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hxney-lemcn · 9 months ago

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Time for a Break — Housewardens x gn! reader

summery: it's the end of the year and you have nowhere to go...

tw: slight angst (Riddle, Idia, Malleus)

wc: 1.7k (~230 per character)

Master List

With nonstop overblots, exams, homework, studying, and keeping your friends in line, you hadn’t even realized that the end of the year was approaching rapidly. You could barely take in your end of the year grades before coming face to face with the fact that you have nowhere to go while everyone gets a summer break. Didn’t you deserve a break too? You felt like you were going to collapse and evaporate if you didn’t sleep in a bed that doesn’t have lumps. In a fit of despair, you go to the only person you can think of.

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

Okay…so you are not allowed to come home with him. His reason for saying no is vastly different from his mothers reason. He doesn’t want to cause you any more stress, or have to hear his mother’s insults that she’ll inevitably spout towards you. No, instead he helps you ask Trey. Although Trey’s home already is a full house, his family welcomes you with open arms. All his siblings overcrowd you (no matter how much Trey tries to stop them), his parents ask many questions to get to know you better, and you end up sharing a room with Trey. All the while, you can’t help but think about Riddle, wishing you could find a way to get him out of his own personal hell. Over time, you and Trey visit Riddle, your only meetings being through his window. Every so often you’d bring Riddle a sweet treat that you learned how to bake either from Trey or his parents. As much as you enjoy having a break with such a lovely family, you can’t help wanting for the next school year to happen. Not for the school work, or the overblots (hopefully there won’t be any the upcoming year), but because you’ll get to see Riddle again, not through a window or with hushed whispers. But in person, speaking to each other freely once more.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

When you hinted about not having anywhere to go, hoping that the lion would take the bait and let you stay with him, he just ignored you. Didn’t even pretend to act like he was listening to you. Squinting your eyes, you stood up from his bed, announcing that Malleus might be willing to take you in…you couldn’t get far before Leona grabbed your wrist, pulling you into him and holding you close. Who said you could go and stay with that overgrown lizard? Wasn’t it obvious you were staying with him? You were scared of meeting his family, they were royalty and Leona had spoken bad of them. You had met his nephew, and little did you know that the boy had talked his parents ear off about you and Leona for a day before finding a new topic. Leona’s brother and sister in law welcomed you to their palace with open arms, greeting you warmly before excusing themselves. It was a bit to get used to, trying new foods, sleeping in a bed that was way too luxurious, being treated like royalty, becoming a nanny…yeah. You now realized one of the reasons why Leona dreaded coming back. As much as you adored Cheka…he could be a bit much. Overall, it's not the worst place to stay, but it would feel a bit lonely without Leona or Cheka around.

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

Oh boy…were you both that far in your relationship already? No? He’s just overthinking it? Okay, this was fine. He was a host after all, and he did owe you for basically saving his life…and being the one he loved. His only problem? His mother. As much as Azul loved his mother…he could not have her sharing his baby photos with you. He’ll have to work overtime over the summer to make sure that doesn’t happen (who is he kidding he can’t say no to his mom). How are you going to stay entire months under water? Who do you think he is? He’s got stocks of underwater breathing potions. When you meet his parents, you don’t have time to think before you’re swooped into a giant hug (probably the best damn hug you’ll ever get too). Then Azul is added to the hug and you're both being squished together. His mother loves you instantly, cooing over you both, feeding you some of the best food you’ve ever had while telling you embarrassing stories of Azul when he was just a little fry. Once again, you start seeing him in a new light, a much softer and loving one. He always tried to show you his gentlemanly and suave side, keeping just how soft of a person he was locked deep down, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

❥ Kalim Al-Asim

What do you mean you have nowhere to go? Weren’t you coming to his place? He would be honored to have you as a guest! Just think of all the sleepovers, dates, game nights, and kisses! Actually, he might’ve gone crazy if he was away from you for such a long time. Kalim’s family doesn’t mind either, they don’t even notice one more person in their extravagant palace. Instead of just being swarmed with siblings, you’ve got cousins and distant relatives around you as well. They have both good and bad intentions, some scheming on how to get closer to Kalim, and others scheming on how to get you to play hide and seek. Kalim is practically bouncing off the walls as he drags you down the halls on his grandiose tour. Laughing heartily over the feast his family calls dinner, then taking you on a breathtaking carpet ride above the Scalding Sands. Each day is a different adventure, and Kalim is the one leading you hand in hand into what awaits you both. Poor Jamil, Kalim only got ten times more impulsive as he tries to show you everything he loves (and buy you anything you eye for a second too long). Also…you are in a bit of danger being seen in public so close to Kalim and with how he shows how much he cares about you…

❥ Vil Schoenheit

Do you think he’d let you stay at Night Raven College for months on end without supervision? You’re crazy. Just be prepared to be in a giant mansion alone for a bit. Vil goes without seeing his father for weeks on end, and he himself has a busy schedule. He’d love to take you with him, but unfortunately the media is as savage as a pack of wolves and would shred you apart without second thought. You didn’t mind too much, as long as you could get away from school for just a minute. With those warnings in mind, you were surprised to be greeted by servants taking your luggage to a spare room (right next to Vil’s) then being treated to a fantastic dinner with Eric, Vil’s father joining you two. Even Vil seemed surprised, asking his father about his latest movie. Eric only laughed, stating that he wanted to meet the person who caught his son's attention. You never felt too alone in the mansion, you’d get ready in the morning with Vil, seeing him off, doing your own thing for the day, and ending the night with a home prepared meal or going out to eat if Vil was feeling extra. On his days off, Vil would take you out, sometimes it would be to a spa, going shopping, or you forcing him to take a break and relax at home and watch some movies. You don’t think you could go back to that wack job of a school after getting a taste of luxury.

❥ Idia Shroud

What. You want to go home with him? You do know where he lives right? You’d be totally isolated from all your other friends…you still want to come home with him? He supposes Ortho would be happy to have you around…fine, he just doesn’t like how excited his parents get when he asks for permission (after all he lives in a very secret location). He’s a bit overwhelmed at first, it seems like such an intimate scenario. You’re going to be living with him in the same house in a super secret base in the middle of nowhere. When you arrive, Idia tries not to shove you into his room and lock the door because his parents are non stop pestering you. Asking you about how you met Idia, how he was doing, and about you and your world. Thankfully for Idia, they had to rush back to work quickly, giving you a warm welcome and telling you to ask for anything if need be. To your surprise, Idia watched you like a hawk (and that’s the times you knew of). S.T.Y.X. was a dangerous place, and he’d be damned if he lost you like he lost Ortho. Be prepared to be trapped in a room lit with blue led lights and playing video games and watching anime until you feel your brain melting. Please bring some vitamin D…you’re not going to get enough sunlight.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Don’t worry child of man, he already has a room in his palace ready for you. Do you really think he was going to let you stay all alone (with Grim but okay) at Night Raven College? Of course not. You’re his precious child of man, he’ll make sure you get nothing but the best. Of course…he had to make sure his grandmother warmed up to you. You are a human after all, and she hasn’t had the best experience with them. Not to mention how his people will view him for bringing a commoner human into the castle and given the royal treatment. He doesn’t care. In fact, Malleus didn’t even think of such a thing, not until Sebek brought it up. When you arrived you felt overwhelmed as the servants bowed (you almost forgot that Malleus was standing next to you). He tried staying by your side for as long as he could, but as future king, he had many things to attend to. This left you on your own a bit, and you got acquainted with Maleficia. At first she terrified you, but over time you both warmed up to each other and Malleus found himself jealous with how much time you spent with her compared to him. All the while she found it amusing that her grandson was so hung up on a human…but she also found it heartbreaking. A fae falling for a human never had a happy ending, but she’s glad to know you’d take care of him well.

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pinkiemachine · 4 months ago

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Currently thinking about the way the BatFamily is perceived by the tabloids. Like yeah, the Wayne family, it’s one of the richest families in America, but they keep to themselves mostly, no one really knows any intimate details about them, they’re more locally famous than anything. Then Thomas and Martha come along, and they’re regarded as kind-hearted, good natured people by most, heavily involved with charity work, so when they die so suddenly, it makes national news. A massive family fortune and the rights to a major corporation have been left in the hands of an eight-year-old? But thanks to people like Alfred, the press isn’t able to get close to Bruce all that much, and the story mostly dies after that… until Bruce goes off to college and gets into his first series of scandals, and everyone’s thinking, “oh no, the good parents died and we’re left with their idiot son who’ll probably squander the family fortune and make a mess of the company.” Then he straight up disappears??? Most common theory is that the Wayne Estate forced him to lay low for a while to keep him from ruining the family image any further, or he’s in rehab, or something to that effect. Then when he comes back a few years later, it’s more of the same wild-child act. Eccentric man being eccentric. The tabloids eat it up.

Dick Grayson, I feel, wouldn’t get as much media attention as others in this list overall. The initial adoption case gets printed everywhere, naturally—“Play-Boy Bruce Wayne Looking to Adopt?” Nobody likes the look of it, but Bruce swears he has no ill intentions and will do everything in his power to care for the boy, and he makes good on that promise, so… after the initial shock wears off, the tabloids wind up with not a lot to work with. Dick is protected by people like Bruce and Alfred, he generally doesn’t do anything in public that might count as a scandal, and when he’s flown the coup, he goes on to do charity work mostly. All good stuff, but as far as the gossip columnists are concerned, he’s not worth their time.

Jason is an interesting case, because when his adoption was pending, I imagine everyone sat up and said, “wait, didn’t we already do this?” There are a few raised eyebrows at Bruce adopting *another* orphan, but hey, maybe the guy got lonely after Dick moved away? It’s certainly grounds for a potentially interesting story, but once again, the paparazzi are foiled in their attempts to dig up some juicy dirt. Just a fight at Gotham Academy, maybe, and a rumour or two about Bruce developing a strange new coping mechanism, and not much else. When Jason dies, it’s sad, but most people don’t really care. Either they got confused and thought, “wait, there was a second adopted son of Bruce Wayne?” or they went, “I knew something bad would come of that Bruce Wayne’s odd behaviour.” Either way, they didn’t have a lot of time to get to know Jason, so his death passes and then people forget.

After that, Timothy Drake, son of another famous wealthy person in Gotham, loses his parents and gets adopted by Bruce. Now this one spreads by word of mouth among the socialites before the tabloids get their hands on it, and it generally sounds like this, “The Waynes and the Drakes were very close, it’s no wonder—with Bruce’s history and his connection to them—that he would open his home to Timothy.” Things don’t really start picking up until Bruce starts considering him for Wayne Enterprises and bringing him to meetings and showing him the ropes. That’s when the cameras come out and everyone’s suddenly very interested in this young man. Will he inherit the fortune? The company? He’s young, he’s handsome, he could be getting the keys to the Wayne kingdom, it’s all very exciting.

Then Damian comes along and it’s at that exact moment that the Secret Love Child rumours go flying. Like, Bruce is up to four kids who all came out of nowhere as far as the general public is concerned, and they all kinda look like him. It does make sense—everyone knows he was a play boy back in the day—the ages of the kids make perfect sense too—so the next few news cycles are just everyone trying to guess who the “mothers” are. (Damian also makes a name for himself by not being able to hold his tongue in front of the press and generally being a little scandal generator, namely the first time he broke a reporter’s hand… yeah…)

Then Jason comes back, and he’s going straight to the reporters, looking into the cameras, and saying, “the details of my death were greatly exaggerated” just to annoy to Bruce, and now there’s even more confusion and speculation. “Wait, who’s Jason?” “Jason was alive this whole time?” “They pretended Jason was dead?!” “What is going on at Wayne Manor???”

Cass arriving was what compounded the newest popular theory: Wayne Manor was hiding a cult. They don’t know what kind; they don’t know what’s going on inside of there; they don’t know why Bruce is obsessed with adopting all these kids, but it’s definitely some kind of cult. Several investigations of the estate have been made and Bruce has made several statements assuring the people that there is no cult. (But no one believes him or the reports.)

Duke just made it worse. Suddenly, people are becoming afraid to leave their kids alone near Wayne Enterprises and every time Bruce does anything, everyone’s expecting him to suddenly debut another adopted child.

Now, over time, there will be lots and lots of theories thrown around about the family, but the mainstream media will likely forget the cult speculation after a while, if things appear to be relatively normal and there’s no drama about the Waynes they can stir up. However, they still keep tabs on all the members. They don’t know if, where, or when something’s gonna happen, but something’s gotta happen sooner or later. It’s just a matter of time.

Any other fun tidbits you would add? Anything I missed?

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haikyu-mp4 · 4 months ago

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The enemy of my enemy – Oikawa x reader wc 428 – gn!reader, brother!Ushijima

If Oikawa Toru thought he heard you should have come to Shiratorizawa too often, he should walk a day in your shoes. Ushijima Wakatoshi was your brother, and you decided to go to Aoba Johsai.

Which Seijoh’s starting setter didn’t actually know. Not when he first noticed you, and certainly not when he asked you out on a date to the arcade.

Not even on the date, as the two of you were giggling over your poor attempt at a dancing game where Oikawa ended up sabotaging yours instead of staying on his side, stating that if he couldn’t win, no one could.

Overall, the date was thoroughly enjoyable. He wasn’t that bad when he got comfortable, showing you more of who he was and perhaps even making you… return his crush.

As you were looking at the different claw machines together, hoping to win something to remember the date by, you heard an agitating, grating voice.

“We should totally get plushies! The dorm gets lonely when Semi-Semi won't cuddle me.”

You looked up so fast that you didn’t even notice the matching look of horror on Oikawa’s face.

It was just your luck that Tendo Satori would drag the third years to the arcade at the same time as your date.

“On second thought, I’m hungry,” you said quickly, patting Oikawa’s arm to make him look at you.

“I agree, starving,” he agreed just as quickly, intertwining your hands and pulling you along towards the exit.

“Y/n! Hey!”

“Tendo… oh, and the rest of you… hi…” you greeted, slowly turning around. Your eyes flicked to Ushijima, then to Oikawa at your side. Yeah, he looked quite confused. “What are you-”

Interrupted by an overly dramatic gasp from the redhead, you pursed your lips. “You’re holding hands, is this a date? Are you dating the enemy?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my date,” you challenged, sticking your tongue out at him.

