her.”

“Okay, yes, the mouse thing is weird,” San agreed, “But taking her there? Damnit, Seonghwa, even I don’t want to go there and I’m the best with swords.”

“And I prefer to keep my head in tact, thank you very much,” added Hongjoong. “Pet is coming with me to the dungeons. You can go with her another time.”

“If anyone should go, it should be Seonghwa,” said San. “They won’t harm him. He made them.”

“No, they won’t,” said Seonghwa, “Which is why she is safe if she goes with me.”

“And you can do that on your own day with Pet. I am taking her with me, and that’s final,” Hongjoong concluded.

“He does have a point, Brother,” San leaned towards Seonghwa, who stewed in his resentment, “Whatever weird experiment you have planned can always wait. Hongjoong doesn’t get to be around Darling all that much. He does work a lot more than either of us.”

“Thank you, Sannie,” said Hongjoong.

“Besides, you'll need to register her as soon as possible. Any experiments will keep you from getting there before they close,” San added.

Seonghwa looked at the three of you in defeat. He'd have to wait, and he hated that. “Alright, fine. I'll go to the office.”

Seonghwa turned from Hongjoong to you. Normally, his eyes would be drinking in the sight of you, but not today. He examined your face. You almost heard the wheels in his mind turning as he considered his options. The dead mouse will stay with him the rest of the day. A mind like his does not simply let things go. You gazed back at him innocently. Yes, what happened concerned you; the possibility of facing a higher punishment for it definitely worried you. Your mother’s portrait on the table burned its eyes into you from afar; her name and birth year bold and black against the worn out page. You couldn’t find a proper explanation, no matter how hard you tried. It only raised more questions for you.

“You’re not going to take her to the dungeons like that, are you?” asked San with concern.

“Of course not,” Hongjoong scoffed. “Wooyoung is waiting in her dressing room. I want her to look extra special for today. Mingi!”

When Mingi came out of the shadows, you wondered how much he'd heard. He thought you didn't know he liked creeping in the dark corners of the keep to watch over you. Your bodyguard claimed he did it as part of his job, but today is proving it's more than only work.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Pet to Wooyoung. She needs to get ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three brothers each gave you a soft kiss and farewell before you left the room. Out in the hallway, underneath the morning sunlight, you started thinking. You pictured every time you found your mother in her workroom in the flower shop or in her personal garden. Plants commonly grow in their seasons. Daffodils thrived in the spring; marigolds bloomed brighter in the summer; petunias grow best in the fall, and primrose was a winter flower. Yet, in your mother's garden, they grew regardless of the season. The herbs she used in cooking sat on the kitchen window, always bright and never wilting. You always thought she must've had an extraordinary green thumb. It never occurred to you that perhaps she might be able to control them. But, if she had poisoned blood, why did your father live so long?

“Morning, sunshine,” Wooyoung greeted you when you entered the dressing room. One of the assistants put you in your usual robe, “What’s the occasion today?”

“I’m going to the lower dungeons,” you said, not really acknowledging him as you sat at the vanity table.

“Oof, that’ll be an experience,” he laughed, moving over to a rack of winter clothes, “You’ll need to bundle up then. I’ll keep makeup minimal today.”

“He’s taking you there?” asked Mingi with surprise. “Is he insane? You shouldn’t go there.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you told him in the mirror.

“After everything going on, he wants to prance you out into the world as a slave?” Mingi continued incredulously. “He can't beat any possible allegations if he is flaunting you in front of people.”

“Allegations?” Wooyoung’s head perked up at this. Sensing gossip, he turned from the closet, “What allegations?”

“The Masters think I'm a cambion,” you answered.

Wooyoung gasped. “Shut up, no they don't!”

“They do.”

“What makes them think that?”

You told him about the dead mouse as he worked your hair into a plait. Wooyoung’s jaw dropped when you explained the portrait and her name.

“I don’t get it though,” you said when you finished. “If I had special traits or whatever, wouldn’t they have shown themselves by now?”

“I’m sure the only reason they’re revealing themselves now is because you’re around us so much,” said Mingi. “In the human world, you didn’t have any other demon relatives and your mother didn’t nurture that side of you. She might have thought you didn’t have them anyways, which would be incredibly stupid of her to believe.”

“I never showed it, so why would she think that?” you defended her. “I didn’t have anything particularly interesting about me like that. It wasn’t until I started high school and began working.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Getting what I wanted out of people was my superpower, not plants,” you stated. “I can see that my charm or manipulation of people could be a trait, but nothing else. I stopped going to my family’s flower shop when I started high school, and I lost interest in gardening with my mom. I don’t have any connection to plants like Seonghwa thinks. That’s dumb, and weird.”

“Not really,” said Wooyoung.

And untrue. Your mother let you help her a lot of the time. Being surrounded by the various flora, it became a home away from home. The only time you avoided it was when your father ran the store. He always disturbed your peace by forcing you to work the front counter or stock other merchandise. Mama let you handle the plants. It felt therapeutic. You only stopped going because you wanted to be cool. Cool people didn’t work.

That must have killed her.

You were such an asshole.

“Damnit,” Wooyoung’s sharp curse cut through your thoughts, “They didn’t leave the makeup kit. How could they forget that? It’s the most important part! How can I make you glow when you’re lifeless and dull?”

“Um, wow.”

“Hush, you know what I mean. I can’t make you sparkle without the right tools,” he sighed irritably to himself. “I’ll be back. You stay here.”

Alone with Mingi, you continued staring at yourself in the mirror. ’Botanical Sorceress’ the paper had read. The longer you thought about it, the harder ignoring it became. You pictured your mother sitting in a room full of plant life. She’d feed off them while they fed off her. But, you couldn’t wrap your head around your father. Did he know and that’s why he hated her? Your mother claimed he loved her, but you found that hard to believe. You couldn’t recall a single time your father showed her any softness. You recalled a time he chastised her for not bringing him take out at work; a thing he could’ve easily have done himself. When she walked away in tears, you decided then you’d never be her. If she had demonic abilities, why did she let that happen?

“You really do look like her though,” Mingi cut through your thoughts. “I can see the family resemblance.”

“I think that’s why he hated me.”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“You think he hated you because you looked like her?”

“Or maybe because he knew what I was, and never said anything. I can’t imagine him being okay with marrying a demon,” you said, playing with the end of your braid. “If she never told me, I doubt she told him.”

“Maybe if she had, he would have run away and she would've raised you on her own. That's what happened with my parents. My father found out about me and ran tail to the living world."

“Seems demons aren’t so different from humans after all.”

“I’ll be one of the few to admit that,” he nodded. “A lot of our society down here mimics the human world. Your currency and class systems; your government, your culture, languages, clothes, and forms of entertainment. My mother used to tell me how much different Inferno used to be before humans. You’d think we were primitive.”

“I’ve noticed it before, especially with the masters’ different styles. It’s so…”

“Exaggerated?”

“A bit.”

