#restless heart au
Text
without trying to bite down
Summary: Coming to terms with suffering one bottle of whiskey and one kiss at a time. (Coda to Profiler, Profiled...Ashes and Dust...and Birthright. Yeah, you read that correctly. We're jumping through 3 episodes here.)
Pairings: Hotch/Morgan
Words: ~5k
Warnings: alcohol, divorce, talk about past abuse (Hotch & Morgan), canon-typical darkness/angst/suffering (mind the episodes listed above)
Notes: Another one-shot in the Restless Heart universe. This one is going to directly lead into another jumping off on the Profiler, Profiled bit. Anyway, maybe I'll take a break for a bit and let the dust settle here...maybe jump back into the Chicago Times universe for a while and also bust out a few Halloween theme fics here and there.
And when we can see things clearer
than we think we see them now
Maybe kiss each other sweetly without trying to bite down
Maybe then all this will be better & maybe then we ll recover
(We'll Recover | Matt Nathanson)
**
Beers. It always came down to beers. JJ bought the first round even though she’d said she had other plans, Dave decided to spring for the second and third. The case had been bad, but watching Hotch take those divorce papers and walk out of the BAU had set them all on edge in a different way. Going out for beers felt forced but still necessary.
“Derek, you’re still on round one. You’re missing out on free drinks. That’s not like you.”
“Sorry,” he said like it mattered. Like he cared. He couldn’t shake the image of Hotch accepting that folder in front of everyone. Of Hotch living out a nightmare, his private struggle on center stage. He liked to keep everything locked up tight, and the team were pretty content to let Hotch keep them all at arm’s distance.
“What’s eating you?” Emily asked, nudging his elbow. He looked downright pitiful. It wasn’t like Derek not to seek out the most fun at a bar – the dance floor, flirting with the bar tender, commandeering the jukebox for the night. He always had a plan and instead, right now, he looked like someone had pissed in his Cheerios.
“Ah, just thinking about Hotch. That was cold as ice, don’t you think? Haley having him served right there in front of all of us.”
Emily’s frown told him she disagreed, but before she could say anything Dave took the opportunity to share wisdom he’d gathered following three divorces. He’d paid enough divorce lawyers in his time to be considered an expert in the field and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Derek thought, on some level, he probably should have been.
“She is supposed to have him served in a public place if possible. I’m sure she intended for him to be served in his office, that’s where he usually is. It just happened that he was on his way out. You can’t fault her for circumstances.”
“We would all have found out anyway,” JJ chimed in, but Derek had his doubts. Hotch hadn’t shared the knowledge that they were separated, he had made sure more than once to check. Each time he was met with the same icy glare that said no, he wasn’t sharing the news. Hotch would have just carefully removed his wedding ring and quietly gone about his business, never announcing or indulging the topic. And none of them ever would have asked. “Right?”
“I had a feeling there was trouble in paradise.”
Everyone turned to look at Emily, last of all Derek. He already knew what she was going to say.
“I was on a stakeout with him. The serial arsonist in San Francisco last year? We were watching Abby, waiting for him to come out of the bank and Hotch took a call from Haley. It sounded bad.”
“What was it about?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t ask. He’s not exactly an open book, Jayj.”
Derek looked down into the foam that had settled in a small circle atop what remained of his beer. He remembered the case, and how he felt working it. He’d known when Hotch walked in to the BAU that something was wrong – another fight with Haley, probably, they were happening more and more frequently. Little things, big things, they all took a toll. That morning it was written all over his face, in the tears that made his eyes shine bright and mad. It dripped off of him when he volunteered to go to see the victim in the burn ward. When he looked at her picture in the file. If Derek had been on his game he would have confronted him then, but he waited. Things were still a little shaky after Chicago, after Buford.
“Oh, yeah,” JJ said, nodding. “He was so angry on that case. He snapped at me when he showed up for calling everyone to the BAU instead of right to the jet. Said I was wasting time because the victim wasn’t going to live much longer. He made it sound like I’d blown the case.”
“We did only get a few minutes with her,” Emily said, her tone a little defensive. Hotch wasn’t wrong, but it was unlike him to be so cruel. Especially to JJ who he had a soft spot for. JJ just shrugged.
“I know he was right. When they called about the case, they didn’t make it sound like she was...I thought we had time.”
Derek stopped listening after a while. That case, he hadn’t seen much of Hotch. They had been in a quiet place then, he remembered. Cordial but cold. He thought it had started in Chicago, but now he thought it happened maybe even before that. He couldn’t give you an exact point that things started crumbling but he did know that the case in San Francisco had given them something back. A fresh start.
It hadn’t been pretty though. It had been laced with mistakes and tears and a lot of whiskey.
(x)
They were in the SUV, and Hotch had gone silent. Derek watched the way his features strained around the realization that Abby was going to light up that warehouse with himself inside of it. When he realized that Abby meant to sacrifice himself, and he watched the way the tears brightened Hotch’s eyes as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the station. Without thinking or waiting for instruction, Derek hurried after him with keys in hand.
“Hotch! Slow down!” he called as they broke out into the brisk night air. There were no stars in the sky, it was just pitch black above the ghostly glow of city lights. The world felt wrong. Hotch didn’t slow, but he did stop at the passenger door of the SUV and wait with his head hanging low. He was breathing heavily. “What’s the plan?”
“Get to the warehouse. I don’t know, Derek…”
“It isn’t on fire yet. Get in.” He was going to indulge Hotch the best he could, but there was a sick feeling in his stomach that told him this wasn’t going to end well. It was just one of those cases where even winning felt like losing.
They drove in silence. Each time Derek thought about saying something to break it, he glanced over and saw the way the color had drained from Hotch’s face, the way his lips stretched in a grim line, and he decided not to. When his phone rang, he relished the sound until Gideon’s voice began, until Gideon told him what he’d been dreading. They were out of time. There was no hope. And when the explosion rocked the earth in front of them, when it lit the sky with a bonfire for giants, he felt the tremors coming from Hotch himself.