Meanwhile, Oikawa had a staring competition with Ushijima. The two didn’t exactly have the room to speak yet, but Oikawa wondered how the hell you knew them.

So he squeezed your hand, making you stop the childish argument and look at him sheepishly. “Toru, you’ve probably met them before, but… this is my brother and his friends.”

When Oikawa’s line of sight followed your other hand’s gesture to Ushijima, his face paled.

Lord have mercy, he’s got the hots for an Ushijima.

“He’s your brother?” he repeated just to confirm, jaw dropping when you nodded.

“You should both have come to Shiratorizawa.”

“Oh, shut uuup.”

masterlist

requested by @toge-maki for my event, anything for you <3 /big thanks to @cottonlemonade and her wonderful brain for the help

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fujoshirat · 6 months ago

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✩₊˚.Belated Housewarming—Literally!

Shouto Todoroki x reader

Summary: After your husband's job as a hero deprives you of intimacy and loving, you decide to make his birthday unforgettable with a heartfelt surprise that reminds him just how much he’s missing. The most important part of your plan? That damned lacy, frilly, pink apron hanging in your closet.

Warnings: A18+ (MINORS DNI), FILTHY smut, porn w/ plot, sex marathon, dom!Shouto and sub!reader, cursing, pet names, missionary, doggy style, squirting, oral (female receiving), upstanding citizen, three-legged stance, inappropriate use of a home but whatever floats your (Shouto’s) boat, breeding kink, domestic kink, temperature play, slight angst in the beginning but overall fluff and smut :)

Author's Note: Happy birthday to the man I fell in love with in 2020 ( ˊᵕˋ )♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The soft clunk of the dryer shutting off echoed through the quiet house, signaling the end of yet another cycle. Bending down, you toss the clean clothes into the laundry basket and walk to the dining table. The entire house is quiet, save for the soft sound of rain outside and the ruffling of clothes being folded.

Yup, this was your married life: silence in a punctual routine while living in an empty house that felt too large without your husband. For all the joy your wedding brought, no one had warned you how lonely it could feel to be married to the second-best pro hero in Japan.

And you have had enough!

It’s been one year since he proposed, 10 months since you moved in together, and 3 months since you both got married. You knew about what you were signing yourself up for. However, nothing could prepare you for what it was really like being married to a pro hero, no less the second best pro hero in all of Japan! A month after your wedding, Shouto had to hop on a plane to America for a mission with other pro heroes, leaving you alone in the house for three weeks. And in the weeks leading up to Christmas, Shouto would come home exhausted from work and patrol. It would be just past 11, just as you were tucking yourself in to bed (Shouto begged you to go to bed at an early time, even if he wasn’t home yet, but you found that hard to do), and your husband would open the front door. You would feel your heart skip: finally, he was home. But then, he’d stumble through the bedroom door with a tired sigh, eyes heavy with fatigue, and you could see the toll his day had taken on him. His uniform would be rumpled, his hair slightly damp from sweat and snow, and his pretty heterochromatic eyes would be soft and dazed as he quietly greeted you.

“Welcome home, Shou.”

“Tadaima.”

“Long day?”

“Mhm…”

“Are you hungry? I made chazuke for dinner earlier.”

“…”

“Perhaps a warm bath?”

“…”

You’d try to stay awake, to offer him something, anything that might lift his spirits—your smile, a warm meal, even a conversation. But all he seemed to need was sleep, and that’s what he’d do. He’d change into his pajamas (simple black shorts), kiss your forehead, and collapse into bed next to you (whose exhaustion was also a massive headache).

You were absolutely sexually frustrated and terribly missed your husband. As days went on, you longed for more than just his presence in the room. You wanted him. But the mission schedules, late night patrol shifts, and endless demands of Japan left you feeling distant.

Yeah, you were screwed.

And you couldn’t blame him. It had been his dream to become his own hero, not for his father, not to surpass All Might, but for himself. It was his calling, and the nature of his work, no, responsibility, naturally required much time and effort. However, you felt like it only widened the gap between you two as the days went on.

At least Christmas was decent. He finally took off time from work for the important holiday and stayed home with you for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Those two days consisted of cuddling on the couch, hours of talking while a random TV show played in the background. You also visited his family for Christmas Eve dinner and stayed home the entire time on Christmas day.

And now, it was January. It was a new year, but most importantly, Shouto’s birthday was fast approaching. You were sick of this abstinence, it needed to end already! The last time your husband had touched you was 4 months ago on your honeymoon! Grumbling to yourself, you dig a hand through the laundry basket until you find the matching sock and continue your folding. ‘Don’t be selfish, Y/N! You knew that marriage wouldn’t be picture perfect! Get a grip!! Ugh, but I’m so pent up! I need the affection!’

You must be ovulating or really really REALLY horny right now because look at you, arguing with your voices in your head! Sighing to yourself, you finish the last of your laundry and head upstairs to start putting it away. After doing so, you check the time on your phone, the lock screen a picture of you and Shouto cutting the wedding cake at your wedding (photo courtesy of Izuku), and it brings a wistful smile on your face. You looked so happy, and so did he. Shaking your head, you pout and check the time: 10:59am. Getting ready to put the laundry basket away so that you could figure out what to eat for lunch, you spot something in the corner of your eye in the closet.

Upon closer inspection, you open the closet door and see your pink, frilly cooking apron hanging. ‘Huh, weird, I must have been so tired cooking dinner last night that I threw it in here.’ Taking it out, you put it on mindlessly in preparation for in case you need to make lunch because there aren’t enough leftovers. As you walk past the mirror and to the bedroom door, you pause in your steps. Your eyes widen when you an idea comes to mind as you remember how you looked in the corner of your eye when you passed by the mirror.

The apron, with its delicate trim, was really nothing special. It was a simple, pink, frilly apron that you had bought before moving into the house with Shouto. However, in this instant, the delicate lace trim, extra pink bows, and its slightly playful charm instantly sparked a thought. You had always loved cooking for Shouto (and he loved your cooking too), but it wasn’t just about the meals anymore. It was about what you could do for him—what you could show him. You could almost picture the look on his face if he found you, wearing nothing but that apron, waiting for him to come home. That thought sent a thrill up your spine, and you quickly caught your breath, heart racing a little too fast for comfort.

That idea was what you needed, and you knew exactly when to do it and what to prepare. Running down the stairs, you eagerly check the pantry. ‘Y/N! You naughty girl! What are you thinking?’ God, you were mad, insane, the surge of excitement building up in your head like your bottled emotions these past few months. You make a mental note to buy more soy sauce and extra buckwheat noodles tomorrow on your daily grocery store run. It was currently January 03, and you had exactly one week to prepare for Shouto’s birthday. Your idea felt so right, so tantalizing. Surely Shouto was pent up as well? Prior to engagement or marriage, you two never avidly had sex, nor did you avoid it.

And it was his birthday, more importantly, his first birthday celebrated with his wife, you. You wanted it to be extra special, to be a sexy happy memory made in this house. You wanted to make the day about him, so why not kill two birds with one stone? Squealing to yourself, you start cooking up lunch while scrolling through Instagram to find the open hours of a bakery down the street.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

At 6:45am, you slipped out of bed as quietly as you could with as little movements as possible. Taking off your pajamas, you could feel the warm, tantalizing bed with the most handsome birthday boy on earth trying to entice you back to bed. But, no, you were stronger than this! You threw the silky pajamas in the hamper and easily put on your “lingerie:” the lacy, pink, frilly apron. Next, you brush your hair as neatly as possible and put on light blush and mascara to look even more delicious. You have to hold back a squeal when you look at your appearance in the mirror. The flimsy material covered enough to leave room for imagination as well as exposed your body just next to those enticing areas. You felt like the epitome of the balance of sweet and sultry—like Sabrina Carpenter concert outfits—exactly what you were going for!

Your thighs weren’t killing you as much as they did these past few days (you did 50 squats from January 03 to 09, and then 30 yesterday to soothe your poor muscles and give them a break before the real workout you desired). Squats are no joke, but anything to be closer to a BBL on this special day! Entering the kitchen, you open the fridge and pull out a simple, white box. You place it on the counter and hum to yourself, ‘Do I make the cold soba now? Or should I wait?’ You tapped a finger to your chin, glancing at the clock on the wall: 7:01 a.m. There was still plenty of time before you planned to wake Shouto up, so you decided you might as well start cooking. The sooner everything was ready, the smoother your plan would go (plus, you weren’t sure if your legs would be okay if you had to cook lunch in between ykw).

After making your husband’s favorite meal, you quickly throw it in the fridge and grab the cake. Running upstairs as quietly as you can, you let out a relieved sigh when you see that Shouto hasn’t woken up yet—still sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under your pillow (that was “pretending” to be you). Your heart pounded with excitement, and at 7:30am, you place the cake on the dresser. Leaning over, you gently brush a strand of hair from his face.

“Shouto,” you quietly murmur, “wake up, birthday boy.” He stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, his soft expression shifting as his brows furrowed slightly and his nose scrunched up. “Mmm…” You have to hold back a laugh—he’s so cute!

“Shouto,” you call a little louder, amusement evident in your tone, “time to wake up!”

This time, his mismatched eyes flutter open, clouded with sleep. His left hand reaches up to caress your cheek as his right hand rubs his eyes. For a moment, he blinked his sleepiness away, still looking up at your face.

He smiled tiredly, exhaustion from last night’s patrol evident, until, in the corner of his eye, Shouto swears that you’re wearing a tank top. Tilting his head slightly downward, his gaze lands on what you’re wearing.

“Good morning, and happy birthday!” you smile shyly, desperately trying to ignore the burning feeling in your cheeks. “Did you sleep well?” Face filled with confusion, his eyes wander down further, and he takes in what you’re wearing (or rather, not wearing)—just one article of clothing (if it could even be called that):

That damned lacy, frilly, pink apron that you use when cooking.

Pink dusts his cheeks, mouth opening to speak, then closing. Shouto was speechless, realizing what today’s occasion was.

“Y-you’re—” His voice gets caught in his dry throat, and he swallowed hard. “Y-you’re wearing just that?” You tilted your head innocently, pretending not to understand. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Shouto blinked, his hand reaching out almost instinctively to rest lightly on your hip, his fingers brushing the soft ribbon tied around your waist. “No, nothing’s wrong,” he said softly, his voice barely above a murmur. You giggle at this and move his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah! That, is for later. Aren’t you hungry for breakfast? I got you a cake!” You cheerfully open the cake box and hold it up to him. The fluffy sponge and layers of whipped cream topped with plump, glistening strawberries all add to the strawberry shortcake’s appeal. You watch Shouto sit up straighter, eyes practically sparkling at his breakfast.

“Strawberry shortcake,” he murmurs, “my favorite.” You smile and stand a little closer to him. “I know! That’s why I got it-” Suddenly, you’re cut off when his palm grabs your plump flesh. Not expecting this, you slightly jolt in surprise and grip onto the cake so to not let the beautiful creation get destroyed.

“I want this cake for breakfast, Y/N.” His velvety, smooth tone sends shivers down your spine—and the smirk on Shouto’s face and his mismatched eyes full of mischief blatantly focused on the furious blush on your face tells you all that you need to know: That bastard knows that he’s doing!! “Shou!” You huff, voice wavering as you try to ignore your burning cheeks, “Behave yourself! Let me feed you your breakfast.”

Your husband visibly pouts but lets out a sigh and leans back slightly. Who was he to deny his pretty wife from feeding him? You smile triumphantly, setting the cake box on the nightstand and sliding onto the edge of the bed beside him. Grabbing a fork, you carefully cut a perfect bite from the Strawberry Shortcake, making sure to get just the right balance of sponge, cream, and strawberry.

“Open wide, birthday boy,” you quip cheerfully, holding the fork up to his lips. The man smiles and obediently opens his mouth. “Ah~” Taking a bite, his expression turns even softer. A soft hum of appreciation escapes his throat, making it known that the cake was delicious. “It’s really good, love. Thank you.” “Mhm! It’s no problem at all!” Waiting for him to finish chewing and swallow, you bite back a smirk as you prepare for the next bite.

It was time for part 2 of your plan.

Reaching over to the cake, you use the plastic butterknife (harmless, I promise!) to scoop up a little bit of the frosting from the cake. Your husband looks at you curiously, unsure of what you’re doing.

And then, the cool feeling of the sugary frosting hits just above the valley of your chest, right where the top of the apron above your cleavage is. To add the cherry on top (or should I say, strawberry hahahahaha okay fine i’m not funny ig sorry), you place a plump strawberry right in the middle of the cream. Shouto’s eyes widen, and it widens even further when you teasingly tug the apron a little lower to show off your bare body for a few seconds. Innocently, you look at your husband. “Shouto,” you speak sweetly, feigning innocence. “What’s wrong, love?” You watch him swallow. Hard. His gaze lingers on the frosting, then flickers back up to your face.

“I said I was gonna feed you, right?” You bite back a giggle when you notice his hands gripping the blanket.

“Come and eat, birthday boy.”

Shouto gulps, eyes glued to your chest, as he moves over to you. His strong arms wrap around your waist as his warm breath hits your collarbone. He looks up at you with lidded eyes as he slowly rubbed your hands along your exposed hips. “If I come and eat, I won’t let you escape, okay?” You couldn’t tell if your husband was horny or trying to be cute, but his cheeks were still painted that lovely shade of red. Not thinking much of it (have we learned nothing??), you nod. “Mhm! It’s your birthday breakfast, remember?” Shouto’s eyes darken as he moves his face close to your exposed breasts.

“Itadakimasu.”

Warm, wet muscle dances along the valley between your soft chest. Biting back a moan, your head tilts upward, hands flying to Shouto’s hair. “S-shou…” No response: the red and white haired man was too busy going down on your divine body. He licks off the whipped cream frosting and starts eating the strawberry. Suddenly, he nips at your soft skin, eliciting a yelp from you. “Shouto!” you chastise him, but he interrupts you with another bite.