He walked over to you, hands on your shoulders. “Now that you’re a cambion,” he said, “You won’t be forced to wear and live how they want. You could have all this crap thrown out,” he gestured to the different closets around the room, “And have your own clothes made. You’d get to do what you wanted…” his eyes looked down to your exposed chest, “And who you wanted.”

You giggled at his sudden change in tone. “Oh, what, Mingi? You’d be my pleasure slave instead of my bodyguard?”

“I wouldn’t mind the demotion,” he smirked, hands sliding down your shoulders. Your body tensed when he kissed your neck. “It’d be worth it if I get to fuck you as often as possible.”

You turned in your seat to face him, seeing the lust filling his eyes. Tracing his sharp jawline with your fingers, you stopped at his chin to run your thumb under his lower lip. Bringing him in for a kiss, you kept it light with your lips hardly touching his own. He hummed when your tongue flicked over his lips, and darted his tongue out to meet yours. Standing up, you guided him backwards to a couch where you stood between his knees. Mingi’s hands ran up and down your hips and thighs as you slowly began swaying and whirling your hips. Seeing his mesmerized stare, you felt your sex tightening from arousal. He made it too easy to tease him.

“Fuck…” he breathed when you sat right on his crotch.

His bulge pressing to your pussy, you let out soft moans that made him throb. You felt his hand slide up your spine to your shoulder while the other went down to your ass. A light tap to your cheek brought forth a whine. Right as he grew comfortable with your grinding, you stood up to straddle facing him. You leaned forward to kiss him, the both of you moaning as you grinded into one another. Mingi’s large hands felt rough against your soft skin, much like Hongjoong’s. His full lips kissing down your neck to your breast raised the heat between you. A sudden flare of need burned between your thighs. The outline of his dick grew against his slacks, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into it.

“Where do you want it, Mistress?” he moaned into your neck, smacking your ass the way you liked.

“My pussy,” you answered breathily. “I want your dick stretching my tight pussy.”

Mingi had just laid you down when a cough interrupted you. Yunho stood in the doorway, doing his best to ignore your position as he spoke.

“Wooyoung had to rush back to his shop,” he said, “So, you’ll have to get dressed on your own.”

“She can do that later,” huffed Mingi, who went back to grinding into you as he massaged your breasts. “She’s busy.”

“Master Hongjoong is almost finished getting dressed. He’ll be waiting for her in the car.”

“It won’t take long.”

“Mingi,” Yunho said his name sternly.

You saw the frustration pent up in Mingi’s clenched jaw. You kissed him briefly, putting your hand over his, “We can always do this later.”

“But, I want you now,” he groaned, kissing you deeply. “I want to fuck you, Mistress. Please, tell him to leave so I can pound you into the couch.”

“Mingi,” you giggled, “Go.”

“Can I have a taste at least?” he pouted, brown eyes big and pleading. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Mingi.”

“Fine,” he huffed, kneeling up and taking a deep breath. “Yunho’s right-”

“-Yes, I am-”

“-Master Hongjoong will throw a fit if you’re late,” he said, sliding off the couch. “I suggest bundling up for the lower dungeons. The ninth circle is the coldest point in Hell.”

“Okay.”

His eyes traveled down your body to your bare sex. You couldn’t help yourself from spreading your thighs to show him your wetness. Teasing Mingi became amusing. He gulped thickly at the sight of you gently rolling your fingers around your clit. The snap of fingers broke his concentration, and you saw that Yunho conjured a silver platter with two small crystal vials. He brought them over to you and Mingi.

“Cold serum,” he answered your questionable faces, “None of us has time for sex. There’s more important things going on. Drink.”

Mingi begrudgingly opened one and let the drops touch his tongue. You copied him, shuddering at the chilly, clear liquid dropping into your mouth. It reminded you of cough medicine with its bitter, sharp taste. The heat in your cheeks immediately cooled down. You almost felt steam coming out of your ears, and the thumping of your heart slowing down. The juices covering your sex dried up almost instantly, turning into an uncomfortable crust that you couldn't ignore. Any arousal you had disappeared in seconds.

“Good. Mingi, get some breakfast,” Yunho ordered, “And YN, you should finish getting dressed. You both have a long day ahead of you, so there's no time for delay.”

Mingi, palming his softening bulge, gave you another longing glance before going out the doors. Alone once more, you moved to clean the mess between your legs.

“Mistress…Come to me, please. I suffer through this hunger alone.”

You whipped around, expecting Wooyoung or Mingi to have returned. Except, you only saw the open doorway. Your throat closed up on the words you tried to say.

“I must feed….I need your essence….”

The low hiss sound from somewhere outside the dressing room. Picking up your robe, you walked back into your bedroom. You stared around for the source of the voice, but didn't see anyone.

“Mingi?”

“Mistress….”

You followed the voice out into the hallway. Hongjoong waited for you downstairs, so you knew you shouldn't take long. But, your feet continued moving as curiosity got the better of you. The voice continued whispering, and you swore it sounded from inside your head. You hesitated at the top landing of the stairs. Staring down into the carpeted staircase, your ears strained to locate the sound. A part of you said you should go back. You should wait for Wooyoung, and then go to work with Hongjoong. He’ll be extremely upset if you make him late. He’ll use it as an excuse to “punish” you. But, that strange desire pulled you down the stairs. Instinct led you through the house into the garden. Here, the voice became louder. Walking past flower beds and grassy hedges, the strange voice came out amongst the leaves and petals. You almost thought it might be coming from the plants themselves.

Walking through the garden, your body relaxed to the sunshine. The cold serum you'd drunk melted away from your bones. Something pulled you further down the winding paths, and towards an archway leading off from the garden. Apprehension kept you by the entrance. Down the long footpath, you saw glimpses of a building in the distance. The greenhouse. The voice, like a call in the wind, stayed firmly in your head. You must go further. You took tentative steps across the cool earth underneath you. Your robe felt stifling in the humid air, but you didn’t dare take it off in the woodland area. The sounds of birds came from somewhere above you, with other animals likely hiding in the bushes and shrubs. Last thing you wanted were bug bites.

A tall structure made of iron and glass stood at the end in a circular clearing. Stained glass windows lined the wide dome ceiling, with iron details weaving intricate patterns on the frosted glass walls. The plants lining the bottom seemed healthier than those of the natural woods. You found their bright citrus colors strange for the current season. Their stems grew against the outer walls, blossoms on the vines covering the front door. You wondered how you could get through when the withered branches slid aside. Taking a deep breath, you turned the knob.

The place came alive the moment you entered. Every lungful breathed life back into you. Being amongst the lush greenery and the hard packed dirt brought you back to a simpler time. You gazed around to see the place covered from top to bottom in varieties of plants. Without saying anything, you walked over to a pink and purple hibiscus hanging out of its pot. Melancholy came over you seeing its withering petals and drooping stem. It looked so alone and sad. Holding it up by your fingertips, you imagined it bright and blossoming as it should.