“Morgan what are you doing?”
“Hotch, it’s too late man. I’m sorry.”
There was a wildness in Hotch’s eyes, flickering obsidian in the light of the fire. Derek had never seen his face cast in shadow like this and it reminded him of a frightened and cornered animal. Ready to claw and gnash and tear its way to safety, to justice. He threw the door open without a word, spitting angry and full of righteous abandon met by Gideon and then by Derek, hands to his chest, ceasing his forward motion. What would he have done? Marched right into that blaze? Gone up with Abby, for the cause? For justice? Derek knew this wasn’t justice. Abby had a son, he had time left on this planet, but who else might have to die for him to live? He saw the recognition of sameness in Hotch’s eyes as the building burned and wondered what the fight with Haley had been about that could be so bad Hotch would run toward a fire with all his might.
But then, he always ran toward fire, never away. Derek had always wanted to ask him about it, how it looked like a compulsion wrapped in compassion and heroics. How it looked like payment for a debt he didn’t owe anymore and still carried. Maybe he would.
“You wanna take a drive?” Derek asked as he started up the SUV, eyes still focused on the fire. “Take a breather before we tackle the reports?”
Hotch was silent, and Derek took that silence as approval. Or, rather, a lack of protest...in this case they sounded about the same.
“I could go for a drink.”
“I don’t want to go to a bar.”
“There’s a liquor store down the street from our hotel that’s open late.”
Hotch nodded. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he thought right now was as good a time as any to numb some of the intensity inside of him. He was on the verge of explosion. His whole body felt electric.
Yeah, he could go for some whiskey.
(x)
On a bench overlooking the bay, the two of them sat side by side. In the distance, though he tried not to let his eyes wander that direction, Hotch could still see the benzene burning. Evan Abby was long gone, had probably been since before Hotch even knew the fire had started but it still ached in him like the man was suffering alone out there.
“We’re not good,” Derek said, passing Hotch the brown bag with the whiskey bottle inside. He’d already taken a swig of it himself, and now it was Hotch’s turn to stare into the abyss. “We gotta talk.”
“About?”
“You and me. This. Us.”
“I’m not upset with you, Morgan. You were only doing what Gideon told you, and it was the right call. I just...wish this case had taken a different course.”
“Nah. See, that’s not what I’m talking about. There was a time when you woulda told me about it. You woulda taken me out on that stakeout with you and told me you got into a fight with Haley, or that there was something about Abby that hit a little close to home…”
Hotch took a pull on the whiskey and let out a soft cough at the sting of it going down. They were only a few blocks from their hotel room, neither of them had to do more than stumble back to their beds. That knowledge brought with it a sense of reckless abandon – the case was over, and the charred remains could wait until morning to be sifted through. Hotch’s heart was broken.
“There was a time when you would have asked.”
Derek let out a chuckle and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, peering out into the inky black night. There were murky clouds hovering near the horizon, obscuring the stars. A storm probably, and he kind of hoped it would take its time – that fire didn’t need a downpour, it needed time. Beyond the clouds he stared as the starry sky met starry water, the sounds of waves lapping against the rocks, engines and tires and brakes on the bridges. Headlights danced over the water surface creating the effect of a Dahli painting.
“That’s true.” Derek waited, like Hotch might take over. Like he might start. He was the kind of natural leader that didn’t often sit back and let someone else drive, but in this case Derek was out of luck. Hotch was silent. And when he didn’t, Derek took the bottle from him, pulled a large mouthful and leaned back until his face was turned toward the sky. “Fine. I’ll start, ya stubborn ass. You know why I didn’t ask? Because things got weird in Chicago. Because things have been weird since Chicago. Because you and Gideon know things about me that no one else knows, and every day I come to work wondering if Reid or JJ or Garcia or Prentiss is gonna come up to me and give me a hug and tell me they’re sorry for what I went through…”
“I sealed the reports for that case as confidential. I left out all details that weren’t of direct relevance to putting Buford in prison and keeping him there. I’m the only person who saw the reports and I’m the only Agent being called in for testimony during the trial in a few months. No one else knows or needs to, and my testimony doesn’t mention you as a victim at all. We’ve got a solid case without it.”
“Yeah, I know that. I know, and I appreciate your discretion but...you get it right? It isn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, like I thought you’d weaponize it or think differently about me...but I didn’t want it to become public record. When you walked into that room with my expunged juvie record lookin’ at me like I was some kind of thug...I don’t think I’ve ever felt more humiliated in my life, Hotch. I didn’t tell you about that because it didn’t exist, because it was a bullshit charge on a bullshit arrest by a cop who was out for my blood since I was a kid and for what? What did I do to him? You know what I did?”
“Your father was a cop and he saw a scrappy young man from the wrong side of town using that privilege to get into trouble and get away with it. And when your father was killed, he saw his opportunity to finally make something stick.”
“I was TEN, Hotch…” Derek said, shaking his head. “I was a good kid. I went to school every day, I tried to keep my grades up...yeah I got into some scrappy shit on the playground, man, I was a little boy. We do stupid things sometimes. But that fat bastard tried to accuse me of shoplifting when my mom sent me to the bodega on the corner to get a quart of milk so my sisters and I could have cereal for breakfast while she was at work. Her paycheck was a few days late and Mr. Jannings, he’d let her take what she needed without paying and then she’d run him a check and some cobbler or a cake to catch up when she got paid. We always paid up. That’s what tight knit neighborhoods do, man. You take care of each other. So yeah I took that damn milk and Mr. Jannings watched me do it and he fuckin’ waved at me and said goodnight, and it just happened that fuckin’ Gordinski was coming in for smokes when it happened.”
Hotch nodded and set his lips to the bottle of whiskey, turning it up, splashing the cold liquid against his tongue. It was good whiskey, much too good for the way they were drinking it but it still burned going down.