“God,” he mutters, “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks flush red again and you bite your lip to stifle and noises. You don’t even notice that Shouto has finished the dessert on your body and is looking up at you with a lovestruck expression. His calloused hands rub small circles at your waist to calm you. “My love, are you alright? Was I too rough?” You nod and look at him with a smile. “I’m okay!” The man lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“You know, I really like this surprise. It’s been so long and I didn’t realize how much I was holding in.” His eyes look down a little shyly from his honesty, and your heart melts.

“Oh, darling, I’ve been pent up too.” You gently touch his cheek while Shouto’s eyes widen at the revelation. You’ve been pent up this entire time? “Since when?” You let out a gasp at the question and look away shyly.

“D-don’t laugh!” "I won't laugh, I promise," he says, his voice tender without any trace of mocking as he reaches up to lift your chin so you can meet his gaze.

“U-uhm… Since you left to America...” His eyes widen in shock. “That long?” You watch his face contort from one of shock to one of regret once realization hits him like a wave.

He had been neglecting you, and he didn’t mean it.

“Y/N, I…” He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair, shorter than when you first met him. “Shit, I… I’m so sorry I didn’t notice-” “No, no, no! It’s okay, it’s not your fault!” You wave your hands around in front of you as you try to reassure him. “I just didn’t want to say anything or bother you because you’ve been so busy and tired and stressed and-!” Shouto cuts you off mid-frenzy-of-an-explanation by grabbing your chin and forcing you to look into his eyes.

“I should have noticed how much you were holding in,” he murmurs regretfully, and you could hear the frustration in his voice. He wasn’t frustrated with you, he was frustrated with himself. “God, how many times did I ignore you? Every time I went straight to bed from patrol? Shit, love, I…” Shouto’s voice falters, and you could see the guilt weighing on him.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I was so focused on missions, and I just... I didn’t see how badly you were hurting, how much you needed me here. I wasn’t there when you needed me most.” You have to blink back tears at his statement. What he said was true, but you didn’t want him to shoulder the blame. It wasn’t his fault. “Shouto,” you whisper, “It’s okay. I know how important your work is for you, and I support you.” He shakes his head, rendering you confused.

“No, Y/N, I should have made you my priority, not my work.” His eyes burn with fierce intensity, gazing into yours as if they were wishing stars.

“You are my priority, and as your husband, I’ve completely failed in showing you that you are my priority.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you sniffle. “D-don’t say that,” your voice is wobbly as you reach up to wipe a stray tear, “Y-you’re gonna make me cry and I worked hard on this makeup.” (thank god for waterproof mascara) He laughs at your attempt to lighten the mood and kisses his forehead. “You look beautiful, baby, you know that?” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips linger for a moment, and when he pulls back, there's a lightness in his gaze, something playful.

"Okay, okay, enough with the tears for now," you say, trying to change up the sappy, sad mood. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath, giving him a small, teasing smile. "I wanted today to be special, so let's enjoy it. Plus..." You pause, the mischievous twinkle in your eye returning as you lean closer.

"I want you to make me cry for another reason."

Shouto’s eyes widen in surprise for a brief moment before he catches the playful spark in your gaze. A grin slowly spreads across his face, and a quiet chuckle escapes him. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but there's something else there too—a promise.

"Well, then, let’s see if I can make that happen."

Arms wrapping around you, Shouto presses his lips against yours. The kisses are soft at first, testing the waters and giving you the chance to back down (not that you were ever going to). But as the seconds go by, once your consistent kissing back makes it evident to your husband that you weren’t going to stop, the kisses become hungry and urgent.

His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue gently traces the line of your lips, begging for more. You respond in kind, your body melting against his, as you part your lips to let his tongue in. The heat between you both intensifies, every brush of his lips, every movement of his hands, making your heart race.

Suddenly, you pull back breathlessly. Shouto pants softly, eyes clouded with lust as the thick tent in his pants press into your bare pussy. You move your hips teasingly, grinding against him, drawing out a moan from your husband. “B-baby…” he murmurs out, squeezing your hips. You respond with a smile and reach down to remove his underwear. “If you’re okay with it, love, I’d like to take the lead this time.” Shouto’s eyes widen, but he smiles and nods.

“Okay, Y/N, but tell me if you need help or if it’s too much, okay?” Your heart warms at his offer, ever the gentleman, and you nod. “I don’t think I’ll need help but thank you, darling.”

Carefully, you lower your body down on his cock. You gasp when you feel his thick tip stretch your sweet cunt. He’s big, so so big and delicious. As your walls are practically split open, you have to go reeeeeally slow so to not hurt yourself. Hands gripping the sheets, you let out a slutty moan at the sensation. Your husband’s eyes are half-lidded, lust and love mixed together in the perfect ratio. He was only a little more than halfway in, and you already felt so full. Biting his lower lip, he gently reaches a hand over to hold your waist, thumb rubbing loving circles to help soothe whatever pain you may have been feeling (so sweet :( ).

And then, you go all the way up, just until only the tip is inside, and slam yourself down. Shouto lets out a choked, guttural moan, biting his lower lip. “F-Fuck…” His hands grip your waist tighter as he braces himself for more loving from you.

However, your hips do not move as he planned. Rather, they do not move at all and you remain planted on him. Slightly frustrated, Shouto looks up at you curiously.

“Love?”

There is a dangerous, mischievous glint in your eyes as you sweetly bat your pretty lashes at him, hips still not moving. “Yes, Shou?” Reaching over, you cut a piece of the cake and hold the fork up to his lips.

“You’re hungry, right? Say ‘ah’!” He frowns, clearly expecting you to ride him, but he obediently eats the cake. Swallowing, his fingers rub your waist. “Darling, are you going to move now?”

His frown deepens when you shake your head and hold up another forkful of cake to his mouth. “I can’t let my husband go hungry, right?” Before he can interrupt, you giggle. “We never really had a personal housewarming did we? Why not do it now?”

Oh, that’s what you’re plan was. Teasing him by fucking cockwarming him, a dirty move.

And Shouto Todoroki, as much as he loves you, does not like that.

Yeah, you probably should not have teased him so much, because strong hands grab your hips and lift you off your husband’s hard dick. Your back hits the soft mattress and you let out a soft “oof-!” The fork discarded onto the nightstand (a miracle it didn’t drop to the floor), Shouto’s darkened gaze pierces into your soul. Brows furrowed, his expression tells you all that you need to know: He’s had enough with your game, and it’s time for you to face the consequences.

Before you can protest, defend your playful teasing, his lips roughly press against yours, hungrily making out. He bites your bottom lip softly, hands roaming up and down your body, asking for permission to slip his tongue in. You open your mouth submissively, his wet muscle entering the warm cavern. His lips trail downwards to your jaw, nipping and kissing it, before settling onto your neck and biting the sensitive roughly. A whine escapes your throat, body burning with desire and need. “Shouto!! Haah, please…” Your body jolts with slight pain and pleasure when his left hand swats your ass, leaving a pinkish mark.

“Please what?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, feigning innocence as his fingers trail up your sides, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “You were so confident earlier. What happened, hmm?”

“I… I didn’t mean it,” you stammer, your cheeks burning as you look up at him with wide eyes. “Don’t tease me, please…”

His smirk deepens, and he leans in again, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your jaw, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “Oh, but darling,” he purrs, his lips moving down to your neck as his hands tighten on your waist, holding you in place. The teasing tone he used while calling you such a sweet nickname makes your pussy clench around nothing, making even wetter. “Weren’t you just having fun teasing me?” Your eyes widen when one of his hands roughly pin your smaller hands down on the pillow above you.

Oh fuck, you were screwed.

Shouto lines up his shaft to your pussy, angry red tip swollen and leaking. He playfully slaps his cock on your clit, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“You know that I don’t like it when you tease me,” Shouto notes calmly, his eyes telling a different story. “Are you going to remember that next time? Or do I have to fuck you stupid to remember that, my sweet wife?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sound of that nickname. But before you could respond Shouto begins to push the bulbous tip inside your tight hole. You throw your head back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets at the stretch. Just the sheer stretch of his tip alone made your brain fuzzy. Shouto hisses at the feeling of your goey, tight walls. “D-damn, baby,” he breathes out, eyebrows furrowed sexily, “S-so fucking tight…” After a minute, he was balls deep, all of him buried inside your sweet pussy.

Yet, this was not enough for Shouto.

He slides himself all the way out (getting back at you), and rams himself back in. A soft cry escapes your throat, and Shouto almost hesitates to continue. However, your lewd expression and hips desperately moving to feel his cock move again quenches his fears of it being too much for you. He begins thrusting, pants and groans slipping out of his lips.

“Ah ahh—Shou—!! Y-you’re s-so deep-” Fat crystalline tears well up in the corners of your eyes as you whimper. Your husband suddenly thrusts harder, prompted by your comment. “Y-yeah baby, nice and—fuck—deep, gonna cum inside, okay?” Pupils practically heart-shaped, you nod eagerly.

“Yeshh-! Pleasepleaseplease-” Your husband continues mercilessly pounding into your sensitive cunt, soft thwacks! and squelching noises made from the way his mushroom tip kissed your cervix.

“Oh!! So—hngh!—good!!” Shouto toys your clit sweetly with a few circular brushes of his thumb against your neglected clit, pushing you over the edge. “Ahh-!! C-cummin’!!” Eyes squeezing shut, your pussy clenches around your husband’s dick, body jerking up in pleasure as you ride out your high. This seems to have pushed Shouto over the edge as well, because with a final thrust, he empties his balls in your sweet womb, filling you up with his hot, thick cum. Gently, you pull his face down to kiss you softly, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.

However, as you reach for a towel on the nightstand, beefy, muscular arms grab you and flip you over on your stomach. A pillow is pushed underneath your abdomen as Shouto lifts your hips up to his cock. “D-darling!?” You squeak in surprise, not expecting his actions. Suddenly, Shouto plunges his dick back into your pussy, cum dripping down and onto the bed. A pathetic sob escapes your throat, along with moans and whines. “T-Thought we were done—ah!”

“You thought we were finished? Love, you should know…” His voice drops down to a husky, seductive whisper when he leans down to your ear, warm breath ticking you. His cock twitches in your hole, keeping your gummy walls nice and warm and stretched.

“I fully intend on making this house a real home with you, and ensuring that your womb is nice and full is step one.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Currently, you were getting your brains fucked out in the kitchen, body practically sandwiched between the kitchen island and your husband. It had been hours since you both started going at it. Only your right leg was touching the ground, buckling knee desperately trying to support your body. Shouto was holding your left leg, one hand looped underneath the knee of your left leg and the other grabbing your slutty waist as he ruts his cock into your cunt.

You couldn’t even form a sentence, your moans and mewls and Shouto’s groans filling the house. Manicured nails gripping the countertop, a gasp escapes your throat when you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach. Eyes widening, you know what was up: you were going to cum for the nth time.

Your eyes trail to the bruises on your hips from how hard he had been gripping you, then to Shouto’s face. “S-Shouto,” you moan breathlessly, a gasp slipping from your lips when his pelvis begins thrusting faster. “C-Close!!” The smug man smirks, biting his lower lip sexily and pulling your body closer. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you feel an unfamiliar feeling begin to build up in your abdomen. Cock drilling your insides, kissing your sweet, spongy g-spot, Shouto continues pounding hard. “B-baby-!! Oh! Ahn-! GonnA-!!”

Suddenly, the pressure is too much for you and a strangled sob escapes your lips.

Translucent liquid splatters onto Shouto’s abs and pours onto the floor. When you realize what just happened, your blood runs cold. Shouto’s eyes widen when he realizes this as well and his movements stop.

“…”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then, blood rushes to your cheeks. Shit. You hide your face in your hands, groaning from embarrassment. “Shit-! Shouto! I-” You what? You couldn’t even say it.

You fucking squirted all over him and the kitchen floor.

Just when you’re about to spew out an endless number of apologies, the breath is knocked out of your lungs when Shouto’s hips start to move again. Your hands fly to grab at the marble countertop of the kitchen island again.

“Oh-! Ahn-! S-Shouto-!! Too much!!” The sensation was overwhelming, and you were still overstimulated from your recent climax. His fingers dig deeper into your soft flesh, kneading your waist.

“Hnngh-! I-Isn’t it—ngh—gross?” Your husband shakes his head, hips continuing to meet your pelvis, and a deep gasp escaping from his throat. “Not at all, love.” He pulls your waist closer to meet his hips, eliciting a sweet, harmonic moan from you. Leaning down, his hot breath hits your ear as he whispers seductively.

“It was hot.”

Your face burns from his honesty, not expecting his reaction. Whining, your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overwhelming sensation of a particularly harsh (yet pleasurable) thrust. Your blood boils in your veins as you tried to maintain your grip on the marble island top. Soft pants escape your husband’s lips, a curse word sprinkled in every now and then. Suddenly, Shouto bites his lip. He was getting close. Despite your lower half feeling like jello, you rocked your hips as best as you could to meet his hips, anything to get him close to finishing!

Through your clouded, fucked-out mind, you were still able to count how many times Shouto had finished so far today: four times (twice on the bed to fix your attitude, once in the bathroom when he was “cleaning you up,” and once on the stairs—wait… how did that even happen!?!?). “S-shou,” you pant out, one arm reaching up to wrap around his neck and stabilize yourself. “T-this is —ngh— s’pposed to be about you!” He smiles softly at your remark and slows down. Tenderly, he takes your other arm leaning on the kitchen island and has you wrap it around your neck as well. “I know, but I can’t help wanting to make you feel good.”

Without letting himself slip out of your heavenly folds, Shouto easily picks you up and carries you to the wall. The taller man pins you against it before resuming his lovely assault on your pussy. You writhe against him, babbling mindless nonsense and singing his name with your moans. You were so close again! Heat coils up in your abdomen again as you cling tighter to Shouto. His fingers dig even deeper, and he lets out a guttural moan.

“God, baby, y-you’re—fuck—divine.” His pace grew more erratic as he began thrusting faster. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as you sob pathetically, nails digging into his back. Shouto’s mouth presses against yours yet again, hungrily kissing you. Your legs quiver and your body jolts in pleasure as you come again. Your orgasm hits you like a truck, sensitivity heightened from the overstimulation. A few seconds after, Shouto thrusts one last time and fills you up, hot cum flooding your tight walls. Your body shakes as you come down from your high, euphoria surging in your veins again.