And then it did. The hibiscus’s lank, wrinkled petals gradually became colorful and healthy; its limp stems and leaves turned into a strong dark green. It might as well have always been this way. A certain kind of strength radiated from the delicate plants. You gasped and let go of it, but you couldn’t let go of the strangeness.

“Mistress…”

You turned your head to find the voice, but didn’t see anyone there. Walking to a planter of yellow flowers, you noticed their strange petal formation. They resembled Canterbury bells, only these had their petals upright. When you took a closer look, they resembled lips.

“You're cute,” you grinned, finding the strange flower more endearing than off putting.

Leaning down, you tried getting a sniff before one of them tilted towards you. You’d moved back, seeing the bright yellow petals opening and closing like puckering lips. The others around it began doing the same, all of them vying for your attention. You heard their cooing and sniffing, and you closely examined one of them. They smelled like honeysuckle, or some relation to it. The most curious one brushed itself to your cheek, humming delightfully as you let it “kiss” you.

“Must feed…”

“Is that you guys?” you stupidly asked the sentient flowers.

They shook their heads. Flowers do not shake their heads. You gasped when something soft bumped into your leg. Looking down, you saw a few of the lip-flowers poking through your robe. You giggled, their soft petals akin to real human mouths. They bumped your robe enough to open it, their petals touching your warm thighs. It sent tingles up your spine, and you let out a soft giggle. This should shock or scare you, yet it didn’t. It felt playful. Flirty. Fun.

“Naughty,” you said coyly. You bent down to cup one in your hand, seeing it giving you smooching motions, “Do you know where that voice is coming from?” you asked sweetly.

The yellow mouth slipped from your hand and turned towards the other end of the walkway. “Thank you.”

You actually gave it a small kiss, causing the flower to shudder with delight. Walking where the yellow-mouth indicated, you reached a wall of four leaf flowers with bright white, yellow and pink petals. Getting within a few feet of them, they ruffled and hummed. Your gut told you to keep your distance, but you couldn’t help it. Gently, you traced a finger over one of the arrow-shaped petals. The inner parts were magenta with yellow and white gradient towards the tips. The flower vibrated against your fingertips, and you giggled from the sudden shock. The sound of rustling leaves made you turn around.

“Ah!” you screamed.

Dragging its way over to you was a plant about half your height. Orange and purple petals fanned out like a lion’s mane, a long slit baring sharp teeth startled you. Thick leaves acted like arms, billowing slightly as it moved to you; it hissed through its teeth as it moved closer. Your heart thumped in your chest, and your feet went backwards to escape it. Your back hitting the wall, the other flowers vibrated. Immediately, they hummed against your skin like a body massager. Your fear shot through your throat and down into your stomach, twisting it in circles. A quick flash of what this plant might do came across you, and you nearly screamed. The sluggish plant came right up to you, its head pointed up as it reached out.

“Mistress…”

“Huh?”

The plant moved away to let you step from the wall. Then, it started moving towards an archway of flowers. The foreboding darkness beyond should have been a clue to stay behind to anyone normal. But, you are not ‘normal’, are you?

Walking away from the floral wall, you followed the walking plant. The sheltered archway ran down into the darkness, where the vegetation was thickest. As you walked through, engulfed in the muggy atmosphere, your nerves began settling down. It felt like home. Your hands went to the tie of your robe, and the smooth fabric slid off your shoulders. Your bare skin exposed to the elements, you felt rejuvenated. Your skin absorbed whatever floated in the air, basking in it.

In a secluded part of the greenhouse, you saw several orange and white flowers growing from the walls. Their petals opened up upon your arrival, their stigmas resembling darts. You saw their heads turning as you walked by, like snipers following their target.

“Mistress…”

It sat against the back wall. Thick vines kept it stuck to the walls and floors around it, with large petals as big as small beds underneath it. Its petals resembled those of a lotus, pointed but deep shades of orange instead of pink. It had no visible eye sockets, but you still felt it watching you. Vines sticking from behind the petals stayed upright, curved as if waiting to reach out and grab you. In the center of the petals, you saw a vertical slit with pointed teeth like your guide. A Venus Flytrap mixed with a lotus flower. Dennis. The creature everyone in The Black Keep feared beyond anything else. Seeing his massive size, you understood. Dennis could likely eat an entire horse in one swallow.

“Hello, Dennis,” you said. Your greenhouse guide slumped away to a corner, where it became one with the vegetation against the wall. A child of Dennis, you guessed.

"Mistress,” Dennis said in a low hiss, “Please, I must feed. These demons and their slaves do not fulfill me.”

“And what is it you need?”

You heard more soft hissing, and out of the corner of your eye you saw something creeping along the floor. “Your essence,” he said, vines starting to coil and extend. “Your sighs and sweat. It is the only thing that sustains me. My creator gives me scraps. I wish for full meals. Please, Mistress, let me drink from you. Let me absorb you. It has been too long.”

A soft vine wrapped itself around one ankle, and your entire body froze.

****

“Whoever invented cold serum should be burned at the stake.”

Mingi leaned against the kitchen wall. With you safely sitting in the dressing room, he’d gone into the kitchen for a quick breakfast. Chewing into a breakfast wrap, he watched Yunho polishing silverware by a sideboard. The tall greed demon insisted that nobody polished Master Seonghwa’s utensils better than him. Mingi agreed. The gold forks, knives and spoons shined in the half-light. All around them, servants washed, cooked, and cleaned. He saw maids taking baskets of laundry into the scullery, and footmen walking out into the car garage with car-washing equipment. Cook, a portly demon with big horns and dark crimson skin, mumbled to himself as he prepared ingredients for lunch. The servants’ quarters and the kitchen were the busiest places in the entire keep.

“If you'd fucked her,” Yunho said, “Master Hongjoong would be late for work. He's already irritated because he has been waiting ten minutes.”

“But…” he sighed, “She feels so good.”

He laughed, “I bet.”

“I was so close, and you snatched it from me,” he grunted and threw a napkin at him. Yunho and him both shared a laugh, before the elder spoke.

“So, she's a cambion, huh?”

“Master Seonghwa says that her blood poisoned the mouse. I don’t know of any humans who can do that, do you?”

“Is that what happened?” Yunho whipped his head over to him, “Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he nodded. “I heard the whole thing from outside the doors. Master Seonghwa wanted to take her to the greenhouse, but Master Hongjoong was against it.”

“For obvious reasons. That creature devours anything and anyone who crosses its path. I remember finding Linette stumbling through the garden dazed and delirious.”

“Did she tell you what happened?” he asked with interest.

“She said she’d gone in there to water the plants, and she got too close to the archway,” he said, going back to polishing a fork. “She told me he fucked her senselessly. She couldn’t sit down for days.”

“How delicious.”

Mingi couldn’t help picturing you the same way. His mind went back to your first night with Hongjoong. Tears streaked down your soft cheeks, each hit causing a sob or whimper that made him incredibly hard. He had you right in his arms. He’d been minutes from having his cock deep in your throat. Then, Yunho took it away. Mingi internally groaned thinking about it. Your soft gagging, choking and sobbing would have him cumming in minutes. You’re big enough of a slut to orgasm from that alone.