“I didn’t look at you like you were a thug, Derek. I was…” he paused, searching for the right words. For the key to unlock a moment in time he’d already sealed up tight. He still had the trial to look forward to, the trial that he knew Derek would insist on attending with him. That was a conversation for another time. “I was hurt that you didn’t tell me, that you kept things to yourself that you knew could save you because you didn’t trust me.”
“It wasn’t about trust.”
“Then what was it?”
“I didn’t want all of that on camera Hotch! You gotta see that, right? If it was just you and me, no camera, no one way glass, no fat fuck Gordinski or JJ with her huge sad eyes...just us...I would have spilled it all. If there was a way to explain it to you without all of them knowing…” There were tears streaking Derek’s cheeks and Hotch sighed, looking down at his hands. He wondered if this was going the way Derek anticipated, if this was what he’d been needing. He sincerely hoped so, because it felt to Hotch like it was about as bad as it could get.
“Did you ever think I had anything to do with it?”
“No.”
“You never believed Gordinski? Even when he gave you that bullshit record and told you I had a violent history?”
“Of course not, Derek. I just knew that you were hiding something, and that whatever it was you were hiding was the key to getting you out of that room and catching a real killer. I couldn’t tell if you were protecting yourself or someone else, but you were hiding something. I let myself get caught up in it being a case and I forgot that the man I was trying to save was more than just a falsely accused suspect, he was my friend. I am sorry for that.”
“I know. You’ve said so like five times already.”
“Well, to my knowledge you haven’t accepted it yet so I’ll keep offering.”
Derek nudged the bottle in Hotch’s direction and turned to look at him. “Apology accepted. Your turn.”
Staring at the bottle with wide eyes, Hotch’s tongue felt like a dried out dish sponge. Tasted about like one too. “My turn?”
“Talk to me. Why’d this case fuck you up so bad? Why’d you and Haley fight? What’s going on with you lately?”
“You don’t want to hear my sob story.”
“Hotch, that’s the whole damn reason I bought that bottle and walked your sorry ass to this spot. Start talkin’.”
“I don’t remember what started the fight. I know where it ended, I know that when I go home I’ll be walking right back into it only she’s had a couple of days to plot out her next moves while I’ve been here focused on the case. I know that she’s getting fed up with this job, and that she’ll have a list of alternatives when I walk through the door – jobs she thinks I could do that will keep me home more often, no travel, sitting at a desk not in the line of fire. We had family photos scheduled twice and I came home with stitches or bruises on my face, so she had to keep postponing them. She’s tired of putting her life on hold for the BAU.”
“Is it so bad that your wife wants you around more? I can’t say I blame her.”
“No, that isn’t the problem. I just...can you see me working white collar crime? Sitting at a desk all day?”
“It’ll kill you.”
“It isn’t that my marriage isn’t worth sacrifice, Derek, but…I’ve worked my ass off to get here and I still have aspirations, I still have goals. I gave up a lot to get here, because this is where I belong.” Hotch sighed. “I am giving it thought, though.”
“You’ll make the right decision.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Okay, well...what about the case then? It can’t all be about the stupid fight.”
“No.”
Hotch was silent for a long while, listening to the bay, the squeal of tires against wood on pylons, the gentle slapping noise of water against rock. In the distance the storm rumbled and the smell of smoke carried on the wind as it picked up. He began to cry.
“As I watched Abby meet with lawyers and doctors, clear out offices and bank accounts, I realized I knew what he was doing because I had watched my father do it too. I had watched my father come out of the oncologist’s office with tears in his eyes, look right up into the sun like it might be his last time ever seeing such a sight, and it hit me harder than I expected. My father was...we never had a good relationship. But in that moment, watching him come to terms with his mortality, I wanted to hug him. I don’t think I’d ever hugged him, at least not since I was toddler who didn’t know any better.”
“How long did he have?”
“A couple of months.”
“Did you hug him?”
“No.”
“Your dad was a real piece of work, I can tell. Just by some of the things you say...sometimes things you don’t say.”
“Another time,” Hotch said sadly. Defeated. “I’d like to focus on Evan Abby. He’s worth remembering, my father is not.”
“Gonna hold you to that.”
“It just hit a little close to home, and to watch him as he decided to sacrifice himself to put an end to the killing...that wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Sometimes I still get caught up in the good guy bad guy mentality. The good guys are supposed to win. It’s childish of me, I know better. I’ve been doing this long enough that I shouldn’t get caught up in that, but when the lines are so clearly drawn like they were in this case it seemed like maybe...this once…”
“The bad guy did lose, though.”
“So did the good guy. And so did his innocent son.”
“Why’d you take the burn ward again?”
“Again?”
“Gideon said you took it last time, but I know you’ve taken it more than that. In fact, I don’t remember the last time you didn’t.”
“I knew she was going to die quickly and I didn’t want any of you to have to be there.”
“You’re lying. You’re hiding something.”
Hotch took a drink, this time, instead of just looking at the bottle. His head was cloudy and he was already crying. He didn’t have much to lose at this point, his dignity had hit the road hours ago. “I had a teacher, when I was twelve. When everyone asked where the bruises came from, how I broke my arm, why I missed a week of school...there was a time I was innocent enough to tell the truth thinking someone might help me. No one did. I was branded a liar, but Mrs. Thorpe believed me. She gave me a place to be so I didn’t have to go home right away. She would let me help her clean the classroom or organize her books, do little odd jobs here and there. It was probably more trouble than help, I wasn’t very attentive to the work itself. And then one day, just after spring break, she didn’t come to school – her husband had come home piss drunk, probably after shutting down the bar with my father and the good old boys – and decided to beat on her some. I guess that was pretty normal, I found out later. I suppose that’s why she believed me. In any case, after he had his fill he passed out on the couch with a lit cigarette in his mouth. They lost the whole house, he was barely hurt, she survived for about a day before dying. I skipped school to go to the hospital and what I saw…”
“Jesus,” Derek said quietly, his eyes wide. “Hotch.”