Carefully, Shouto lets your legs touch the ground—not that that was any good (he just pounded you!), but hey, the thought counts, right? Still holding onto you, he kisses your forehead softly, body pressed up against your bare skin and the pink apron. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” You smile cheerfully and nod. “Mhm! My legs are a little sore, though.” Your gaze flickers down to the pool of fluids a few feet away from you, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Let me just go clean that up.”

Getting down on your knees, you unintentionally flash Shouto with your perky, round ass on full display (keep in mind, you’re still wearing that flimsy, probably crumbled up by now apron). Shouto gulps, adam’s apple bobbing as he watches you grab a rag and wipe up your mess. Cum was still leaking from your cunt, dripping down your thighs and even leaving drops on the floor.

Just as you finish cleaning up your mess with a light, undignified blush, rough hands grab your waist and the familiar hard dick presses up against your ass. You gasp at the feeling. “S-Shouto?” Your response is an icy smack on your left ass cheek, making you yelp. “Shouto!” But before you could get mad at him further, your breath is knocked out of your lungs yet again when he slams his dick into your pussy. You fingers dig into the rag underneath you, knees wobbily trying to maintain balance on the hardwood floor.

“Hnngh!! Not again!!”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It was only 11:51am, and sweet Jesus were you tired.

You felt like you did every position already: on the bed, on your knees, against the wall, bent over the countertop, on the fucking stairs!! You were exhausted! And to your right, the birthday boy was cheerfully slurping his cold soba noodles for his birthday lunch. You weren’t very hungry, but you took a few bites earlier (he practically forced you to eat, concerned for your well-being). It didn’t even look like he broke a sweat, the only evidence of your nasty morning being the scratch marks on his back.

As you take a sip of water, your husband sneaks glances at you. Eyes full of concern and worry, he observes the various bruises, hickeys, and the state of your apron.

Right, that damn apron.

It was a wonderful surprise, a surprise that Shouto would have never thought would ever greet him in the morning, even more so his birthday. If he were to ever tell his first-year high school self of this life, he would probably scoff and tell him to focus on his hero career. But right now, as he looks at you—the person who’s turned his house into a home (and the reason why he even has a big house like this #proposal)— he can’t imagine anything better than this. Finishing his lunch, he places the plate down before wrapping his muscular, warm arms around you. Shouto presses a soft kiss to your forehead, eyes on yours.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft and tender, full of love that makes your heart melt.

“Mhm!” You quip cheerfully and place the glass down. “I told you, I’m not hungry. You worry too much baby.” “I’m allowed to worry,” he murmurs, his hand resting against your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Especially when it’s about you.”

Your heart swells at the sincerity in his voice, and you rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you say with a smile, looking up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes. “You’ll have to put up with me for a while. ‘Till death,' you know?”

His lips curl into a small smile at the reference to your vows, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

‘Till death’ was what he had promised. ‘I promise to love you until death, until death do us part. Yet I will love you even after death, for an aeon of eternity.’

And everyone knows that Pro Hero Shouto Todoroki never does a half-assed job. Especially as your husband. Looking back at your adorable figure, his smile reverts to a frown when he spots that lacy, frilly, pink apron.

Right, that damn apron.

The sight of it stirs a conflicting swirl of emotions in Shouto. On one hand, it’s adorable—seeing you proudly donning the frilly, slightly-too-thin fabric while bustling around the house for his birthday. But on the other hand... it’s too flimsy, too distracting, and it’s been on you for too long. It takes everything in him not to reach out and tug it off, not because he’s impatient but because it feels like the apron is mocking his already limited self-control. ‘You might be upset,’ he thinks to himself, lips pressed together in a thin line. Shouto knows how much effort and planning you’ve put into your plans today, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

But at the same time, he wants to see you fully naked, bathed in your usual goddess beauty, all unwrapped just for him.

Besides, it was fine, right? That poor article of clothing needed a break: cum stains everywhere, smelling like a mix of Sol De Janeiro cherirosa and sweat from your lovemaking. It was crumpled up in areas too, no matter how much you tried to smooth it out.

The final string of restraint snaps in him when you put his empty plate in the sink, cute ass on display once again. Before you know it, the knot of the apron is undone and you’re tossed onto the couch.

“Shouto!” You huff, voice full of surprise. But before you can continue your complaining, the pink apron is pull off of your body and tossed to some corner of the living room. Shouto eyes you hungrily, like a wolf looking at his prey. You swallow nervously.

“B-baby?” His hand moves to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice softer now but no less earnest. “And I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.” He begins pressing featherlike kisses to your body, making you giggle and smile.

You were not prepared for what was coming next.

Cold fingers teasing your entrance suddenly press down on your clit, making you scream. You’re soaking wet again, face burning. “My lunch was delicious, like how you always make it,” your husband notes, teasing your hole by rubbing his hot fingers along your entire slit (from clit to ass).

“But I want to eat my dessert now.”

Your cunt makes embarrassing squelches and sounds, music to Shouto’s ears as he continues to eat you out on the couch. It’s been how long? 5 minutes? 10 minutes? 20? His tongue swipes your sweet bud while his middle and ring finger curl slightly and hit just the right spot. Shouto’s name tumble out of your mouth, recited like a prayer. At a particularly rough suck on your clit, your hands fly to Shouto’s hair, gripping it tightly. He moans at the feeling and flicks the bud teasingly. This sends you over the edge, eyes rolling to the back of your head and thighs spasming around your husband’s head.

Pulling his head away from your womanhood, he gives it a light, playful slap, watching your thighs jolt up. “S-Shouto!” You scold him lightly, out of breath. That was your third orgasm from just his fingers and tongue alone. He chuckles and reaches over to kiss you. “Sorry, love, I was just teasing.” Sweetly, he helps you sit up on the couch and rubs your arms to soothe you.

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’ve made today perfect,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “And I want to spend the rest of it making you feel just as special.”

Your heart swells at his words for like the fifth time today, and you relax against him, the earlier tension melting away. “You always make me feel special, love.” your tone is filled with warmth as you gaze up at your husband’s perfectly mismatched eyes.

As he lets you cool down, Shouto turns on the TV to check the news. After a few minutes, you suddenly get an idea that you almost forgot about in your plan.

“Shouto?” you quip, gently tapping on his shoulder. He looks at you with a curious look. “Yes, love?” You grin, twirling your hair with a finger.

“There is one more place we haven’t quite warmed up yet.” Eyes filled with curiosity, he watches you stand up start walking. Shouto frowns and puts the remote down before following you. “Love? Where are you going?” Like a lost puppy, he follows you around the house.

You open the laundry room and walk to the washing machine. All of a sudden, you grab a dirty laundry basket and drop down to your knees. Digging your hands through the clothes, you begin tossing the clothing into the machine. “Y/N? Let me help y-”

All of a sudden, you stick your upper half inside, your bare butt on full display. Shouto’s jaw drops, throat drying up. You wiggle your legs in mock distress, fighting the smile on your face.

“Honey! I think I’m stuck in here. Can you help me out?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

498 notes · View notes

javiersvest · 2 months ago

Text

breathe, hold, release (pt. 1)

joel miller x f!pilates instructor reader

summary: when sarah forces joel to drive her to a new pilates studio downtown, he finds a new favorite way to spend saturday mornings.

tags: mdni (18+ only), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader is afab/able bodied, has long hair, no other physical descriptors, meet cute vibes, no smut (yet! part 2 pending) but joel is having thoughts so, slightly pervy!joel, age gap (joel is 40, reader is 28), mention of a breeding kink if you really squint, joel is an angsty horny mess, if i forgot anything please lmk!

word count: 6.8k

a/n: this is my first published fic on here after bowing out of writing for a while, so i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys. my user is misleading but i will be writing for pedro's other characters as well :) ty to my besties for beta'ing this for me ♡ pls be gentle.. alright goodbye!

“Pill what now?”

Joel’s headache throbbed in time with the sound of Sarah thundering down the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he stepped in from the backyard. It was only May, and already an unbearable heat had settled over Austin – eighty degrees before noon, causing sweat to plaster his shirt to his back. He’d spent the morning in a losing battle with a rotted fence post, back aching as he tried to dig it out of the ground. Stubborn bastard that it was, it wasn’t giving up easy.

“Pilates,” Sarah repeated, breezing past him with a blue tote bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s a new studio downtown and Vic’s mom got us a free class. Can you drive me?”

Joel bit back a groan, swiping the sweat from his brow with the heel of his hand. “Downtown?” he echoed, already dreading the traffic. Saturdays downtown were a nightmare; the farmer’s market turning a ten minute drive into half an hour, easily. Joel had unfortunately gotten stuck in the rush each time he had to make a supply run. He glanced toward the oven clock, the dimming light blinking 10:43 a.m. He needed to fix that, too.

Sarah had begun filling her water bottle – the matching one he’d bought her two birthdays ago.

“You need to shower before you take me, you’re gonna get me kicked out.” Sarah remarks, her finger pointing at him and motioning to all of the grime and dirt that clung to him like a second skin. “Class is at 11:30, we have time right?”

Joel ignored the question, sliding the back door’s lock into place. “What the hell is it anyway?” He rarely said no to her, despite his perpetual bearish nature and overall aversion for people. Too many times had Sarah dragged him out of the house just for him to get stuck somewhere that only reminded him of how lonely he was.

“It’s like yoga but with machines,” Sarah’s words are muffled in between her bites of an apple.

Joel’s brow raises. “Thought you said yoga was boring?”

She rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch, already absorbed in her phone. “Go shower. If we’re late, they’ll charge Vic’s mom.”

He sighed, deep and through his nose. Muttering something about who in their right mind pays to do yoga on machines, he trudged up the stairs.

The truck rumbled down South Congress, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, one finger pressed to his temple in an effort to soothe the persistent ache pulsing behind his eye. A silver sedan cut him off with zero hesitation, and he bit back the curse rising to his lips.

“I told you we should’ve left earlier,” Sarah said from the passenger seat, craning her neck toward the window in search of the new studio.

Joel huffed, his tone dry. “I was covered in dirt, you said I had to shower.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were a walking health code violation.” She laughs at her own joke and Joel’s expression remains in a comfortable scowl. Such a smartass. As he made a sharp right turn into the plaza, Sarah perked up and let her arm stretch out of the open window. “Right there! That’s it.”

Joel gave the building a once over. It was new, pristine, and pretentious. Probably owned by some well-to-do Texan socialite who spent more on coffee in a week than he did on power tools in a month. He parked with a heavy exhale and cut the engine. Sarah had one foot out the door, stressed about missing a second of class, when she paused. “Oh – you have to come in and sign a waiver.”

Joel paused, fingers still on the keys. “Thought the whole point of this was me sittin’ in the truck.” Driving back home and turning around to pick her up again would be a waste of time; and gas. But lingering outside in a baking metal box didn’t sound much better.

“It’s five minutes,” Sarah assured him, then smirked. “Unless being surrounded by chicks in leggings is too overwhelming for you.” Joel shot her a long, withering look in response.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shoving the door open with a little more force than necessary.

The parking lot shimmered in the sun as Joel stepped out of the truck, the soles of his boots crunching against the asphalt. Sarah was already halfway to the entrance, her tote bag bouncing against her side, curls swaying. Joel followed at a slower pace, dragging a hand through his hair. The studio came fully into view. Floor-to-ceiling glass, a glowing sign that read MOTIV in green serif, flanked by potted olive trees and dangling strings of fairy lights.

Inside, everything looked soft, curated, and suspiciously spotless. He walked through the front door and was hit with a cool rush of air and the sharp scent of lavender and orange; his headache vibrates in his skull. A display shelf of similar cups to Sarah’s and matching workout sets sat to the right. A neon pink sign above a brushed gold water dispenser glowing Hydrate + Radiate. He hovered near the entrance while Sarah went to check in, arms crossed with a faint scowl. The chalkboard on the wall read “Today’s intention: be here now.” The hell does that even mean?

Joel felt like a sore thumb with a heartbeat.

“Wow,” Sarah murmured, her voice echoing against the sleek linoleum floors as she looked around. “This place is so nice.”

Joel made a low sound in his throat, eyes narrowing at the bright lighting. The walls were all soft blush tones and polished wood, greenery hung in just the right places. Overhead a top fifty playlist sounded through the speakers, Joel recognized the current song from Sarah’s collection.

A woman steps out from around the corner, clipboard in hand, smiling bright and open. Your hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, loose strands of it catching the morning light and framing your face. If he looked close enough he could see the flush over your skin, probably due to the heat. You wore a soft pink sports bra and black leggings, a matching sheer wrap tied around your waist in a loose knot that somehow made the whole ensemble seem less like activewear and more like intention. Not flashy, not performative. Just… natural. Must be what that stupid chalkboard was talking about.

“Hi there!” you greet warmly, approaching with the kind of ease that could only come from liking the act of getting to know people. “Checking in?”

Your eyes meet Joel’s and he feels something stutter in his chest. He might’ve managed a proper introduction if every part of his body hadn’t suddenly forgotten how to function. He’d expected your voice to be sharp and high-pitched, but it was lower than he thought, and warm.

“I’m Sarah,” she answers, and Joel is grateful for it. “This is my dad. He’s just here to drop me off and sign the waiver thing?”

“Got it!” you beamed at her, then turned your attention back to Joel, your smile undimmed. “We ask all guardians to fill one out - liability stuff, just in case. These machines are a little weird for people at first.”

Joel feels like you’re overexplaining, his expression flat as you extend the clipboard to him. Behind him, Sarah coughed pointedly, silently telling him to stop being such an ass. When he glanced at her, she was already watching him with narrowed eyes. The pen attached had a small, fake sunflower affixed to the top. Joel stared at it like it was a trap. “...Really?”

You laugh, light and unbothered. “I know, but everyone seems to like them.”

Joel doesn’t do the polite thing – a laugh, a nod, that reflexive smile people give each other when they lock eyes in a grocery store. Instead, he exhales slowly through his nose and squints at the waiver, pen scratching across the lines with a kind of grim determination. His handwriting is slanted and a little sloppy, like he’s trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

You turn your attention to Sarah, your voice softening. “We’ve got a few machines open, most people like being up front their first time so they can see what’s happening.”