“He almost ate her afterwards,” said Yunho. “She managed to get away somehow; she says she doesn’t remember.”

“Gosh, could you imagine if she really is one? She wouldn’t be a slave anymore.”

“Maybe that’s why Master Seonghwa is so worried about it,” he guessed. “If she is a cambion, then they can all be in serious trouble. Harboring an unregistered cambion is illegal.”

“I think they’re more worried about her having freedom.” Jongho stood nearby with a tray of dirty dishes. He dumped them in the sink as he said, “If she has freedom, she’s not under their control anymore; they won’t have a pleasure slave.”

“They’d have to treat her like a person,” Yunho snorted.

“Who’re we talking about?” Yeosang walked across the kitchen, munching an apple. Mingi noticed he wore a plain shirt and pajama bottoms. A day off for your main handler.

“YN. She’s a cambion,” Jongho told him, turning on the water to start rinsing dishes.

“Psh, ridiculous,” Yeosang jeered. “YN? No, they must be mistaken.”

“It’s true,” Yunho said, polishing the knives. “Master Seonghwa found evidence to prove it. He’s on his way to the registration office right now.”

“Who’s her demon parent?”

“Andromeda,” Mingi answered. “She was one of Lilith’s daughters.”

“Ah, so a cousin to our masters,” Yeosang bit into his apple, chewing it before he said, “They must be mistaken. YN is a human. She’s shown no signs of any sort of demonic ability.”

“Apparently, she killed a mouse,” said Yunho.

“How?”

“With her blood.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s true,” Mingi chimed in, “I saw the mouse myself. It had blood all over its mouth.”

Yeosang took the information quietly. He munched on his apple, leaning against one of the counters. “Hm…So, she did break the doors last night…How interesting. How could she have gotten away with this for so long? Somebody before now must’ve realized it.”

“She must’ve not been around demons,” said Yunho. “And those slum brothels are not exactly training grounds. My guess is since she’s in close quarters with multiple demons, her abilities are beginning to flourish.”

“Perhaps,” Yeosang nodded. “If her mother kept it a secret…then no, she wouldn’t have known. Master Seonghwa must be delighted,” he chuckled through his apple. Biting off a piece, he then said, “Imagine the experiments he’ll put her through. It’ll be intriguing to see. I hope he lets me sit in on them.”

“He’s taking her to the greenhouse,” said Mingi.

Yeosang’s eyes widened, “Is he now? Is that safe? Dennis can be quite ferocious if he’s hungry enough.”

“I’ll be with her,” Mingi said, “So, yes, it'll be safe.”

“When was he last fed?” asked Jongho out of curiosity. “Who was there last?”

“Charlotte,” answered Yunho, “She went last week, I believe. She still has those little marks from the yellow-mouths.”

“I quite like those,” he said. “They’re cute.”

“Yeah, if they’re just kissing your cheeks and you’re not trapped in their garden bed.”

“I like it,” Jongho shrugged. “I fell in it one time by accident, and it was a unique experience. They got my pants open and started doing that kissing thing all over my dick,” he chuckled softly, washing a dish in the soapy water. “Psh, trust me, boys. If you like overstimulation, the yellow-mouths are the way to go.”

“Sorry, I’m not very eager to fuck plants,” Yeosang rolled his eyes and bit his apple.

“Imagine YN fucking them,” Mingi sighed, finishing his wrap and tossing the paper aside. “She’d look so pretty in the dirt with them all over her.”

“Please, don’t start,” laughed Jongho. “I already have to watch the woman bathe and dress all the time. Don’t give me any more wet dreams.”

“All she gives me are wet dreams,” sighed Mingi.

He thought about the possibilities. If you no longer wore a collar, that meant he could have you. You’d be a Mistress, and they’d all be at your mercy. He’d gladly give up his blades and armor to be your personal pleasure slave.

“Very. I somewhat hope Master Seonghwa is right,” Yunho admitted, picking up a wine glass next. He started wiping the metal stem, “If they take away her slave status and she’s given a title, she wouldn’t have to bind herself to anyone.”

Mingi snorted, “And you could keep watching her through your little peepholes.”

“Don’t act as if you don’t listen at the doors,” Yunho smirked knowingly. “I’ve seen the boners you get standing there just listening.”

“You should see the ones I get helping her bathe,” Jongho said, putting the last dish on the drying rack. Grabbing a dish towel, he wiped his hands and arms as he said, “I’m just saying: if she becomes a Mistress to the house, I’ll turn in my gloves and put on a collar for her.”

The rest of them laughed. Yunho moved to speak before the nearby door burst open. They all looked to see Wooyoung, eyes widened and terror in his face.

“Mingi, Mingi!” Wooyoung hurried over to him, “YN’s missing.”

“What?” he stood up straight, his body going into work-mode. “How? When?”

“I left her in the dressing room to grab my makeup kit from my shop, right? When I came back, she was not there!”

That did not sound like you. Mingi admitted you certainly understood your place in the house. You knew leaving your room would hold everything up; it’d hold up Hongjoong, who was not the patient brother. Mingi turned to the window beside him. The kitchen and scullery had a small courtyard that led out into the gardens beyond.

The outskirts of Inferno were lush and full of life, albeit a little hot at night. But, the picturesque landscape hid all kinds of ferocious beasts meant to stalk and attack lost souls. From what he always understood, people who land in Hell are met with a dense forest. They have to survive the everchanging elements, the predators in the trees and bushes, and try to avoid any sentient carnivorous flora. If they reach Inferno’s gates, they’re led into a whole new level of terror. Mingi knew he personally avoided going into the woods if he could help it. You’d begun embracing the seclusion and tranquility of the family gardens. If you’re anywhere, the garden is a good start.

“You all search the house and the grounds,” he said. “I’ll look in the gardens. She likes going there.”

“But why go there now?”

“Beats me,” he shrugged. “I’ll ask when I find her.”

He hurriedly walked out of the kitchen, faintly hearing Yunho call attention to the others. You knew better than to wander off on your own. Not only did his masters worry you might run away, but the woods were dangerous. Your safety is his sole responsibility. He is your bodyguard. If something happened to you under his watch, the masters would make him regret it. Walking through the straw-ladened courtyard, he saw servants already rushing to commence their search. He went past them to the garden doors, cutting through hedges and bushes.

“YN!” he called out in the thick of the garden hedges. “YN, where are you?!”

No response. He wouldn’t forgive himself if you’d been attacked. He hated the idea of some vicious predator springing out of the bushes. Humans do not heal in Hell. Your injuries would fester and bleed out; being unable to really “die”, you’ll suffer until a demon takes mercy on you. Mingi pushed through bushes and hedges. He peeked over stone walls, checked inside the various enclosures and fountain areas. He didn’t see you anywhere. A terrible thought then occurred to him: the greenhouse. Maybe you stupidly decided to test Seonghwa’s theory on your own. A sickening feeling filled his insides, and injected more adrenaline into his veins. Mingi snapped his fingers, and teleported all the way across to the forest exit. There, he caught a whiff of cherry blossoms.