“The bad guy won. He had a few small burns on his arms, got a fat insurance check and moved out to Texas to start a new life. As a child, I saw too many bad guys win. I thought that was how it worked.”
“Damn.”
“You’re profiling me now.”
“You’re damn right I am. Jesus Hotch.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That you feel responsible for what happened to her. That you think if she hadn’t known about your father, somehow none of that would have happened. That you take the burn ward every time as a way to make it up to her, hoping that you can be there for them while they pass because you weren’t there for her. But Hotch...you were just a kid. Nothing you did caused what happened. You gotta know that.”
“I do,” Hotch whispered. “But regardless of my reasons, I just want to help. I would rather sit with a victim and offer comfort as they pass than think about the unsub.”
They sat in amiable silence, Hotch’s eyes raw and burning, Derek’s chest tight. Two men pouring it all out, with whiskey breath and chilled skin. Above them the storm clouds crackled and began slowly releasing their rain. Neither of them made a move to leave where they sat. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. This was your therapy session, Doctor Morgan.”
Derek laughed and leaned forward, dropping his head. “I was kinda hoping you’d take the lead at some point, I’m way out of my depths here. I just thought you were gonna say some shit like oh you know, I left a load of clothes in the washer too long and Haley was up my ass about it before we left…”
Rain drops plunked down quickly into the water, small at first, gaining momentum. The sound became like a roar for a moment and drowned out the sound of their breath. “Did you really think that was it?”
“Okay, no, but I didn’t think it’d be all of that…”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“How do you do it? Walk around with all of that inside of you?”
Hotch didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t know. It was just what he did. Another pull for each of them and Derek stood, arching his back, craning his neck from one side to the other. Hotch followed suit, feet landing softly in a forming puddle. Water seeped in through the worn sole of his dress shoe, this was his favorite pair in spite of how worn down they were. Now his sock was wet. The bench had made them both cold and stiff.
Their shoulders bumped as they leaned and twisted at the hips, stretching and bringing life back into stiff limbs, and then their knuckles brushed warm and soft. That brief touch, skin to skin, was electric. Hotch turned to look at Derek, his eyes still shining with tears, and Derek leaned forward automatically pressing a soft, warm kiss to Hotch’s lips. It was fast, tentative, a little shy and when Hotch didn’t pull away he pressed in again. This time it was a little longer, a little more certain, his hand coming up to Hotch’s jaw, hooking the back of his neck, and for a moment the world melted away from them. There was nothing but whiskey lips and a whirlpool of stars and rain and in the distance the sound of a boat’s foghorn as it made its way through the downpour. He’d been so sure when he leaned in, but now as they broke the kiss, Derek couldn’t help feeling sad. Not exactly regret, no he’d wanted to kiss Hotch for years now. But there was some feeling of sadness here he couldn’t quite place.
“Sorry,” Derek said, backing away slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Don’t get cute. You know for what. You’re married.”
“And I’m your boss. There are several rules about fraternization that you just...”
“Fuck off with that.”
“Don’t be sorry, Derek. Please.”
That was the last thing Hotch said to him before taking one final sip of the whiskey, one regretful sip that would send him right to the toilet the minute he was alone in his hotel room, and heading back across the street. He splashed through puddles that gathered beneath the sidewalks and rushed down the storm drain, pulling his suit jacket up over his head like he wasn’t already drenched. Derek didn’t try to stop him, instead he just sat back down on the bench with the half consumed bottle in his lap and stared out at the water.
“What the fuck.”
(x)
“Hey, thanks for the drinks guys but I’m gonna bounce. Not feelin’ it tonight.” Derek looked around the table at his friends and waited for one of them to inevitably try to reel him back in. None did. It was like they could sense something he hadn’t yet figured out. Everything about him being here felt wrong and they all knew it.
“Drive safe,” JJ said and he laughed, shrugging into his leather jacket.
“Jayj, I had one beer. I’m good. You guys call if you need anything, I’ll haul my ass outta bed to get you home safe.”
Derek started for home, turning up his music to almost full volume as he drove. He didn’t feel like singing along but he thumped his fingers on the steering wheel and bobbed his head and hit every single green light between the bar and his house. As he pulled into the driveway, he noticed a shadow on the porch, leaning up against the railing, long legs sprawled out before him like a lazy shadow scarecrow. He smiled. When he stepped out of the car, the shadow turned toward him and began to go from sitting to standing, pulling itself to full inky height. The porch light caught disheveled black tufts of hair, the harsh angle of his nose, the shine of tears in wild eyes.
“Hotch,” Derek said, approaching quickly. Like he’d known what he would find when he got home, somewhere inside of him he’d been drawn back. He was needed here, with Hotch, not out at a bar talking about Hotch.
“I didn’t know where else to go. I hope you don’t mind.”
“How long have you been sitting here? You should have sent me a text or something. You know where the key is.”
“Wasn’t sure if it was still in the same place...or if I was still welcome to use it.”
It felt like they would kiss, right then. The electricity that shuddered between them as they stood just a little too close, the beer on Derek’s breath, the brown bag around the whiskey bottle hanging from Hotch’s hand. An offering, a relic, a reminder. Derek looked up like he thought the sky might open up any minute and start pouring on them again but it was crystal clear, the kind of night you dreamed about.
“You’re always welcome.”
“Noted.”
Hotch lifted the bottle and offered a sad little half-smile that looked a lot like he was going to start crying. “For old time’s sake?”
“You wanna talk or you just lookin’ for a repeat of the kiss?” It was a joke, or he thought he meant it as one...but he found that saying the words made it too real and he leaned forward to meet Hotch’s lips. They tasted like the ocean, salty and a little sweet, and Derek pulled him closer. Closer. Until they were pressed together so close that they shared a heartbeat. Expectation and a little excitement mingled with a heavy sadness, the ending of something huge and maybe the start of something else. Derek felt like his knees might buckle beneath the weight of it. “Come inside.”