Sarah perks up. “Cool. Is my friend Vic here already?”

You glance over your shoulder, smile brightening when you spot her. Now you remembered checking her in ten minutes ago, she’d mentioned she was saving a place for a friend. “Yep! She checked in earlier, I think she snagged the one in the middle for you. You two are doing this together?”

“First timers,” Sarah grins, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. “Her mom booked us the free class.”

“Trying new things, I love it!” you say, giving her a high-five. “She asked me earlier if it was normal to feel like Bambi on ice during the first class. I told her that’s half the fun.” Sarah laughs and heads toward Vic, who greets her with a dramatic stretch.

Joel is still standing at the counter, hunched slightly over the clipboard. He scrawls his signature on the last line, clearing his throat as he hands the clipboard back to you. Your eyes scan the page, and you find his messy handwriting endearing.

“Thanks… Joel,” you say, softly - not like you were spitting it out. Maybe he imagines that part. Joel gives a grunt that might be a thank you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You tuck the form under your arm and check your watch.

“You’re welcome to wait inside if you’d like - there’s cold towels and water in that fridge over there.” You motion to the bench in the corner with your chin. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He can’t formulate a response, can’t even mumble a simple token of gratitude. You gave another breezy smile and turned to greet a pair of women walking in behind him, slipping easily into conversation. Across the room, Sarah and Vic are giggling over their machines, pointing at the foot straps like they’re some kind of amusement park ride.

Joel lingers for a beat too long with the clipboard no longer in his hands, as if waiting for something else to anchor him. He wondered if you were pretending, if you ever talked to people the way he did; uninterested, rushed.

He sighs and moves toward the bench in the corner. The cushions are softer than expected. They remind him that he doesn’t belong here. He pretends not to notice the way each woman looks him up and down, probably wondering why the hell he was there. Still, Joel sits. Just a few minutes, he tells himself. Long enough to cool off. Long enough for his pulse to stop kicking at his throat. But as your voice drifts through the room - steady and laced with quiet command, he decides to stay.

Joel hadn’t meant to stare.

He really hadn’t.

But somehow, he found himself still on the bench fifteen minutes into the class, a cold towel slack in his hand, no longer pressed to the back of his neck. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, as if that’d make him less conspicuous. As if anyone in this goddamn studio even noticed he was still sitting there – except maybe Sarah, who'd sent him a single, suspicious look before disappearing into your instructions.

But Joel couldn’t look away. Not from you.

You’d claimed the reformer at the front of the class, surrounded by the ten students. Joel watched, rooted, as you’d settled onto it, feet covered with pink socks on the bar. You were fucking adorable. Every movement was fluid – graceful in a way that made his jaw clench. You moved through the class with quiet precision, your legs extending in a slow push that brought your hips off the carriage, then back down with a faint hiss of the springs. Your body stretched; long, flexed, contracted, then stilled. And then again. Again. Again.

It was obscene how hypnotic it was.

"Place your heels on the foot bar, toes flexed toward the ceiling. Keep your spine neutral and engage through that core,” your voice cutting through the lowered music like warm honey. You spoke like you trusted everyone in the room would follow you – even Joel, even though he wasn’t on a machine, even though he hadn’t moved an inch.

“Good. Now press through the heels, extend the legs. Slow tempo. Four counts to extend, four to return. Feel the hamstrings fire up.” And God help him, he did. Watching your body glide slowly along that strange looking machine, smooth and controlled, everything tight and drawn in. You continue until the class is warmed up, then step off your machine to observe.

“Now that we’ve got our legs warmed up, we’ll go ahead and move into foot loops,” you said. You’d taken the pink wrap from around your waist and tossed it onto the wall hooks, leaving only the curve of your hips in black leggings, your baby-pink sports bra clinging to your skin. Joel’s eyes followed you as you walked between the machines, stopping next to Sarah to help her get the foot straps on. Your voice lowers to guide her on where to place the straps, but he can’t hear you over the buzzing in his ears.

You moved down the row, adjusting tension springs on Vic’s machine. “We’re going to start with some wide leg circles. Let the loops pull your legs back as far as they can go, feel that stretch through the backs of the legs and then pull down through the middle.” Your arms lift and mimic the gesture, feet padding along the floor as you inspect each student to check for anyone needing guidance. When you’re satisfied with everyone’s form, you return to your machine and slip your own feet into the loops.

His breath caught when your legs started moving outward in slow splits, carving invisible circles in the air. Joel pressed the towel to his mouth. Not to cool off – just to keep from making a fucking sound. The straps catch in the pulleys above you, like silk thread tugging you from some invisible point in the ceiling.

“Keep your spine anchored, core doing the work. Focus on your breathing, that’s where the strength is.”

Joel feels his breathing switch up to match your pace, and it felt good. The straps kept tension in your limbs, your legs moving in wide circles, gliding just inches above the mat before rising again. The control it took – not just to move like that, but to make it look so easy – tightened something deep in Joel’s gut.

Joel could feel the resistance just from watching. The subtle burn in your thighs. The strain in your lower belly when you drew your legs tighter. The slight tremble in your inner muscles that showed, just for a second, before you steadied again. And Jesus, the way your stomach drew in when your legs came together, toes pointed, straps pulled taut… Joel shifts on the bench, one hand pressing into his thigh. He blinked, trying to scrub the image from behind his eyes. But it was seared there now – your legs in those slow, perfect arcs, hips pinned down, your voice soothing and low.

Then came bridges, and his jaw ticks.

You guide the class through the setup with that same calm cadence that had been slowly wrecking him all morning. “Alright, this one is going to burn after the first few, but I promise it’s worth it.” You joke and earn laughter from the room. “Pull the carriage in with your feet, arms straight and long on the carriage.”

And when you demonstrated the motion yourself – feet on the bar and your hips rising until you were up in the air – Joel’s brain completely derailed.

From the bench, he could see it all: your knees bent, heels digging into the foot bar, the slow articulation of your spine as it peeled away from the mat. Shoulders down. Hips up. The curve of your back forming a line he had absolutely no business thinking about.

“Feel the glutes working here, not the low back. Squeeze and hover, then we’ll pulse for ten and roll down,” you said, calm as ever, like you weren’t using all of your strength. You rolled down slowly, vertebra by vertebra, until your spine was flat again.

“Keep it steady. Don’t let the carriage slam. There’s strength in control.”

His jeans tighten further, jaw going slack.

He could see every line of your body through those leggings – the way your hips rose and fell in rhythm, the tight pull of muscle around your thighs, your stomach flexing, ribs shifting beneath your skin. That pink sports bra rose with each inhale, clung tighter with every breath you blew out.

Joel couldn’t stop imagining your breath against his throat, hot and shallow. Couldn’t stop picturing what it’d be like to have those thighs wrap around him in the air, hips shaking as he traces his name with his tongue in your sweetest spot. To feel the strength of you – the steadiness, the ease, the command. Would you still talk him through it? Patient, encouraging, eager to watch him fall apart?

His jeans were fucking unbearable now.

The machine creaks beneath you, slow and steady as you release and tell the class to catch their breath. Your palms flatten beside your hips, body curling as your knees drew in and your stomach hollowed. You begin rocking side to side to stretch through your lower back, instructing the class to do the same. His mind flashes with the image of you doing it in his bed, exhausted from him spending the night buried deep inside you, knees in the air to make it stick.

Joel dropped his gaze to the floor, pushing a sharp breath through his lips. What the fuck was wrong with him? His daughter was here, just a feet away, laughing quietly with you, following your cues without hesitation. And him? He was on a bench with a hard-on, staring at you like some fucking creep. Arousal simmering under denim like he was seventeen again. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to will the tension out of his shoulders.

This wasn’t who he was. He was a father. He should’ve been paying attention to Sarah, making sure she felt supported, safe. But his mind had gone somewhere dark and hot and selfish – and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t drag it back.

All because of the way your voice wrapped around the room. Because of the curve of your back, the power in your legs, the way you didn’t even seem to know what you were doing to him.

And that was the worst part, this wasn’t a fantasy. It was real, you were real.

You sit up on your machine momentarily, one knee bent on top as you face the class.

“To cool down we’re going to do the same thing, but with our legs this time. What I mean by that is,” you pause and lie back down, everyone in the class sat up to watch your demonstration.

“Feet into the loops, your shoulders should stay grounded. With bridges we roll the back down one vertebrae at a time, this time think of lifting up with your spine instead.” Your legs rise up towards the ceiling, your toes pointed. Voice steady, you say something about keeping your tailbone tucked in, but Joel isn’t hearing you.

His eyes follow your body like he’s a snake charmed, lips parting in awe. He’s watching so closely he can see your abdomen flex just slightly as you lift up through your hips, practically suspended in midair if not for your shoulders staying down. And your face – focused, serene, utterly unbothered by both the difficult maneuver and the effect you were having on him just feet away.

You were so strong, so beautiful. Hell, he was old; probably didn’t know much about what people could do with their bodies outside of hard labor.

He bet you’d teach him a lot of things.

The best his imagination could do still had all his blood pumping to his cock.

If he had you under him, legs hooked over his shoulders, spine arched, stretched and slack like that for him… christ he wouldn’t be able to stop. Guiding your breathing as he turns you into a soft puddle of skin in his grip, fingertips pressing into your knee as he holds you still. He’d do it all night if you would let him. Now that he’d seen you like this, strong and sweet and sexy without even trying, he had to show you how good you were.

You held the pose for a few more seconds, some polite applause sounding from a few of the women. A bashful smile appears as you set your feet down, motioning for everyone to try. You start moving slowly, taking the time to correct each person’s form if necessary. The way you instructed was never malicious, no undercurrent of judgement if someone wasn’t at your level. Joel half expected every girl in here aside from his daughter to have that catty personality that made people feel bad about themselves just for saying hello.

He follows you as you get to Sarah’s machine, the teenager’s brow furrowed as she tried to lift her hips in the air how you did. Her legs were shaky, unsure. Joel almost stood up in case the machine did something wonky and hurt her. Soon there’s a pair of hands on Sarah’s calves, supporting her legs while you talk to her.

“Breathe into it, Sarah,” you say softly. “Imagine there’s a string pulling you right up, like you’re nothin’ but a feather.” You laugh airly at your own comment, Sarah’s eyes scrunching as she giggles back. Then your fingers are wrapped around her ankles, shoulder blades flexing under that baby pink sports bra as you guide her legs up.

She tries again – and this time, her body rises just like you’d said, wobbly, but right. You nod excitedly, a beaming smile on your face as you encourage her to hold the post without your support. Your fingers release and Sarah cranes her neck towards the bench.

She was checking; checking to see if her dad was watching. Just like at every soccer game, every choir show, Joel was. He sees her trying something new and succeeding, and sees you helping her get there. Joel’s smile is soft and immediate. Pride floods his chest as he gives her a small nod, then his eyes carry back to you.

You’re already looking at him, and Joel’s breathing nearly freezes.

There’s a look written across your face that he can’t decipher. A flicker of curiosity, maybe? The way you’re looking at him now, head tilted, lips parted, chest rising slow; it tells Joel you know. You know what he’s been thinking. Know he’s been watching you, wanting you, sinking teeth into every soft command and slow stretch like a starving man. And worse than that: you’re not stopping it. You’re not asking him to leave, or giving him dirty looks.

Joel swallows hard, jaw flexing as he drags his gaze down your throat, your shoulders, the curve of your waist. Lets you watch him imagine your thighs hooked over his shoulders, his hands keeping you steady, taking what he’s been aching for since the first breath you took in that room.

You blink slowly.

And just like that, it’s over. You turn back to the class, guiding and praising like you didn’t just fucking unravel him from across the room. His hands curl into fists on his knees when he realizes this isn’t just some fleeting crush. Not anymore.

The room settles, your voice softer but clear as you lead the class through a final cooldown. Your chin is tilted up towards the ceiling, shoulders rolling back. Then your hands come together in a gesture of appreciation. You thank everyone for coming, a few women already reaching for towels and water bottles. Sarah steps off the reformer and starts tugging her shoes back on, you coming over to adjust something with the machine Joel can’t see. She says something, he can’t hear it, but you both laugh, and Joel feels his chest crack open with something warm. Something more pure. But it’s not enough to smother the want.

Sarah joins Vic by the water refill station, the girls chatting excitedly and sharing their surprise for how fun it was. You’re kneeling by the machine she’d used, a bottle of disinfectant spraying onto the leather as you wipe it down with a rag. You do it to each machine, diligently moving through the motions like you’d done it a million times.

Everything is back to normal except him.

His body is still too wired, every nerve still lit up from watching you teach. And now he has to walk over, play it cool, and be a good dad. Ask Sarah if she had fun and tell her how proud he is – without letting a single thing on his face give him away.

God help him.

Sarah bounds towards him, some of her curls stuck to her forehead with sweat. “Who’s the walking health hazard now?” Joel teases, bumping his fist into her shoulder gently.

“It’s way harder than it looks,” she says with a tired smile, ignoring his banter. She must really be burnt out then.

Joel chuckles and looks at the reformers with a dramatic puff of air. “Those look like hell.”

“They are,” her grin grows, proud now. “But it was fun! Like, weirdly fun.”

He hums and lets her take a drink of water before asking, “You wanna come back then?”

Sarah doesn’t think anything of his question, but shakes her head. “No way, I just wanted to try it. Pilates is expensive,” she answers. Joel’s heart clenches a little, a flicker of insecurity on his face with the knowledge that his daughter was aware of their financial situation. They were comfortable, but things were definitely tight most of the time. Joel did what he needed to do.

“I’m sure they’ve got a payment plan or somethin’, c’mon let’s ask.” Joel jerks his chin towards the front desk. You’re sitting there now, sipping from a water bottle. Sarah looks at her dad in confusion, surprised that he was even entertaining the idea.

When they approach the desk you set the bottle down, smiling at Sarah. “Hey! How’d you like it? You did an amazing job for it being your first time.”

Her face lights up, and she can’t help but beam under the praise. “It was awesome, I didn’t think I’d be able to do half of that.”

“You’re always stronger than you think you are, at least that’s what I’ve learned doing this,” you offer kindly. Always affirming and attentive.