Your sweet scent carried downwind from the dark path. Mingi unsheathed a knife from his belt and cautiously stepped inside. More sweet blossoms caught in his nose, and usually it made him dizzy. There’d been times where that floral fragrance lured him to you. Whenever he walked behind you, your hips swished it over to him. It’d make him long for closeness. He’d think about kneeling before you, kissing your thighs and hips as he groped you. Then, he’d slide his tongue over your sweet sex. Mingi shook his head when he reached the greenhouse door. The vines normally cutting people off remained to the side, allowing him to open the door with ease.

The plants always made him uneasy. Erotic creations of Seonghwa’s, each flower had its own purpose. The little yellow-mouths sucked and kissed to madness. The vibrating flowers, he knew, tickled someone until they pissed themselves or passed out from laughter. He saw a large orange and blue flower sitting amongst a bunch of smaller bulbous flowers. The plant wiggled a stamen from the center when he passed, asking for him to sit on it. He knew if he did, he’d never get out.

Mingi hoped you hadn’t gone near the darker parts of the conservatory. There, Seonghwa created the deadlier plants: snake-like vines that trapped someone to a wall while they violated them; several purple flowers with vines that could entrap and suffocate their prey. He shuddered thinking of you becoming one of the cocooned victims of the Seonghwa’s spider-like plants.

“Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes! Just like that! Fuck!”

He recognized your moans right away. It came from the darkened archway, and his stomach dropped. Dennis’s lair. Mingi held his knife tightly, then made his way into the darkness. He heard your heavy breathing, occasionally muffled or disrupted in between groans. Mingi gulped thickly imagining what he might find. A soft pressure under his boots made Mingi look down. Your robe, pure white with floral stitching, laid on the ground. His entire body shuddered. His palms started sweating, and he swallowed the thickness of his throat when he finally found you.

Lifted off the ground by four vines, two of them kept your legs open as a fifth and sixth focused on your center. Your back contorted to the pleasure the vines created, writhing in their grasp as they “fed” off you. Mingi tucked away his knife, his jaw dropping when a thick vine snaked its way between your parted lips. The sensual sounds you made told him you’d sucked it plenty of times already. He took in the shape of your lips and the hollowness of your cheeks. By the lewd gagging, he knew Dennis sunk himself deep in your throat. That familiar warmth the serum froze off slowly returned. Mingi moved further into the room, staying on the fringes and keeping his eyes on you. When he got a look at the front, he salivated.

One yellow-mouthed flower focused on your hard clit, no doubt kissing and sucking the erect nub. Two tendrils, about as thick as any demon, shoved in and out of your wet holes with ease. A creamy white substance oozed each time one of them withdrew, and Mingi audibly groaned. He loved picturing your pussy after the masters finished with you. He thought of them smearing their seeds all over your tight walls; he pictured himself filling you until his cum gushed back out. When one tentacle pulled out, it smeared your throbbing clit with more fluids for the yellow-mouth to feed off. He groaned again, eager to taste it himself.

Unbuckling himself, Mingi stuck his hand in his pants. He watched two thin vines wrap around your breasts. They bounced in the plant’s grasp, your nipples hardening when the tips teased them. Mingi breathed deeply seeing another slide between your tits, up your throat and into your mouth again. The one that it replaced slipped behind you, and Mingi groaned, picturing what might be happening. Your stifled moans went in time with the two inside you; you stayed helpless and limp in their grasp, surrendering yourself to them. Taking hold of himself, Mingi started in slow strokes. He wanted to be deep in your mouth; your tongue tracing the thick veins. He’d give anything to have at least that pleasure.

“Mingi?”

His name came out in a surprised pant, and he looked to see you staring at him. Dennis, however, did not stop. He only slowed down enough for you to speak properly.

“YN…I was looking for you…” he said, still idly pumping and focused on the drool on your chin. “I was…Wow…”

“You enjoy watching, don’t you?” you asked lustfully, whirling your hips around to get more inside you.

“I do,” he moaned, “But you know that. You’re such a fucking…”

“A what?”

The vines holding pushed you upright, almost into a sitting position, and helped you bounce on the vines instead. You pushed your chest out for him, making sure they moved each time you did. Your moans became louder; you whimpered and pleaded with him. He loved seeing you like this. He loved seeing you completely bare, writhing from pleasure and needing more of it. Mingi thought of every time he listened to his masters bed you; he constantly wished it were him making you cum that way. San’s comment of keeping you naked all the time haunted him. He wouldn’t be able to do his job if you walked naked freely. He suffered from his visions enough.

“A tease,” he growled, tugging down his pants to pull himself out. Mingi gritted his teeth when you stuck out your tongue for another vine to fill it. “God, you’re a fucking tease. You know how badly I want to fuck you, and you constantly dangle yourself in front of me.”

“I thought you liked that?” you played dumb, letting him see you drool over the quivering vine.

“I do,” he said, “If I’m the one who gets to fuck you.”

“And it’s sad when you can’t, huh?” you licked up the throbbing vine, keeping your eyes on him.

“It is. That's all I think about when I see you.”

“What do you think about?” you grabbed it with both hands and stroked it while you sucked the tip.

“Get the fuck over here and I'll show you.”

He stormed over and nearly yanked you out of the plant’s grasp. Falling into his arms, Mingi put you on the soft-packed earth, straddled your middle, and forced your face to his cock. A rush of relief came over him the moment your tongue touched his thick head. Your scent captivated him. He forgot all reason and sense as he sunk further. He didn’t start slow. His primal instincts took over, and he held you by the hair. Every dirty thought he had about you sprung to life before his eyes. Each time he thought of sneaking into your bed came to his head. You’d teased him far too long. When creepers pushed your breasts together, he stuck himself between them.

“Keep your tongue out,” he ordered, pumping himself with your tits, “Keep it out.”

You did for a moment, but you only flicked him. Mingi trembled each time his head reached your tongue. The gentle brushes along with your supple tits had him aching for a release. It grew even higher when more yellow-mouth flowers sprung up through the vines. Mingi quickened his pace when their airy kisses touched along his pelvis and inner thighs. He groaned deeply once they reached his balls. Unlike a human mouth, they lightly tickled him in every stroke. When he heard your own moans grow louder, he figured Dennis’s tentacles went back inside you.

“Fuck…YN,” he breathed your name, watching you work him so easily. The intense pleasure built up in his balls, which only became more sensitive. He started pinching your nipples, making you moan on his cock. “Such a pretty slut,” he growled, pushing his hips forward into your face, “I guess we know the truth now, huh? Maybe you’re not a weak little human after all.”