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"There aint no chemical to doctor to doctor me
Only capable of love if she got eyes that see that
I am suffering with a sickness in this art
Nobody, nothing that can fix this restless heart"
Ah, Restless Heart! technically my first Chonny Jash song. I tried to do something different, and I noticed she pronouns on the song, and here she is!
Fun Fact: for reasons unsure yet (well there is a reason called "[deadname] questions [old neos at that time] gender for the 3rd time this week") she is slightly based on me.
slightly.
uhhhhhh
help.
edit: this is not true anymore :]
edit part II: well would you look at that
2024 edit: i hate this post . this character made me trans . fuck everything i hate everyone meet me at my death when est hits midnight
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CW: this blog will contain heavy themes of sacrificing, death, derealization and possibly more. proceed with caution.
THE MANOR HELD BUT A QUIET HUM OF THE CICADAS OF THE NIGHT THRIVING OUTSIDE AND THE CREAKING, OLD FLOORBOARDS THAT SEEM YET TO HAVE BEEN REPLACED IN PRESUMABLY A LONG WHILE; WITHERING WITHIN EVERY STEP ALONE, AS WITH THE SHELVES AND WINDOWS. FOR AN AREA SO WILLING TO “GUESTS” FROM HERE AND THERE, IT DOESN’T SEEM TO BE CARED FOR WITH A GREAT DEAL OF EFFORT - IT SEEMS OUR HOST HAS OTHER THINGS TO ATTEND, CERTAINLY IMPORTANT, NO?
THOUGH THE AREA, EVEN WITH THE HINT OF THE MOONLIGHT, REMAINED TO BE SHROUDED IN MURKINESS, A WOODEN DESK WAS ILLUMINATED BY THE BRIGHT GLOW OF A CANDLE AND A THIN PAPER SITUATED ON IT; AS WORN AS EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE ROOM, THE WORDS WEARY AND DRIED LONG AGO.
LET US TAKE A READ.
GREETINGS.
I AM IMMORTAL BUT IF IT MUST BE SPOKEN, THE ONE I ONCE WERE - “ORPHEUS”, THEN DO AS YOU MUST. I ONLY WISH TO ACHIEVE AND ATTAIN A SOLE THING WITHIN HERE, THE PLIGHT OF IDENTITY IS BUT LITTLE FURTHER THAN TO IT.
THUS, DO NOT MAKE ME BEAR IT; MY MIND MUSTN’T LET TIME TAKE AHOLD OF IT THE NEXT.
ABIDE TO THE RULES OF THIS PLACE BUT NOT TO “LIFE”, I MAY SPEAK TO YOU THEN.
SPACED BELOW THE MESSAGE ARE WORDS MORE CARVED; AKIN TO A PRECISE SCULPTURE, CHISELED AWAY AGAINST THE PAPER. NEXT TO THEM, A SHARP EYE THAT BEHOLDS AN ALMOST DANGEROUS GLINT ALONE IS ILLUSTRATED, BOXED WITHIN CORNERS - A “SIGNATURE” FROM THE WRITER.
OLETUS MANOR BLOG GUIDELINES. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN AN IMMEDIATE CEASE OF RESIDENCE.
I. DISCRIMINATORY OR FAR FROM GOOD TASTE PAGES WRITTEN BY THE RESIDENTS MAY OR WILL BE BURNT OR DISCARDED WITHOUT HESITATION.
II. DO NOT HURRY THE RESPONSES THAT WILL BE GIVEN IN DUE TIME.
III. OPINIONS OF IMMORTAL OR OTHER CHARACTERS ALIKE ARE OFTEN NOT BE REFLECTED THROUGH THE MUN, SAM OR VICTOR. THEY/THEM PRONOUNS.
IV. PAGES THAT ARE WRITTEN WITH FLIRTATIOUS INTENTIONS WILL BE ACCEPTED AS ANY NORMAL ONES BUT RECIPROCATION IS AS THIN AS FATE REMAINS. DO NOT GO OVERBOARD.
V. WHAT TRUTHS DOES YOUR MIND SOUGHT FROM THE ONE WHO LIES AND WILL DO SO ALL THE SAME AGAIN?
IN THE DARK SUBSTANCE, THERE WAS A MESMERIZING THING WITHIN THE WORDS; SUCH SHOULD ONLY BE NATURAL WITH A WARNING THAT FAR FROM FELT LIKE THE HISSING OF A SNAKE BY ONE'S EAR, THE VENOM AWAITING-- INSTEAD, A PHANTOM GAZE FALLS UPON THE READER WHO CANNOT ACT AS OUTLIER, THE DARK BIRDS OUTSIDE CAWS RINGING AGAINST THE MIND.
...
SUCH ODDITY, THOUGH THE WRITER HAS PLAYED THEIR PART, THE PAGE CANNOT HELP BUT SEEM INCOMPLETE, AN ENDING UNFINISHED TO A RIGHTFUL FRUITION. TEMPTINGLY, A QUILL REMAINS NEARBY THE PAGE AS ITS COMPANION, SUBMERGED IN A SMALL VIAL OF INK THAT SEEMED TO BE ENDLESS.
GO ON.
IMPORTANT / GENERAL INFORMATION REGARDING THE AU.
#( new pinned :) )#(quill dipped in ink. ask answered)#(bonds of family. anonrydice)#(mod waves. ooc)#(home is where the heart is. homesick)#(the cards dealt. highroller)#(sins of father. hollow)#(of restless dreams. orfeo)#( welcome to this au from the boredom of wait time. it’s a bit wild . )#identity v askblog#idv askblog#identity v orpheus#idv orpheus
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𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥
ceo!sukuna x secretary!reader, modern au
tags: degradation, daddy kink, videocall-sex, dirty talk, masturbation, sexting
notes: minors dni, one sequel to "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴" - you decided to text your boss Sukuna
wc: 1.7k
Finally you arrived home, your steps heavy with exhaustion yet tinged with relief. With each passing moment, the weight of responsibility seemed to lift as you approached your doorstep. Unlocking the door, you stepped into the comforting embrace of your sanctuary, where the warmth and familiarity of your home enveloped you like a soft blanket. Sighing deeply, you kicked off your shoes and let the tension of the day melt away. Settling into your favorite armchair, you closed your eyes, letting the tranquility of home wash over you, yet you were restless.