Joel clears his throat, voice steadier than he feels. “We were just wonderin’ about the membership. If there’s uh, a rate or somethin’ like that.”

Reaching under the desk you grab a piece of paper, placing it on the counter. You turn it so they can read it, your pointer finger tracing the rates as you explain each one. “Since we just opened a few months ago we're still running a 25% off discount if you buy three months of classes.”

Joel and Sarah share a look, but they don’t say anything, silently communicating. Joel’s hand moves to his back pocket, digging out his wallet and sliding one of his cards out.

“You better become star pupil, how much this is runnin’ me,” he jokes with her, handing the card to you. You laugh at the exchange, not impolitely. Joel feels a sense of accomplishment that he’d made you laugh.

“She’s already on her way, don’t worry.” You hand over his receipt with a smile, that same pen from earlier nestled between your thumb and the thin paper. The pen clicks against the counter as he hunches over to sign; sign himself away to you, it felt like. This time when the fake flower taped to the top grazes his knuckles, he just smiles to himself. Welcomes it, like that little flower was the closest he’d ever get to you.

It had become routine, sacred in its quiet regularity.

Every Saturday morning, he’d watch her fill up her water bottle, tousle her hair, then watch her sling that tote bag over her shoulder like she’d been doing pilates her whole life. Then Joel drove Sarah downtown, pretending to dread the drive a little less each week that passed. The first time back, he’d tried to leave after dropping her off. Using coffee as an excuse only worked that first time, though, Sarah knowing there was no way in hell Joel was going to drop $9 on a latte three buildings down. At least not on a coffee for himself.

It’d been about a month now; four Saturdays. Maybe five, he couldn’t remember. It was long enough that the receptionist knew him by name, long enough that Sarah had a favorite reformer, right next to yours, and a pre-class stretching routine. You had grown roots in his mind, but not just his – in Sarah’s too. Every afternoon after class she’d rave about your teaching, how funny you were, how she thought you were “just the coolest.”

Aside from the fact he already thought you were beautiful, the way his daughter spoke about you made appreciation bloom in his chest. You really saw her. You never shrunk her, always met her teenage uncertainty with warmth and ease, matched her sense of humor. In a room of older women, toned and polished, you treated Sarah like she belonged. The studio, with its sun-warmed floors and pop music, had become a place they both looked forward to.

And so, Joel would sit on that bench in the corner for an hour every weekend, watching you stretch and manipulate your body in ways he didn’t know were possible.

He told himself it was purely for Sarah. That it was about her confidence, her joy. And it was. The way she’d fallen in sync with you each class, it was worth every penny. He’d picked up some night jobs on the weekends Sarah was at a friend’s house just to make up for the splurge, his back aching in places it hadn’t before. He bet you’d be able to soothe that ache in his back, your hands gently nudging him over the line of satisfaction, voice gentle as you guide his breathing.

He couldn’t tell if you were aware of how much you fed his delusions. It was the way you smiled each time the pair walked in, the way you warmed up any conversation. The small talk had started slowly. Mundane things, safe things, like how long have you been doing this? 3 years. It’s really heating up out there isn’t it? I love the sun, it’s not so bad. Then it turned into questions about his week, how Sarah was doing, how he was doing.

You never seemed rushed, never distracted. Even when students would trickle in, you never ended your conversation with him. Some mornings, your eyes would focus on him in a way he had deemed unnecessary, eyes searching for something in his face while he talked.

Then you would laugh, quiet and low, when he said something he hadn’t intended to be funny. He wasn’t sure when you started touching his arm when you said goodbye, but he noticed now. The warmth of it. The quick, electric trail it left behind. You never lingered long enough for him to know for sure. Never stepped out of line. But you didn’t avoid him, either.

You followed him home every weekend, embedded in his mind’s eye. Your smile, your body, your voice. Dancing around in his head like the ballerina in a musicbox. One absolutely insignificant detail he’d latched onto was your backpack hanging up behind the desk. Specifically, the pink and silver bow chain dangling from one of the zippers. He’d watch it clink against the fabric each time you took a step, or watch it catch the light when you went to grab something from the small pocket in the front.

She’s got a bow on her keys, he’d think to himself, laying in bed with an arm behind his head.

Of course she does.

You become Joel's little secret, the adoringly kind pilates instructor downtown who always wore matching sets and had a bow keychain hanging on her bag.

Another class had concluded, women passing Joel as he leaned on the front desk, elbows starting to ache a little from pressing into the hard surface. Sarah started helping you around the studio a couple of weeks ago, wiping down machines and mindless tasks, anything to talk to you. This meant he got the hang around a bit longer, watch you. Talk to you. Sarah’s laughter echoes behind him; she offers to fold the towels, her good deed for the day, he hears her say.

You stood behind the desk, shoulders relaxed now that the class ended, a faint sheen still clinging to your skin. There was a different ease to you in the emptiness. The professional brightness dimmed, leaving something quieter in its place – closer to the woman he imagined when he was lying awake at night, chasing the sound of your laugh in his memory while he stared at the ceiling.

“Got anything fun planned for the rest of the day?” you ask him coolly, head tilted in curiosity. You lean into the counter just a little, eyes catching his in that way that knocks the wind out of him.

“Mm,” he hums. “Laundry, dishes. Fix this drawer in the kitchen that never shuts right.”

You lift a brow, smile pulling slowly. “Wow, that does sound fun,” you tease, but not unkindly.

He huffs a dry laugh, lets his gaze drag down the line of your arm and back up again. “Yeah, well. Sittin’ here in the air conditioning beats fixin’ drawers, but it’s gotta get done. Sarah’s been complainin’ about it for days.”

You smile knowingly, a clever glint in your eye. “And here I thought you were sitting in here cause you liked the view.”

He feels himself shift as he straightens up, like he’s been caught red-handed. His lips part as though he’s about to say something else, defend himself, put your suspicions to rest or apologize for being perverted. But nothing comes out. He could try to laugh, make a joke, say he’s just here for Sarah. Hell, maybe he could’ve done that a few Saturdays ago, but not now.

Not with the way you’re looking at him.

Like you already know.

Joel swallows thickly, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he might say something slick, something brave. But it falters, and he comes clean. “Would be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.”

Your brow arches, just barely. You don’t retreat, don’t fill the silence with something easier. You just hold his gaze, head tilted like you’re wondering how honest he’ll let himself be. He lets out a breath through his nose. “”M real sorry, I didn’t mean to..” he trails off, redness creeping up his tanned neck and peeking through the collar of his t-shirt.

Then you laugh; not loud or cruel, just amused. “Relax, Joel,” you say easily. “Be lying if I said I minded,” you copy his words and they land right in his chest.

He glances down at the counter. “Thought maybe you were just bein’ polite, or I read things wrong,” he shakes his head, brows knitted together.

“I was being polite,” you confirm with a nod. “But no, you didn’t read it wrong.”

Joel scratches the back of his neck, the shift in his stance subtle but telling. There’s still heat in the air between you, but now he’s glancing toward the hallway like he’s trying to redirect it, tuck it somewhere safer.

“By the way,” he says, clearing his throat, “Noticed one of the sinks in the men’s room’s got a slow drain,” he said, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “These new buildings they rush the plumbing.”

You blink, then your brows lift in amusement. “Oh does it?”

“Yeah,” he nods, earnest as ever. “Probably just a loose fitting or the trap’s clogged, but,” he shrugs, hands sliding into his pockets, “I could take a look if you want.”

It’s so innocent on the surface. Almost too innocent. You tilt your head, watching him and waiting for a punchline. “Is this a ploy for something?”

His head jerks back slightly, as if the thought scandalized him. “What? No –” he rubs a palm over his beard, then exhales a quiet laugh. “I mean… no. Just hate bad handiwork, drives me crazy.”

You’re smiling now, arms crossed, leaning just a little into the counter. “So you’re not trying to impress me with your plumbing skills.”

He gives a low chuckle, something sheepish flickering in his expression. “God, no. Just wanna help you out, ‘fore it gets too bad.”

You purse your lips, fighting off an even wider smile. There’s something magnetic about his awkwardness. The way he tries so hard not to overstep, even as his interest leaks out bit by bit.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to show you're considering him. “Does Monday work? That’s our upkeep day.”

“Monday’s great.” Joel nods once, his eyes meeting yours with a tender expression in them.

Sarah steps into the room and squints at the freshly printed class schedule taped to the wall, her gaze quickly moving between it and you.

“Monday?” she asks, her brows furrowing. “Did the class get switched?”

The words hang in the air, and the shared look between you and Joel is one of fondness, like you’re sharing an inside joke.

“Your dad offered to fix a sink for me, what do you think it’s gonna run me?” you say, sliding a small pin across the counter toward Sarah.

You had a matching one affixed to your backpack, the studio’s name printed on it, and Sarah’s eyes light up. The beginning of a smirk starts to appear as she turns the pin over once. She doesn’t miss a thing.

“Hard to say,” she says, she muses, exaggeratedly thoughtful. “He’s not cheap. You might end up owing him dinner.”

You stifle a laugh, trying not to look too pleased as you lean on the counter. “You go around fixing every girl’s sink in exchange for food?”

Joel opens his mouth, but Sarah cuts in before he has the chance. “Just the girls he has crushes on.”

Joel groans low under his breath, head tipping back like he’s asking the ceiling for mercy. “Jesus, Sarah.”

Sarah taps the pin once against the edge of the counter, then pins it to her bag. “Well,” she says with a shrug, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you next Saturday, and he will see you on Monday.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, eyes lingering on Joel just a moment longer, catching the way he shifts under the weight of all Sarah’s teasing.

Sarah leads him to the door and he hesitates, his hand grazing the back of his neck like he’s not quite ready to go, like there’s something else he wants to say but won’t.

“See you Monday,” he says at last, voice low, sincere.

You smile, warm and easy. “I’ll be here.”

Joel nods once, then turns to follow Sarah, who’s already halfway out the door. Just before it swings closed behind him, he glances back over his shoulder – there’s a quiet hopefulness in his eyes, an understanding that the feelings are mutual. That you saw him and his inner turmoil weeks ago, and you didn’t shy away.

You lift your hand in a quiet wave, no teasing this time.

Sarah is saying something about getting food on the way home, but Joel’s mind is still inside, with you. The way you’d smiled at him like you meant it. The way you leaned on the counter, eyes full of mischief, sweet as sin. He hadn’t expected any of this, and was getting more than he bargained for. As he gets into his truck, something settles in his chest – something heavier.

He’d looked too long. Thought too much. You didn’t even know what you were doing to him, and that made it worse. You were so good, so damn sweet, and he’d sat there every week with his head full of things he hadn’t let himself want in years. Things he wasn’t sure he had the right to want now. He told himself it was harmless. Just a little crush, something to think about at night to help him fall asleep.

But he was already thinking about Monday. The sink, sure, but mostly the quiet. Just the two of you. No class in session, no students to pretend around, no reason to keep his distance.

And that scared him more than anything.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

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peascribbles · 20 days ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒅-𝑬𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓

He seeks permission to enter. Will you grant it?

vampire hunter!sylus x gn!reader, sinners-inspired setting, sylus is a smug bastard (loving); 600wc.

Country overrun with monsters or not, you must still work for your coin—there was no fighting the apocalypse if you died of starvation first. Times were harder than ever. Your cattle and chickens had long been slaughtered, your crops destroyed. This converted bed & breakfast was all you had left.

Friend or foe? Saviour or killer? Decisions you must make every night on this lonely stretch of road between the only two towns for miles.

Tonight, a towering, red-eyed stranger comes knocking. His shadow stretches behind the golden lanternlight that spills beyond the entrance to your home.

He tips his wide brimmed hat, silvery white strands falling free onto his forehead.

"Evening," he says, the greeting massaged on his tongue like a purr.

Oh, for god's sake. There never was a more obvious vampire at your doorstep.

But your judgement's been wrong before—with deadly consequences that haunt you in your sleep—so as much as you itch to shut the door in his face, you stay your hand.

"...Evening. What can I do for you?" You remain well behind the threshold where they cannot cross without explicit invitation.

It doesn't escape his notice.

"Just looking for somewhere to bunker down for the night. I'm a hunter," he emphasises with a smile that's not exactly kind, "you see. They've been swarming around these parts lately. I'm sure you know."

"Sure do," you respond. "And how do I know you're not one of 'em?"

"Yeah," he drawls, "you wouldn't have made it this long without being careful. Good. I like that." His smile widens, even less friendly now, and you glimpse a flash of gleaming white teeth. A gilt canine. Well, none of them are pointed at least, you note.

He rummages around in one of his many pockets. While he's searching for—whatever it was he wanted to get—you check for the classic signs.

Old, well-used leather cape draped on his broad shoulders, loose cotton shirt, dark brown trousers. Clothes probably aren't stolen from another body. What're the chances you can find pants long enough for those legs lying around?

Belt wrapped around that solid waist, attached with an impressive array of knives and a Colt. They like to use their hands and mouths. Don't have much use for weapons.

His overall appearance is clean. Shaven, hair neat. He even smells of something nice, even from this distance. Now that was unusual. Cedarwood and oakmoss instead of the stink of blood.

Your impromptu survey is interrupted when he retrieves a paper slip and presents it to you. You can't help it—your eyes widen as you read it.

A hunter identification slip from the Capital. Name: Sylus Qin. Occupation: Frontline hunter. Commencement date: 17 April 1932. Stamped with the mark of the Hunter's Association. A black & white portrait in the corner, faded, but without a doubt the same man that stands in front of you now.

You have to read his commencement date another time. That's less than a month after the monsters came—would make him one of the original hunters, lauded for their bravery, who came forward when the world was churning with chaos and fear.

"That enough confirmation for you?" His eyes gleam with clear satisfaction with your reaction.

Still reeling, you blurt out the first dumb thought that surfaces in your mind.

"If you're a good, honest man, why don't you try to look less like…" you gesture at him from head to toe, "all that?"

Sylus chuckles, a rich, honey-smooth sound that pools in your gut. "You wound me, sweetheart. This is the face I was born with."

He steps forward and leans down, crossing right past your sacred threshold. Miraculously, he doesn't burst into flames.