He chuckled through gritted teeth when he felt tiny creepers slide up his torso to his buttoned shirt. The thin ivy popped off his buttons to flick his nipples. For some reason, he thought you might be making them do that. Mingi didn’t complain. He straddled your chest more, shoving himself in your greedy mouth. Streams of controlled moans came out as you sucked him more firmly, letting him dip into your throat every other thrust. When he withdrew, tapping his cock on your pretty face, you stuck out your tongue to lick his wet length. The vines inside you had you whining pathetically beneath him. He saw your hips moving up and down as you chased down more pleasure. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight before now.

“You’re going to pay for it,” he grunted, “Pay for every time you flaunted yourself in front of me…For every time you made me hard and walked away…You’re a fucking slut, and you’re going to be treated like one.”

What you said when he pulled out fueled him:

“Then do it.”

Releasing you, Mingi and Dennis let you roll onto your front. The fact that you so eagerly spread yourself and lifted your hips amused and pleased him. He watched the fat vine refill your gaped ass while a thinner one teased your clit slightly. That left your pussy all for him. He didn’t care if his master whipped him for it. He didn’t care if they slit his throat. He’d fuck your cunt like it was his. Your body sinking into the dirt, he knew any sweat or fluids replenished the ever-hungry plant behind you. It was how he fed, after all.

“How many times has he made you cum, huh?” he said in your ear, sliding off his pants completely before burying himself deep in you. “One? Two?”

“Two!” you gasped when he suddenly filled you. He saw your fingers curl up in the soil, and tiny sprouts grow around them. “Just two!”

“Only two?” he slapped your ass, watching it ripple each time he met it. He watched Dennis fuck your ass in time with his thrusts. When he concentrated, Mingi could almost feel them touching inside you. “Just two? No, no,” he smacked your ass again, “We need you to cum way more than that. That’s barely enough to keep him properly fed.”

He already felt your walls gripping him, and he nearly lost his mind. Mingi held onto your waist as he bottomed into you. He knew he’d eventually have his chance with you, since nearly all of them have, but he never imagined this. In the greenhouse, he could do whatever he liked with you. Cambion or not, he can ravage you as long as he wishes here. Nothing ever aroused him as much as that thought alone. Except perhaps the vine forcing itself into your mouth.

In a couple of more thrusts, he felt you tighten around his cock as another orgasm approached. Mingi kept the same pace throughout, listening to your gargled moans. He knelt there behind you to watch you unravel in front of him. He took in the constricting muscles spasming in every wave; he saw it bring out this animalistic need that had you pushing into him. Mingi loved it.

When he felt the beginnings of your orgasm start, his own followed. Pent up frustration came out in each stroke, hungry and numb to anything around him. Your pussy pulsed in time with him, exactly as he always imagined, as you both came together. It was everything he’d wanted and more. Mingi didn’t let up for even a second. He couldn’t stop. Even as waves of pleasure came over him, he simply did not feel satisfied. When he withdrew from you, his cum stayed just at the brim of your entrance. He bent to lick it, but something got there before him.

A flower, dark orange like Dennis’s petals, spring from the earth to your oozing sex. You whined as it hummed against your pussy. The same type of flowers grew around him, pulling his cock further down to suck up whatever remained on his skin. Their pistils and stamens gathered up the translucent fluids leaking from him; their tickling teased another hard on.

“Get on top, baby,” he said, voice slightly hoarse from his heaving breaths. “Come here. On top of me, now.”

He pulled you onto him this time. Vines kept your hands behind your back, and wrapped around your torso. Dennis clearly had no problem helping you properly fuck him. Mingi did not complain. He slapped your bouncing tits, giving your nipples hard pinches every so often; he pushed up into you whenever Dennis held you in place. He knew the plant went back into your ass by your breathy moans. The sentient plant did anything in its power to make its victims cum endlessly. He swore something in the air kept his victims going until they simply could not.

But something about you did the same thing.

****

You don't know how long it went, but the sky nearly darkened by the time it ended. The muggy atmosphere, the humid air and the nutrient soils blinded you to reason and reality. As your body constantly rolled and moved around in the dirt, you slowly became one with the beings around you. Mingi's presence only heightened the experience. The soft soil and residues left on you entered your pores. You felt yourself ascending into a higher form, a higher being. As Dennis absorbed you and Mingi one final time, you did not feel like YN YLN anymore. Your body became electric. A strange feeling ran through your bones, spreading all over until it became a part of you. After the final orgasm, your body flopped onto the dirt patch Dennis initially created for you. The smell of the trees above you became your constant aroma. The flowers that had participated or spectated became more dear to you than anything else. Is this how your mother felt in her garden?

“That was intense,” Mingi laughed, laying in the dirt with you. He lifted his head to see Dennis quiet and still, “He seems satisfied.”

You could hardly speak. You gazed up at the colorful glass above you. The growth covered most of it, but you caught the gist of the scene. A group of young maidens appeared to be occupying different spots of a garden similar to the one outside. Peacefulness came out through the art and onto you. It sounded sappy, but you finally felt at home. Of all the places you've ever been, in your before and afterlife, this greenhouse was home. Here, you feared nothing and nobody. Here, you are accepted and loved. Truly loved. You wore no collars in the greenhouse.

“Are you okay?” Mingi asked, though you hardly heard him. “I'm sorry I was a bit rough towards the end. I couldn't help myself. I promise next time I'll be gentler.”

Your fingers slipped into the dirt underneath you. Parts of it turned warm after you were on top of it for so long, yet others remained cool. You subconsciously made spirals in the ground, soaking in the euphoria of this new stage. A butterfly in the painting caught your eye. A beautiful monarch with orange and black wings fluttered from one panel to another. A butterfly. That is how you felt. Your human form was the cocoon you shed as Dennis took you. He guided you out of that existence and into another level. Turning your head, you saw white and blue flowers grow around your fingertips.

“It's beautiful here,” you said softly, watching one flower coil around your finger. It became a piece of you as you brought it out of the dirt. “Don't you think?”

“Yeah, it is. Look, we definitely need to head out now. Hongjoong is probably furious with us right now. We've been here way too long,” you heard the panic come as his senses cleared, “He'll kill us for this-”

“-You go,” you interrupted him. The blossom grew across your fingers. It embedded itself in your skin, turning brown as it became a hardened vine. You watched it wrap itself around your arm, and gradually stop around your shoulder. “I want to stay here.”

“YN, you might be something new or whatever, but Hongjoong likely went to work without you. If we clean you up, and get you there asap, then he might spare us both.”

“I don't care.”

“You don't care? Did Dennis rob you of your senses completely? The Masters do not handle disobedience lightly.”

“Let them try,” you said, more flowers blooming on your arm and shoulder.

Yes, let them try to punish you now. Punishments up until now have been sexual, but you knew your “masters” could easily become violent. Let them. Your vines will strangle them and anyone else who tries.

“YN,” he stood up from the ground, though with difficulty, “Please, come with me. If I show up without you-”

“-Tell them where I am and that I didn't come with you. That way, they'll at least know where I am.”