Your fingers reached into the pocket of your coat to pull out the cigarette Sukuna gave you, his number written on it. “Hm…”, you took off your coat, letting it fall next to you on the ground. “Should I really?” Flashes of the previous event came rushing back into your mind – the way his fingers wrapped around your neck and his hot tongue pushing into your mouth. That kiss alone made you incredibly wet.
You saved his number under “Boss (Private)” and stared at the texting icon. It would be so easy and besides, it's just a text. He couldn’t fuck you over phone anyway.
Hello, this is y/n.
Eager little girl. Texted me as soon as you came home?
Dumbfounded, your eyes analyzed his (instant) reply.
Don’t worry, princess. Not judging you. Bet your pussy is still wet. My cock didn’t go soft either.
Excuse me? This is highly unprofessional.
No, me fucking you bend over your workdesk would be highly unprofessional.
Answer me: Is your pussy still wet, little one?
You should've known that it would end up like this. You shouldn’t reply. You should tell him that this is inappropriate. Remind him that you are his secretary and some may deem this interaction as unethical and not to forget that you are years younger than him. Why was it so hard to stop though?
Yes, Mr. Sukuna.
From now on you call me daddy.
Yes, daddy.
The sudden ring of your phone shattered the atmosphere. Surprised, you glanced at the screen to see a Facetime call flashing urgently. Sukuna was calling you. The surprise sent a jolt of excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you. nervous anticipation fluttered in her chest like a caged bird. For a moment, uncertainty swirling in your mind. With a deep breath, you accepted the call, your heart pounding in your ears. The familiar face that greeted you was enough to send a surge of desire coursing through your body. Despite your nerves, the thrill of your virtual connection stirred something primal within you, heightening your senses and leaving you longing for more.
“Wish you could see your face right now. You look like a needy slut, princess”, Sukuna snickered. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way, exposing his upper-body. Your eyes widened in shock as you saw it. He had–
“Like my tattoos, huh?”
“I-I just didn’t know that you had any.”
Smirking his finger traced the black lines across his chest. His phone was probably leaning against something cause you could see almost everything up to his knees. Even the way he was sitting, his legs spread and a hand wide on his thigh, screamed dominance and sent shivers down your spine.
“Wanna see more of you, baby, put your phone somewhere. I need to see your face and what’s between your legs. Can you do that for daddy?”
Every bit of self-control and resistance left your body as soon as he called himself daddy. It’s no wonder that every woman and man wanted him buried deep inside their guts.
“Yes, daddy”, a simple good girl fell from his lips as he watched you propping your phone on the table in front of you against a water bottle. “Is this okay?”
“It’s perfect, princess. You’re such a good slut for daddy, aren’t you”, Sukuna’s hand, which was previously on his thigh, was now on his crotch, grabbing onto his hard on, “Undress, baby girl.”
He didn’t have to tell you twice. With a subtle yet deliberate motion, you reached behind your back, fingers deftly finding the tiny buttons that held your blouse together. With each successive button undone, the fabric began to loosen, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the soft skin beneath. As you slipped the blouse and bra off your shoulders, a shiver of anticipation raced down your spine, the cool air caressing your exposed flesh. In that moment, you felt an exhilarating rush of vulnerability, a silent declaration of self-assurance and desire. You weren’t going to stop now so you silently took your skirt off, wiggling it off your hips. The only thing you were wearing now was your thong. And Sukuna’s eyes were sitting on you the whole time, taking in every little detail. Your trembling hands, your moles and freckles, everything.He could feel himself almost bursting through his pants. At first he wanted to make you beg to see his cock but he was hard ever since you crawled over to him. Swiftly he unzipped his pants, just to give his cock a bit more space.
"Obedient little slut. Look at you, just taking your clothes off, obeying my words. Makes me want to ruin you even more, little one.”
The plan to forever reject him and never succumb to him was already forgotten. How could you ever reject him when he gets your pussy this wet?
“...I’m your slut, daddy”, it was a mere whisper but Sukuna heard every word.
Growling he pulled his cock out of his boxers. It was massive. Sukuna spit in his hand before he wrapped his rough hand around his shaft. Your eyes felt like they were bulging out of your sockets. His cock would destroy you, fill you up completely and turn you into a whimpering bitch in heat. YOu were certain of that.
“Come on, princess. Spread your legs for daddy, show me how wet your pretty pussy is”. His filthy mouth had you stifling a moan as you lifted one leg to rest against the back cushions of the chair and spread the other so that your foot rested on the floor.
“Li-like this, daddy?” God, this was embarrassing and extremely hot at the same time.
“Yes, baby, just like this”, he stroked his cock from tip to base, the other hand now palming his balls. “Now lick your fingers and rub that clit for daddy. Bet you wanted me to do that back at the bar, huh?”
You did as instructed, dragging the tips of your index and middle fingers across your tongue slowly before lowering them to your pussy, seeking your clit. Instantly your legs began to twitch – he was right, you wanted this all along.
“That’s it, little one. Fuck, imagine it being my tongue. I should’ve played with that sweet cunt after you crawled to my feet like the dirty slut you are.”
Breathy moans filled the air around you, your pussy clenching, yearning for something big to stuff it.
“Daddy…fuck, daddy”, Sukuna was still stroking his cock as he took in the alluring sight on his phone, “G-good…feels so good, Daddy.”
“Look at my cock, baby. I’m imagining that cute mouth wrapped around my fat dick. Like that, slut?”