"Besides," he murmurs, calloused fingers tilting your chin to angle you eye-to-eye with him. "I don't recall claiming I was either of those things."

Never mind a vampire. This handsome stranger, mortal though he is, promises ruin of a very different kind.

#sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace #pea.snax #was inspired out of the blue to conceptualise this idea that's been percolating in my head #maybe more to come?

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moonstruckme · 15 days ago

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Hi Mae! Welcome back, hope you had a great, well deserved break while requests were off 🫶 but I was wondering if I could request tasm!peter x fem or gn reader (whichever you’d like!), that’s kinda specific kinda not..

but maybe a fic where reader accidentally hurts themselves, not seriously but like, enough to bleed just a bit, but they do not enjoy the sight of blood at all, so Peter has to help them with the actual injury, whatever it is, but also them feeling lightheaded/dizzy or faint from the blood itself ?? but it’s overall a fluffy and sweet scene

Hope that isn’t too specific, thank youuu <3

-🪻

Thanks angel!

cw: blood mention, joking reference to war

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 574 words

You suck air in through your teeth. “Ow.”

Your face tips toward the source of the hurt on instinct, but Peter’s nose bumps your chin gently, reminding you to keep it up. “Don’t look,” he says.

“Are you almost done? It stings.”

“That’s what happens when you try to make cats be friends, baby.” You can see Peter’s smirk in your periphery. At your pointed silence, he softens his tone. “Yeah, I’m almost done. Hang in there.”

You sigh. “I really thought they’d get along. Yzma gets so lonely.”

You were sitting by the window with your cat, Yzma, when the neighbor’s tabby decided to hop across to your fire escape for a visit. Usually, he’s well received; you’ll stick your hand out the window to feed him a few treats while Yzma sits on the floor halfway across the room looking suspicious but intrigued. You’d thought the intrigue would win out, but when Yzma had seen him so close today—not seeming to realize there was still a window between them—she’d chosen fight and then flight, batting at the glass a few times before tearing off. And, of course, tearing up your lap in the process. Peter had followed the sounds of her panicked spitting to find you with thin scratches welling blood on your thighs and already beginning to slump in your chair from the sight of them.

Yzma was put in time-out. You do plan to make a case for her, as soon as you can see straight.

“She gets lonely for you,” Peter laughs. He squeezes your knee, the cool surface of your kitchen counter chilling the underside. “She’s got it made here, and she knows it. She doesn’t want some tomcat coming around to hog your attention.”

“She only misses me because I’m the one who gives her treats.”

“Bingo.”

Peter laughs again when you tip your head down just enough to glare. He squeezes your knee again, ducking closer to kiss beneath your jaw, over the fluttering beat of your pulse. You hear the crackly ripping sound of adhesive being peeled from bandages.

“You’re gonna look like you just came back from war.”

“It feels like it.”

“I’m gonna tell my great uncle Dave you said that. He was in World War II.”

“Ask him if there are any support meetings I could go to, please?”

Peter’s smile winds up tucked into your shoulder. You tilt your cheek into his hair, the sticky-uppy ends tickling your skin.

“Too far,” you murmur. “Sorry.”

Peter hums like he maybe agrees but he’s amused nonetheless. His thumb runs over the edge of a bandage, flattening it. “You’re all done.”

You breathe out. “Thanks.”

“Feeling any better?” He cups your face, straightening to look you in the eyes. “Still kind of floaty?”

You give a small shrug and a smile. “A little. Not as much.”

Peter’s thumb strokes down your cheek sympathetically. “You wanna stay here for a while?” he asks, cooing a little.

Your smile grows. “Maybe. What will we do?”

“I mean, distraction helps, right?”

You hum, leaning down so you meet Peter in the middle. The tips of your noses brush. “Yeah. It does.”

Peter tips his head up to catch the corner of your lips with his mouth. “You can’t pass out while I’m kissing you, you know. I’ll never live it down.”

You close your eyes, settling in. “Just take it as a compliment if I do, m’kay?”

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fishymom-art · 24 days ago

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as per @ravenette0 's request, here's a semi-coherent explanation of PV and SM's character in Fix a Beast

(if you want me to write anyone else, tell me haha)

I kind of assumed that their overall character is already easy to interpret BUT it never a bad idea to put it into words. It will be under the cut!!!

Pure Vanilla Cookie He's an extremely caring and compassionate cookie, which Shadow Milk criticised both in the game and here. Of course, he also tries to take everyone else's feelings into account. Basically, he's not only the voice of reason, but also the empath of the group, thinking about other peoples' well-being more, than his own. Was it slightly selfish of him to not take his citizens' opinion into account and jumping right into helping the most dangerous cookies in history of Cookiekind? Yeaaahhh perhaps. But that's sort of his nature - wanting to help everyone without bias. This takes a toll on his mental health. Not only this immense amount of responsibilities for the Beasts, but pressure from other cookies, especially his citizens. All he really wants is for everyone to be happy and watching everything crumble (HA) in front of him, as the world refuses to accept the Beasts, makes him... well, let's say snap. If his kind approach doesn't work, he'll find a different one, which leads to his corruption and a state of delusion. His reasoning for everything is always peace and happiness for everyone, but it doesn't take away his inner selfishness and will to control everything. He also has a very low self-esteem. If he fails at something, he doesn't take it very well. He blames himself even for things he can't really control. TLDR: he's kind, loving, cares about everyone more than himself, but also selfish at times, wants control, and has low self-esteem.

Shadow Milk Cookie Liar liar pants on fire or smth. His character is really all over the place, but as the AU progresses, he changes and opens up. At first he's chaotic and narcissistic, but secretly really cares about those who matter to him (other Beasts and his henchmen). He's annoyed by the fact that he has to stay in Vanilla Kingdom, but it was a choice between boredom and death. He warms up to Pure Vanilla and Gingerbrave with time, stands up for himself when he's criticised for his changes and behaviour, and concentrates a bit more on his relationship with other cookies, because in reality, he's just lonely. He just wants someone to appreciate him and as soon as he gets what he wanted for so long, suddenly he becomes a completely different cookie. At first he doesn't want to admit his new-found softness, but by the end learns to be more open. Still has abandonment issues, still has that chaotic and narcissistic flare to his character, but now it's in kind of... charming way, I guess. Very creative, charismatic, basically everything he used to be, but now he uses it for good. A perfectly chaotic gremlin hahaha

TLDR: he's chaotic, charismatic and narcissistic, but really all he wants is some attention. At first he hates everything, but by the end he becomes more open and loving.

Yeah uh here you go. I highlighted the things that matter the most like it's school hahaha

#fix a beast au #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #cookie run #cookie run au #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom au

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slutsenpai · 14 days ago

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omg I've been exploring through ur content lately and i really like the way u write can i request angst of bllk boys where their s/o died especially (itoshi brothers, karasu,chigiri,kaiser) and whatever u like

love your work 😭😭♥️

hiiii omg thank u :3 I’m not caught up in the manga so I don’t know much about michael, and I don’t remember much about karasu so I’ll write rin, sae, chigiri, and reo if that’s okay ! I like the idea of angst for reo because he has no chill lol. and full disclosure I don’t have much experience writing angst but I’ll try my best !

ブルーロック ⊹˚˖୧ without you ◞♡ itoshi sae, chigiri hyōma, itoshi rin, mikage reo

blue lock boys and how they deal with losing you

content tw. death, angst, grief, substance abuse

— THOSE WHO MOVE ON.

⊹˚˖୧ sae

his personality doesn't change much at first, but he becomes even more cold and distant as the months go on. it starts to concern his friends, family, and teammates, but he refuses anyone's help for years until it starts to really impact his soccer career.

he becomes even more difficult for teams to work with. he's lucky that his soccer skill outweighs the impact of his professional relationships.

and not to get too sad but you asked for angst, so ... I feel like sae would be the most likely of these four to turn to substances after his s/o dies. he's too conceited to admit that he needs help, but he needs the distraction.

constantly goes through photos and videos of you, but usually stops when he gets to the point of tears.

alcoholism and being a world-class athlete don't really mix well, and it takes teammates, coaches, management, and therapy for him to recover.

he's overall just a bit more reckless now; he worries about his future mostly for the money, yeah, but he doesn't have anyone to take care of now, so he doesn't really give a fuck what happens to himself.

drinking, partying, lovers, some betting and gambling here and there.

sometime in his thirties, he eventually settles down with someone else but it's not the same, of course it's not. it's mostly just for public appearances and how fucking lonely he is, anything to fill that void. the emotions aren't as intense, the conversations aren't as meaningful, and the sex is nowhere near as good. it's just not you.

however, he realized that he needed to start getting his life together again. he still thinks about you daily, and the heartache never goes away completely.

sae visits your grave about every half year, and always on your birthday.

⊹˚˖୧ hyōma

he isolated himself at first but eventually opened up to his close friends. he took a lot of time off from professional soccer, the most out of the four on this list.

heartbroken would be an understatement. every aspect of his life just feels wrong without you. eating, sleeping, grocery shopping, attending events ... it all just feels off.

I’ll be honest, he cries a lot. he isn’t ashamed about it, though. he’s trying to work through his emotions and knows that he eventually needs to get help once he’s ready.

he starts to rely on his friends and goes to therapy, which he wasn't used to; but he knows that it's what you would want for him.

his friends and family don’t avoid talking about you and you’re not a “touchy subject.” chigiri encourages them to think about you and reminisce on all of the memories. you’ll always be a part of him.

he does end up dating someone new, but he really has to force himself. his mother and sister were so worried about him, and he's trying to move on to ease their concern.

still wears your wedding ring for almost two years. the new girlfriend is not happy about it, but when she brings it up, chigiri snaps.

“what, so insecure that you’re jealous over someone who's dead?”

it causes an argument, but he ends up putting it in the safe a few months later, mostly so people don’t assume he’s married to his current girl. she stays with him for the money, but he never proposes.

hyōma visits your grave every week at first, so he can talk to you and be alone. as he starts to heal, it's about every four months going forward.

— THOSE WHO CAN’T MOVE ON.

⊹˚˖୧ rin

he ends up being completely listless and closes himself off even more from people than he was already. he never stopped wearing his wedding ring.

rin is enough of a loner as is. when he finally found you, he knew that there could be no one else for him. it would be impossible for him to move on.

his family is worried about him, but he's always been this way, really. they're not going to push him to start another relationship.

he relies on soccer and working out to distract himself. constantly blaring music through his headphones so he can't think, working himself to exhaustion every single day. no breaks, no women.

being exhausted and always wanting to sleep usually backfires though, because he almost always dreams about you. usually nightmares because of how much he misses you, but he feels so relieved and content when he has a nice dream.

as the years go on, the nightmares subside and the good dreams are much more frequent.

rin visits your grave about every month or two, depending on how he's feeling and what his soccer schedule is like. always excited to share his achievements with you, and he can still imagine just what your voice sounded like and how proud you would be.

⊹˚˖୧ reo

losing you completely devastated his life. he moved in with nagi after it happened; you were the one thing that was more important to him than his best friend, and now you were gone. and nothing could undo it.

he kept all of your belongings at his house, except anything that your family wanted. he couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. he brought some of your jewelry, books, perfumes, and plushies to nagi's place. reo's own home now sits cold and unlived.

I kinda feel like he would slut himself out in an attempt to ease his pain. he was lonely, vulnerable, and attractive. he would fuck friends, acquaintances, randoms — some of which he didn't even know their names.

reo still wore his wedding ring except on nights that he was looking for hookups. even when he did have it on, it's not like that stopped most people who were trying to get close to him for his money, anyway.

nagi would try his best to support reo, but they were both pretty awful at communicating their emotions. reo relied on nagi to a toxic extent, becoming even more possessive over his friend now that he didn't have you to care for.

on really bad nights, he'll cuddle up with nagi and cry into his chest for hours, even years after losing you. luckily reo doesn’t drink often, or these nights would be even worse.

reo visits your grave for most holidays or whenever he’s feeling lonely, always making sure that you have a fresh and pretty bouquet that reflects the seasons.

⟢ @slutsenpai ⟣ // masterlist // navigation

notes. thank u for the request, nonnie! I hope that u like it :) likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated!◞♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason.

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prosypepper · 11 months ago

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deadbeat - toji fushiguro

synopsis: too stupid and selfish for anything good to happen.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: angst, toji is an ass, marriage problems, arguements, pregnancy, like two paragraphs of smut, rushed relationships, ooc toji (probably), really bad writing, a bunch of timeskips cuz i'm lazy. (18+ mdni!)

notes: yeah this one is ass but i just wanted to make something sad/angry. much love! send me requests i'm begging </3.

edit: you can find pt. 2 here.

masterlist

toji sits on a random bench downtown. he’s thinking. he thinks he’s too self-absorbed. and he’s rude, too rude for anyone to befriend him in a genuine way. he wishes he could change. toji’s left everyone in his life behind at some point. he gets overwhelmed sometimes, seeing all the people around him that more than likely have someone or something that keeps them going.

what does toji have? nothing. and it’s his own fault, too. he only has a stubbornness to him that won’t let him die. his mind is the only thing that keeps him going.

and then he sees you.

you plop down on the same bench, not next to him, but only a few feet away, rummaging through your bag to find something. you’re determined, not focused on the big scary man next to you. but to toji; you’re the first person in years that has sat next to him. he stares at you, as you still search for that something in your bag – your keys, toji sees you grab your keys. you look back up, finding toji staring at you, and he doesn’t break the contact with his eyes, he only continues to stare.

“are…you okay…?” you ask the man, giving him an awkward smile, “i’m sorry if i bothered you.”

once you speak, toji shakes his head, “no, no…you’re fine. i was just thinking,” toji says. you notice his gruff tone, yeah, it fits the way he looks perfectly. he’s muscular, and has dark, dark hair that matches the midnight sky with no stars. there’s also a bored look on his face, his eyes stay half-lidded, and his mouth sits in a natural frown. but he’s handsome, you think. very handsome. but it’s almost in an unconventional way – the scarring on his lips and overall structure of his face is like none other you’ve seen before.

call it love at first sight, call it whatever you want. but you felt a certain need for this man.