You truly didn't know what the masters might have in store for you. Cambions could be slaves, but that's usually by choice or necessity. You wouldn't want to be a slave anymore. You wanted to live as you'd done so in life: freely and carelessly.

“Do not heed his warnings, Mistress,” Dennis said in your head. “I will be your new protector.”

A smile came across your face. “I don't like the name ‘Dennis’. It sounds so childish and lame. A creature of your magnificence should have a powerful name that strikes fear into people.”

“What shall I be called then?”

You thought about it deeply. Mingi spoke up again, “YN, I'm not joking.”

“Caesar,” you said, holding your hand up to admire your work. “No, that's a salad dressing.”

“YN!”

“Alastair? Octavius?”

“I quite like Octavius.”

“Then it's settled. You're now Octavius.”

“You can't give Master Seonghwa's plant a new name.”

“I just did.”

“YN, you have to come with me right now.”

“You must go, Mistress. The young masters will not take your absence well. They may see it as disobedience.”

“They would,” you scoffed. “Anytime I do anything that doesn't directly involve them or their dumb schedules, they get upset. They're like children. Why do I have to pretend to be a housewife? I don't cook or clean or do anything meaningful. I'm not so stupid that I can't learn things at my own pace and in my own way. Why do I have to be restricted to their empty lives?”

"Because they believed you to be a lesser being than themselves. You have now nor have ever been less than anything but a goddess."

"Hm, I like the sound of that."

“You better hope they never hear you say that,” warned Mingi. “I don't have time for your shit. Let's go.”

“Hey!”

Mingi lifted you off the ground with ease. You struggled out of his grasp, but being thrown over his shoulder made that harder. You looked at the vines covering the ceiling. The urge to have them trap Mingi came strongly, but nothing happened. The plants stayed stationary and silent. Mingi carried you out of the greenhouse, where the nightly air blew through your matted hair. Outside the greenhouse, you felt empty once more. Mingi might as well have ripped you out of your home. He carried you back to that suffocating house and your masters. The lace collar you wore became more apparent than ever.

Inside the house, Mingi took you all the way to the sitting room. Your body tensed at the presence of others in the room.

“Darling! There you are!”

Mingi placed you before them. All three brothers must have been alerted about your disappearance and came home early. You couldn't help resenting them. For the first time in a while, you hated your slave status. While being treated more like a princess than a slave was preferable, being confined to the keep made you start hating them. After experiencing the freedom and comfort of the greenhouse, you didn't want to be in the house. You wanted freedom.

The sight of you stunned all three into silence. Smeared and caked with mud and leaves, you never felt more at home in your own skin. They eyed the branch wrapped around your right arm, the blossoms softly hissing and rattling in this new environment. Clearly, whatever ideas they'd created of you proved to be true. Your appearance concerned them, and it was refreshing.

“It seems I was correct after all,” Seonghwa said, staring at the blue and white blossoms on your arm. “YN inherited her mother's ability.”

“Wow,” San stood up first, coming over to you cautiously. You saw him considering the best way to approach you. “You look…different, Darling.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” he assured you. “Maybe a little cleaning up, but other than that, I…” his eyes turned from shocked to fondness, “Still think you're the most beautiful being in existence.”

You smiled at him.

“How do you feel, Kitten?” Seonghwa asked, getting up from his couch. He closely examined your face and hair, seeing all the mud and tiny twigs stuck to it. “Any pain or bruising anywhere?”

“No,” you shook your head.

“And what did Dennis do exactly when you saw him? How did you end up there?”

“He called me.”

“He called you?”

You told them about the greenhouse. All of them listened intently to your story, not distracted by the dirtier details of it this time. Seonghwa already anticipated your response, but San and Hongjoong sat in silence. He continued examining you while you talked, closely observing the flowers on your shoulder and feeling your skin. By the time you got to Mingi, he turned to the bodyguard. You expected him to snap, and demand to know where Mingi went.

“It wasn't Mingi’s fau-”

“-What did you find when you got there?” he asked him, cool and collected.

“Dennis-”

“-Octavius-”

“-The plant was feeding off her,” Mingi continued.

“And how did you end up involved?”

“I….Um, well…I suppose in the heat of the moment and her teasing me, I let myself get swept up in the moment. I couldn't control myself. She's so,” he took a deep breath, “Intoxicating.”

“Intoxicating?” Seonghwa glanced over at him once, then said, “Did you kiss her at any point?”

“I don't think so.”

“Taste her blood?”

“No, sir. I'm not really into that.”

“Good, then you're less likely to die.”

“We can't kiss her anymore?” said San.

“I'm not sure,” he said. “I don't know how potent it is. Yeosang and I tasted her blood last night and had mild discomfort but nothing dangerous. Kissing her hasn't appeared to affect us physically…”

He then pulled you to him for a kiss. Deep and slow, Seonghwa cupped your jaw as he worked your mouth open. His hot tongue slithered past your lips, running over teeth and tongue to savor you. A slow inhale went through his nostrils, as if taking in the scent of you. This brought on a hunger that came out in soft grunts. You giggled at his reaction, amused by how easy he made it.

“Intoxicating for sure,” he said between kisses, forcing himself to pull away but unable to. “Your kisses can be deadly in their own way.”

“Let me try.”

San pushed him aside and brought you into his arms. He pecked your lips a few times, tasting you tentatively before his eyes darkened. He moaned the moment your tongues touched. Hands wandering down your body, San did not seem to care about the state of you. He grabbed the back of your thighs and you jumped into his embrace. Legs locked behind him, he'd started moving you to the mantle behind you.

“Deadly for sure,” San chuckled between kisses, pressing you to the column. “We might have to hang a warning from your neck,” he joked, nuzzling your nose, “‘Caution: Kiss At Your Own Risk’.”

“In that case,” you replied, hands going through his hair, “You are all very big risk takers.”

“For you? Absolutely.”

Right as you started kissing Hongjoong appeared.

“You had your turn,” He remarked, taking you from San. “It's my day, after all.”

His kiss, heated with passion, became equally enthralled. Taking your hands, Hongjoong let the natural aphrodisiac overcome his senses.

“Now I know why you're so irresistible,” he moaned, bringing you to his couch to straddle him. “Your kisses are better than drugs,” he chuckled drunkenly, kissing and grinding into you. “I know I’d do anything you wanted for more of these kisses.”

“Anything?’ you smirked.

“Anything,” he replied. “No safeword needed either.”

“I wouldn’t be so cruel, Hongjoong,” you said, happy to use his real name. Pushing cherry locks from his face, you kissed him again. “But, it’d be a nice change of pace to have you crying from overstimulation.”

“I think I like cambion YN,” he sneered, leaning in to kiss you.

“Not now, Hongjoong,” said Seonghwa, pulling you from his brother's lap.