“Yes, daddy, yes. I love it, daddy.”
His hand twisted around his tip, pre-cum leaking already. “Squeeze your tits, pinch your nipple,” he growled. “That’s my fuckin’ teeth, slut. I can see your naughty pussy clenching through the screen. You need something in there, right? I should be pounding into that cunt, take what’s mine.”
“Please”, you started to beg, primal urges taking over you, “Please let me put a finger in, daddy.”
“Shove those fingers inside. As many as you can fit. Tough it would never compare to me pushing my dick in that tight cunt of yours. You think you can take this cock, huh?”
Finally you pushed your fingers inside. Your pussy was wet enough that your fingers met no resistance at all. “Y-yours…yours is too big. Would break me.”
“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. My cock would fucking break you, fuck you real good, make you my personal fucktoy. Look at me, slut!”
Sukuna was pumping his dick to the same speed as you were fingering your cunt. This was driving you insane. He demanded you to pick up the speed, both of you did.
“Keep fuckin’ that pussy. Yeah, just like that. Go faster. Use your other hand – rub that clit again. Tell daddy how much you want his cock.”
“Want–Want daddy’s cock…I want daddy to–to fuck my slutty little pussy, please. Need daddy’s cock.”
Sukuna could feel his climax coming, his balls pulsating, something building up inside him. If only you were in front of him, begging for him to ram into you and choke you while you whimpered and cried for sweet, sweet release.
“How far are you, princess?”
You couldn’t reply with words, only strangled cries as you climbed higher. You hooked your fingers to drag across your g-spot, fucking yourself so hard that the squelching sounds could probably be heard from beyond the door. Your cunt contracted around my fingers once, hard. “Ahh…cl–close, daddy.”
“Shit, me too,” he groaned. “Fucking look at me when you cum, slut.” Sukuna started stroking his cock faster and faster while he continued to massage his balls. You swirled faster and harder as you pumped your fingers in and out of your wet cunt.
“Oh fuck daddy!” you cried, rolling your eyes back to his face as you felt your muscles tense.
“Good girl,” he breathed, looking directly into your eyes. “Cum for me. Do it.”
And, then the tension and pressure released all at once, making you scream “daddy” as the waves rippled through your body. Your cunt clenched your fingers rhythmically and you continued to finger yourself through the aftershocks.
“Fuck – shit, here it comes!” Sukuna moaned seconds before thick white ropes of his cum spurted from his cock to land on his stomach as he bucked up into his hand roughly. “Fucking finally.”
Moments later you were still panting as Sukuna gave you one last order before ending the call.
“Don’t wear any underwear tomorrow at work and come in early.”
#𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#jjk sukuna#sukuna jjk#jujutsu sukuna#sukuna ryomen
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@laviexenrose | continued from (x)
Slow d.ancing brought up awkward, embarrassing memories from h.igh s.chool socials -- sweaty palms, gangly limbs and fumbling attempts at conversation, in particular -- yet to Ben’s surprise, the gentle sway of Isabelle in his arms felt wholly natural...d.angerous. The closer he got to nabbing her father in his actions, the closer he got to her, which only muddied the objective and weakened his resolve.
Isabelle laid her head down on his chest then, causing a restless ache to creep through his chest and pound erratically between his ribs. Brushing his lips over her hair, he smiled and announced, “You know, back when I b.ought this a.partment a couple years ago, I never thought one of the perks would be slow-d.ancing in my k.itchen...in fact, I didn’t think there’d be any perks to having a k.itchen at all, what with my reliance upon r.amen packets and frozen dinners.”
Brushing his thumb over her knuckles, Ben squeezed her hand with his left and kept his right at her waist, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he glanced around him. “You’ve truly been a bad influence. Not only did I c.ook tonight, but I cleaned. What’s going to happen when I officially need to revoke my b.achelor status?”
Oh, perhaps that had been too forward... Admittedly, Ben had meant it more as a j.oke -- as a statement that he wasn’t much behaving like a b.achelor anymore -- but as he gently swayed Isabelle in his embrace, he found himself selfishly wishing that things were different; that he didn’t have to pretend, and that he could have her in the way he d.esired.
“I should stop talking, shouldn’t I?” Ben asked, pressing his cheek into her c.rown.
#laviexenrose#a safe and restless heart#ben x isabelle#v: modern au#//i wanted to call it b.aby i'm y.ours like the song you mentioned#BUT then it'd appear in the t.ags so i couldn't Dx#seth also doesn't slow d.ance with anyone in the stuff i have#so this i.con has to be close enough xD#IS HE RUINING THINGS YET?? lol
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LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO
synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.
tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing
wc: 17K
It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.
Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.
Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.
“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”
“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.
“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.
“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”
“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.
“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.
A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.
Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.
The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.
Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.
Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.
From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.
A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?
Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.
Shouto clicked start.
The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.
Then there’s…
XpLoveGuest
▻ Hey sexy
By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist
▻ ASL?
Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.
His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.
Sooba
▻ Age: 27
▻ Location: Tokyo
▻ Sex: No thank you
The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.
‘InsertNameHere’.
You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.
But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.
InsertNameHere
▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you?
▻ If you have one that is.
Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.
Sooba
▻ I have one.
InsertNameHere
▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.
Sooba
▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.
Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.
InsertNameHere
▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.
Sooba
▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.
A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.
InsertNameHere
▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?
Sooba
▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.
Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.
A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?
Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.
A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.
✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐
InsertNameHere
▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime.
▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.
Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:
Sooba
▻ I’d like that. :)
The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.
But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.
Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.
Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.
Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.
InsertNameHere
▻ I’ve escaped to the break room.
▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?
Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.
Sooba
▻ I try not to think too much about anything.
You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”
Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.
Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.
Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.
His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.
The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.
“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.
Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.
Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.
“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”
His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”
“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.
InsertNameHere
▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa
▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company
Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.
“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.
Sooba
▻ Question
▻ InsertNameHere
▻ What is your name?