“thinking about what?” you ask, in an attempt to talk to him.

toji shakes his head again, “nothing important.”

you think that he probably has no interest in you, maybe you really did catch him off guard when you sat down next to him. but toji is thinking about how he’s never seen anyone like you, too, and he’s never had anyone willingly sit next to him and try to conversate. he thinks he’s too intimidating, and he is, to pretty much anyone else.

but you – you don’t get that from him. all you see is a possibly lonely, pretty man.

“what’s your name?” you question him again, cocking your head to the side.

“mm…toji,” he says, hesitantly.

“toji…” you repeat after him, mentally repeating his name over and over as to not forget it. toji can’t peel his eyes away from your lips as you mouth his name a couple times, the way they perfectly made an “o” shape for the letter in his name.

“uhm,” toji croaks, an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness in his chest, “what’s your name?”

when you tell him your name, toji sighs in relief. he’d always found it hard to have normal conversations, outside of those he had for work purposes, but this…this wasn’t so hard. he hadn’t wished to meet someone again in forever. but he wished now that he would see you again, even if it was passing on the street. toji hangs his head down, not knowing what to say anymore. these are difficult, odd, never-visited-before feelings for him.

maybe it was love at first sight for him, too. he doesn’t really know. not yet, at least.

“toji,” you repeat his name once more, and he lifts his head to look at you, “can i have your number, or something?” if you wanted to catch toji off guard, now, this is the way to do it.

toji’s mouth drops open slightly, “uh- sure,” he mutters, and he’s unable to stare at you anymore. you hand him an old receipt and a pen you kept in your bag, and he tries his hardest to remember the number of his apartment phone.

eventually, he writes it down, and you notice his penmanship definitely needs some work. nonetheless, you smile at toji, this time more genuine rather than awkward, and tell him you have to get going. toji only stares once more as you walk away, disappearing into the crowded sidewalk, his eyes linger on you for as long as possible.

toji was lonely. so, so pathetically lonely until you showed up.

“would you want to, like…see each other again?” you ask a drunk toji over the phone. his phone cord is stretched all the way over the counter in his apartment to the couch, where he lazily laid, buzzed, and talking to you.

silence is heard on the other side of the phone for a couple seconds.

“…sure,” toji replies, and you don’t know, but he feels like he could throw up.

however, with you making all the plans, a “date” is finally planned in a couple of weeks. neither one of you is too sure what to call it. but by normal, societal standards, yes, you and him were going to go on a date.

you have phone conversations every so often as the remaining days pass. usually, it’s you calling him. that’s only because he thinks your life is too busy for someone like him. he doesn’t even know why someone like you is even talking to him.

toji will keep his insecurities under wraps for now, though. only for now.

he’s still very curious about you, though, and he wonders what makes him so curious. he’s still wondering when he walks into a bar – the one you proclaimed as your favorite – to see you on your so-called date. toji’s heart flutters for the first time in his life when he sees you. you’re already sat in one of the barstools, sipping on a mixed drink – and you are jaw-droppingly beautiful. toji doesn’t talk to you when he slides into the stool next to you.

you crane your neck to look at whoever just sat in the reserved seat, and it’s toji, not looking any differently from how you saw him a couple weeks ago. you don’t mind. he’s still attractive. you think he might just be the type that’s “unapologetically themselves.” and he is, but not in a way that makes people attracted to him.

“toji!” his name falls off your tongue so perfectly yet again, and you wrap your arms around his neck. he doesn’t hug you back, he only freezes slightly at your touch. again, you don’t mind. it’s painfully obvious he doesn’t do things like this often. you feel lucky he decided to show up in the first place.

as time ticks away, you begin to find out more about toji. he does have a sense of humor, it only takes some chipping away at his hard exterior and a few drinks for him to laugh along with you. he lives alone, and he’s honest about his job – he kills people for a living. that fact doesn’t intimidate you, it only explains why he is the way he is. he tells you a few minute details about his family life, too, and how he grew up.

nothing that he tells you scares you. it only makes sense to you. the pieces of his personality add up with the information he gives you. and silently, you thank him for explaining more about himself.

he just doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

toji takes you back to his place that night. even the frugal décor – or lack thereof – makes sense to you. it’s a little humorous how everything fits so perfectly with his personality.

“fuck- toji!” you scream, arms shaking as you hold yourself up as toji pounds you from behind. you know you only met him a few weeks ago, and it’s bad to fuck on the first date, but you feel zero remorse with the current situation. his big, rough hands hold your hips in place, lewd, wet noises fill the air when you aren’t moaning for the man behind you. toji doesn’t pay mind to how loud you’re being – he only likes the fact you’re losing yourself because of him.

toji props his leg up on the bed, giving a new angle, and slams his hips forward to meet yours again. you feel him in the deepest parts of you, and god, he’s so warm, he makes your whole body heat up in a way you’ve never felt before. drool rolls out of your mouth, creating a small damp circle below your head. your eyes flash behind you. you see toji in all his glory – he’s actually got some emotion on his face now.

you fall asleep in toji’s bed that night.

toji prays you won’t just be a one-night stand – no, he won’t let you be a one-night stand. in toji’s mind, you’re his now.

in your mind, you are too.

a few weeks after your date, you call up toji, he notices the nervous tone in your voice, but doesn’t mention anything about it.

“toji…” you say, his name sounding so perfect once again, “toji…i’m pregnant.”

shit.

“what?” he sounds furious, and it makes you cower down, even in the comfort of your own home. you don’t repeat yourself. you know he heard you. “are you sure?” he frantically questions, slapping a hand to his forehead as he begins to sweat.

“i’ve been sick ever since our date…and all the tests i took are positive.” you whimper, not handling the news any better than toji. you want to cry and beg toji not to leave. “i’m sorry, toji,” you whisper.

“it’s…okay.” toji replies. he knows the fault lies with both of you, and the heat of the moment, and the fact that he was just so attracted to you he didn’t have time to control himself.

“i don’t know what to do,” you tell toji, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clench the phone in your hand even tighter.

“me either,” toji admits, “but…i’ll help you.” those are the only words he can think of to calm you down.

it’s going to be a sticky situation, no matter what. but you took a chance on toji, you overlooked everything wrong with him. it was now his time to return the favor.

he got his wish, though. you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere anytime soon.

toji hauls the last of your boxes into his apartment, throwing them down on the floor harder than needed.

“you have a lot of shit, woman,” he groans, wiping his forehead. you only giggle in return from your spot on the couch. he didn’t let you pick up any of the heavy boxes.

you spend the rest of the day unpacking all your clothes, completely overtaking toji’s closet with items of your own. all your things add a splash of color into toji’s space, and god knows he needs it. toji’s surprised someone can have so much stuff.

“what the hell is this?” toji asks, pulling something out of a box.

“it’s a curling iron, toji,” you reply as you roll your eyes.

by the time night comes, you’re successfully moved in with the father of your baby. empty boxes are broken down and laid by the door. you’re curled up next to toji on the couch, his arm is wrapped around you. it’s been around 3 months since your first encounter with toji downtown.

ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s acted differently. he dotes on you, he makes sure you’re comfortable, he buys you meals because he’s clueless as to what else to buy you. toji didn’t think he had it in him. you still aren’t officially together — yet — but toji shows he has a care for you in small ways.

you’re still getting used to one another, though. you and toji differ from each other tremendously, but you have to find a way to make these things work. you show toji love, and he prefers to keep his feelings inside, showing love through him allowing you to touch him and be around him. he hasn’t allowed anyone to be this way with him before. nothing is ever long term with him.

he no longer has a choice now.

“toji,” you speak, “are we dating? are we together?” you ask.

the inquiry causes toji to furrow his eyebrows.

“why?” toji answers you with another question. you shrug.

“I just want to know,” you reply. toji shrugs.

“do you want to get married?” toji petitions.

you push yourself off toji, sitting up. you look at him, eyebrows knitted together, “what?” you almost sound the same as toji did when you told him you were pregnant. and again, the situation repeats itself. toji’s statement doesn’t recur. he knows you heard him.

toji looks at you, a sly grin on his scarred lips.

“okay,” you finally agree, “i’ll marry you, toji.”

love grows. loving someone can change you, for the better or for worse. love matures someone, it will make someone into something they once weren’t, or something they aren’t meant to be. love is beautiful. intimate, soft feelings swell inside of you in a way you cannot express.

you love toji. he loves you, too, you think.

“toji, let go of me,” you playfully giggle as you try to pry the man’s hands off your waist, “i have to cook!”

toji has his arms wrapped around you from behind, not too hard, of course, to make sure there is no damage done to the human you’re growing inside of you. he has no intentions of letting you go, despite your pleas. toji rests his head on your shoulder, kissing the crook of your neck and breathing your scent in.

“i love you.” toji whispers, a barely audible peep.

you’re taken aback for a moment. you understood long ago those words would probably never come out of his mouth; due to the rushed situation you lived in with him. but he was there with you, saying those three words that mean more than anything in this world.

“i love you too, toji,” you reply, now staying still as opposed to your earlier motions of trying to get away.

the both of you just stand there, so close, enveloped in each other’s presence. you haven’t shared a moment like this with him yet.

you crane your neck to plant a kiss on toji’s cheek, no longer fighting to get out of his grasp. you only turn yourself around and wrap your arms around his neck, encapsulating your husband in a deep hug. a hug that means more than anything that can be put into words.

that was the only time he said those words to you.

you’ve been married to toji for five and a half months. he’s a changed man, despite him still carrying the same cold demeanor as the same day you met. he’s proven to be a fine partner for you. you understand him more now, with the way he continues to keep you at arm’s length while also letting you in to his mind, expressing deep emotions whenever he was under the influence. he makes a promise to you that he won’t do anything to harm you or the baby, including with his job. he no longer wants to be put in danger, because it would put you and his baby in danger.

lonely he was no more. he had you, it was all he needed. toji felt that way for months. he would stay content and happy — although he never showed it — with you.

toji often spent his time thinking about you. he’s never had anyone like you in his life.

sometimes, love cannot change you entirely. the newness of it all wears out over time, that’s inevitable. but, it’s the choices you make along the way that show change.

all the while being a changed man, toji is still self-absorbed. he cannot run away from that fact.

you’re 8 months pregnant. the past few nights, you’ve been alone at toji’s apartment, too pregnant and tired to do anything about it.

just as you’re about to call him up, toji opens the door and stumbles through, drunk as ever. you frown.

“where the hell have you been, toji?” you raise your voice, slowly getting up from the couch.

“why the hell does it matter?” toji retorts, anger in his voice. he wasn’t expecting you to be on his ass as soon as he walked through the door.

“you’ve been gone for three days!” you yell at him, “three whole days. you said you wouldn’t take on any more dangerous jobs!”

toji makes a tch sound with his teeth, “i wasn’t on a job.” he admits.

you look at toji, confused, “where were you?”

toji runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair, “gambling.”

he says it so nonchalantly, like he didn’t just spend half a week away from his pregnant wife gambling. toji had only mentioned gambling as a bad past habit. you didn’t think he did it anymore, but as soon as he admits it, you wonder if he spent all that time gambling instead of working. it would only make sense.

“what…?” you say, voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper. toji only shakes his head and walks off into the bedroom. you stare at him until he disappears.

for weeks after, you and toji continue to argue. your conversations turn into screaming battles until one of you gives up. most nights, toji sleeps on the couch. you slowly begin to realize that everything might have been a mistake.

there’s a reason he’s never had someone like you.

your arguments falter for a while at the arrival of your baby boy. he’s beautiful, a literal bundle of joy. toji takes the role of a father very seriously at first. he makes sure he’s taken care of while you spend a few days bedridden because of the birth. you love to watch toji through your bedroom door, while he holds the baby swaddled up as he cooks for you.

a glimmer of hope remains in your heart for your marriage.

toji joins you in bed that night, the baby safely tucked away in a small bassinet on your side of the bed. you’re wrapped in toji’s arms again. the world is right. you fall asleep to the sounds of your husband’s snores. it’s a feeling you haven’t had in a long time.

selfishness is a cruel disease.

a couple months after having your baby, you’re not so lonely, spending most of your time taking care of him. you become too busy and burnt out from being a parent that you don’t notice toji’s late nights again. he always joins you in bed, at some point, but at the end of the day you’re sleeping too soundly to notice the time.

slowly, the rekindled love begins to fade for toji. he’s never there, except for when the sun is down. once you’re able to stay awake past 9p.m., the nasty monster of arguments comes back at full force.

“shut the hell up, woman! you’re pissing me off!” toji yells. the baby is wailing in your bedroom, but you are too preoccupied with your husband to do anything.

“are you kidding me? you reek of cheap perfume,” you retort, voice matching the loudness of toji’s, “who the fuck were you with?”

“none of your goddamned business!” toji shouts, taking a step closer to tower over you. he does nothing to intimidate you. you were never scared of him, so why would you be now?

“it is my business, i’m your wife!” you reply to his remarks.

toji scoffs. he makes a decision quickly, not thinking about any repercussions. he points a finger towards the door.

“get the hell out.”

your face falls from anger into an expression that can only be described as heartbreak. your husband of almost – almost – a year is kicking you out. toji’s face remains stern and cold, not a pang of regret for doing this to you.

thousands of questions run through your mind, painful silence falls over the room, and you can hear your baby screaming once more. no time is given to ask toji anything. and for once, you’re scared. not exactly scared of toji, but of the fact you don’t know how things are going to end up without him.

your shoulders relax. you look toji in the eyes, unable to hide your heartbreak, but overall, you decide to keep an unbothered façade.

indifference doesn’t matter to toji. neither does sadness, or anger.

it only takes you a few minutes to pack a bag with enough things for you and the baby. you do your best to calm him down before leaving. you walk over to the door, looking toji in the eyes once more, and for the first time, toji can see the rage in them. the rage that he caused.

“i hate you.”

you slam the door on your way out, a bag on one shoulder and the baby on your other side. you think about what toji was doing, but alas, you don’t really care. it only took a few minutes and a couple hundred hurtful words for toji to be dead to you.

toji watches from his window as you walk down the sidewalk, disappearing into the crowd with his son. he thinks about where you’re going, who you’ll stay with, and how his life will end up now that you’re more than likely gone for good.

he’s a lonely man again. he’s leaving behind someone else, yet again.

but, he doesn’t really care.

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