The eldest demon took deep breaths to fight off the toxins inside him. San and Hongjoong moved to you, but kept their distance. The three hovered around you like carrion crows, eager to feast on your flesh. The intense attention reminded you of happier days. You touched Seonghwa’s chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his clean shirt. The light specks of dirt stood out against the white material and you knew it’d irritate him. Yet, at that moment, he hardly noticed it.

“What do we do now?” you asked him. “You registered me with those people, right?”

“I did,” Seonghwa answered, nodding. “Jackson told me he’ll slip in your name and erase you from the human records. It’ll be like you never went to the circles.” He eyed the collar around your neck. He hooked it with his forefinger, and you saw the sadness in his eyes, “You’re not a slave anymore.”

The words carried weight inside you. “I’m not?”

“No,” he said, letting go of your collar. “Since you’re Lilith’s granddaughter, you get the title of ‘Lady’.”

“Lady, huh?” you grinned, “Sounds cool.”

“Yes. You’re a Lady of Eden now.”

“Eden? Like, Adam and Eve’s Eden?”

“Yes, that eden.”

“Do I have to go there?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Hongjoong said, “But it’d be good of you to present yourself to them. You know, make it known that you’re here.”

The idea of going to another unknown place in Hell made you uneasy. San noticed your discomfort and said, “Lilith is always happy to greet one of her blood. She won’t turn you away if, you know, you decided to live there with them.”

“Would that bother you?”

“A bit, but I would understand,” Seonghwa said, but you didn’t believe him. Dejected, Seonghwa kept looking at the lace collar on your neck. “I don’t want to lose you.” He touched one of the white flowers, not bothered when it hissed at his touch. “I like having you around. It feels nice having someone who shares my interests, and whom I can spend time with comfortably. Yes, the sex is always nice, but I speak for myself and my brothers when I say we enjoy having you here. You being a cambion doesn't bother me. It worries me because, yes, we can receive serious punishment for that, but you leaving me upsets me more.��

“I like having someone who enjoys the same things as me,” Hongjoong said. “You aren’t afraid. You like experiencing new things with me. I don’t have many people to do things like that with me.”

“It feels nice having someone to come home to,” San added. He turned you around, and caressed your cheek. “If the schedules bothered you, you could have told me. They were Seonghwa’s idea in the first place. He said having you hanging about all day without stimulation might dull your brain. I wanted to keep you happy. You…You were at least a little bit happy?”

Looking at his angular, handsome face, you thought about it. “It’s nice living here,” you said. “It’s the closest I’ve gotten to my old life since I arrived in Hell. It has been kind of constricting and suffocating here and the schedules are complete bullshit, but I went through worse.”

His shoulders slumped at this answer. “Then clearly, I haven’t been doing my job right.” He kissed you softly, “We can change anything you want. Anything at all.”

“It isn’t like we chained you up in a basement and mistreated you,” Hongjoong scoffed, clearly becoming irritated with the tedious conversation. “We don’t have to decide everything tonight,” he clicked his fingers and Yunho came in a puff of smoke, “A drink, Yunho.” Yunho started pouring drinks from the bar cart in the corner, and Hongjoong returned to his couch. Flopping down on it, he sighed deeply. Even with his carefree response, you saw the hurt in his eyes. “You’re free now. You can do what you want. Whether that be here with us or be somewhere else, then fine.” It was not fine. Not to Hongjoong.

“I never said I wanted to leave,” you assured him, not liking the pain he tried hiding. “I…This has all happened super fast, and I’m not sure what I want right now.”

“And that’s fine,” San assured you. “You don’t need to figure it all out right now. You can go up to your room or the greenhouse or wherever. Dennis-Sorry, Octavius-likely put you through the wringer, so you must be so exhausted and hungry.”

“Aftercare is important no matter whether with your bodyguard or with a tentacle plant,” said Hongjoong. “You can clean up, and we’ll have dinner.”

“I’m fine like this,” you said, looking at the branch clinging to your arm. “It feels strangely natural to me. I think I’ll stay like this for a little bit longer.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he said, taking the drink Yunho passed to him. He took a drink, then said, “You’re still having dinner with me. I had to go an entire day without you again. I’m suffering immensely.”

“I’m sure you were devastated,” you cooed, pinching his cheek. “I can watch you torture people another time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You kissed his cheek, then stood up from the couch. You knew you should bathe, but that alone felt so exhausting. Out of the room, you slumped your shoulders and shuffled your feet. The exertion with Octavius, formerly Dennis, and Mingi finally started hitting you up the stairs. Mingi chuckled.

“Not as tough as you pretend, huh?”

“I am half-human,” you emphasized. You turned around, “Carry me?”

Mingi laughed, and scooped you off the floor. You’d nearly drifted to sleep cradled in his arms. Your bodyguard tended to have a comforting effect on you. His constant hovering from the shadows gave you a peace of mind. When you felt the softness of your mattress, you lifted the branch to one of the canopy beams. Like water, the hard vine slid off your arm to the natural wood. Through sleepy eyes, you watched it attach itself to the pole. It rooted into cracks in the smooth wood, starting in the middle before it extended itself all over the frames of your bed. A tiny greenhouse, you thought.

“Wow,” Mingi rested on the bed beside you, “That’s amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“Just imagine what else you could do.”

“I hope to find out.” A thought came to you as you came closer to sleep, “Do you think my mother’s in Eden?”

“Maybe. If she died, yes, she should be there.”

“Hm…good to know…”

You yawned, slowly falling asleep at last. She came to mind again. She loved planting peonies. She said they symbolized love, honor, and beauty. She always added them to bouquets meant for best wishes and joy. You recalled the small potted peonies she put in your bedroom. Despite what friends thought, you kept them growing and healthy. As you drifted, you saw the pink, multi-layered peonies starting to blossom in the nooks and crannies of your four-poster bed. You missed her so damn bad.

You wanted to see her again.

***

A/N: Ooooh things are changing in the Black Keep. Don't we love a little development? I hope you guys liked this chapter! Don't forget to reblog and like <3

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #song mingi #mingi ateez #mingi smut #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi x you #mingi x yn #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst

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shibaraki · 1 year

Text

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

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

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

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

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

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto clicked start.

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

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

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

▻ ASL?

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

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

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

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

‘InsertNameHere’.

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ I have one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

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

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

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

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

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

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

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

Sooba ▻ ???

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

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

And his feeble resolve fractures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

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

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

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

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

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

—Shouto swallows dryly.

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

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

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

He saved that one to his camera roll.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

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

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

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

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

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

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

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

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

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

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

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

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

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

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

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

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

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

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

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

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

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mon petit chou!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much will it be—?”

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

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

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

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

“My little cabbage?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve messaged him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do?”

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

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

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

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it feels like a confession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

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

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

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

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

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

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

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

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

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

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

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

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

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

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

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

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

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

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ You like it?

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

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

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

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

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t know”.

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

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

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

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And his mouth goes dry.

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

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

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

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

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?”

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

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

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

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

“Shouto,” he says.

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

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

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

“Hey, Shouto?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I kiss you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just a tremor”.