InsertNameHere
▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast.
▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.
That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.
Sooba
▻ You can call me whatever you want.
“Shouto”.
InsertNameHere
▻ That’s not even a line is it.
▻ Man. You’re dangerous.
Sooba
▻ ???
Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”
Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.
And his feeble resolve fractures.
“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.
Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.
“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.
“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”
“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.
“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”
“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.
Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”
Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”
“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.
“Shouto. She’s deaf”.
Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.
They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.
His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”
Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.
A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?
Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.
The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.
Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.
“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.
Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.
“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”
“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.
“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.
“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.
“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.
“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”
“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.
Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.
Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.
After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.
InsertNameHere
▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro.
▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？
▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol
▻ You there?
▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.
Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.
Sooba
▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha
▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.
He barely thinks it over before adding:
▻ My mother said hi by the way.
Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.
InsertNameHere
▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers!
▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.
A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.
Sooba
▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother.
▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.
InsertNameHere
▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?
That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?
Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.
There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.
Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.
Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—
Sooba
▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.
Your reply is immediate.
InsertYourName
▻ Oh you have a kid?
Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.
Sooba
▻ [IMG_0243]
▻ Something like that.
It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.
InsertNameHere
▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster.
▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?
Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.
Sooba
▻ They are.
InsertNameHere
▻ Is he your favourite hero?
He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.
Sooba
▻ One of them.
▻ Do you have a favourite hero?
Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.
Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.
Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.
The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.
It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:
InsertNameHere
▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.
Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.
▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain
He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.
Sooba
▻ Only a little bit lol.
InsertNameHere
▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today!
▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all.
▻ See!
▻ [IMG_0589]
It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—
Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.
—Shouto swallows dryly.
You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.
▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that.
▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.
The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.
He saved that one to his camera roll.
Sooba
▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line
▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.
InsertNameHere
▻ How very gracious (´・｀ )
▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao
▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.
Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—
The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.
Sooba
▻ [IMG_288]
▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.
You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.
InsertNameHere
▻ I’m not so sure about that.
▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.
The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.
Sooba
▻ Think so?
▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.
InsertNameHere
▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.
This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.
Sooba
▻ That sounds perfect.
InsertNameHere
▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks.
▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)
“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.
Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:
Shouto : 00:14
I think I need help.
Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.
Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.
InsertNameHere
▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter
▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun.
▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink.
▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up!
▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met
The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.
▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.
Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.
But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.
Sooba
▻ Good morning to you too
▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.
Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.
InsertNameHere
▻ Send more Nori
He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.
Sooba
▻ [IMG_142]
After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.
Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.
The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.
He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.
And relief beats like a drum in his chest.
Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.
The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.
“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.
InsertNameHere
▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori
▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.
“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.
“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.
Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.
Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.
“When was the last time you went anywhere?���
Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.
Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.
Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.
Sooba
▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen.
▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.
He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.
▻ I thought it was cute.
That’s about as brave as he felt today.
Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.
“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.
Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.
Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.
Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.
“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.
Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.
They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.
The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.
Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.
“Mon petit chou!”
Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.
“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”
Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.
The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.
“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.
Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.
“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”
“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”
“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”
Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.
Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.
“How much will it be—?”
“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.
Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”
“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.
Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.
“My little cabbage?”
Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.
“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.
Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.
“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”
He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.
In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.
Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—
Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.
He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.
Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.
You’ve messaged him.
InsertNameHere
▻ Appeared? Like, teleported??
▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise.
▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol
Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.
Sooba
▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.
Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.
He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.
▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.
“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.
Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”
“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.
“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.
It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.
“What did you do?”
“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.
Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?
Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.
“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.
“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.
“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.
They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.
“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.
“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.
Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.
InsertNameHere
▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours?
▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3
▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night
“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.
Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.
Sooba
▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.
And it feels like a confession.
Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.
Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.
He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.
Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.
InsertNameHere
▻ [IMG_412]
▻ I hope you have a good day!
You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.
Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.
Sooba
▻ You too :)
▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.
InsertNameHere
▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.
Sooba
▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.
InsertNameHere
▻ And a kiss.
Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.
Sooba
▻ A kiss?
You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.
“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.
Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.
InsertNameHere
▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.
There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”
“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.
Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.
Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.
Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.
Sooba
▻ Obviously.
▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.
Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.
According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.
There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.
“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.
Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.
The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.
“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.
Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.
Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.
“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.
Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”
“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.
“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?
Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.
Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.
Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.
Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.
“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.
“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.
“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.
“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”
“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.
Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.
“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.
Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.
Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.
Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.
“I just—uh…”
His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—
“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.
—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.
“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.
You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.
You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.
“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.
“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.
“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.
Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.
Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.
Shouto swallows, “Who was—”
“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.
“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.
“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.
“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.
Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”
“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.
Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”
The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”
Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.
The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.
There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”
Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.
“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.
“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”
“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.
“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.
“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.
“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”
“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”
“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.
“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.
The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.
Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.
“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.
He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.
Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.
The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.
Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.
Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.
Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.
Sooba
▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.
His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.
Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.
A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.
Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.
Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.
She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”
Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.
A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.
He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.
InsertNameHere
▻ Guess what happened today
▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work.
▻ I think he might hate me? lol
Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.
Sooba
▻ Why would you think he hates you?
InsertNameHere
▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.
Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.
Sooba
▻ Maybe that’s just his face.
InsertNameHere
▻ Maybe…
▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.
Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.
Now did he want to do anything about it?
Sooba
▻ You think so??
The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.
InsertNameHere
▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)
The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.
Sooba
▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be
InsertNameHere
▻ I.
▻ You’re so unfair you know that
▻ If you were here I would
His breathing picks up ever so slightly.
Sooba
▻ What would you do with me
InsertNameHere
▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now
Sooba
▻ Unintentionally.
Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.
InsertNameHere
▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic
He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.
Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.
▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to
The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.
Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.
Sooba
▻ [IMG_628]
▻ I want to
Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.
Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?
The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.
InsertNameHere
▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous
▻ I can’t concentrate
Sooba
▻ You like it?
InsertNameHere
▻ I’ll show you how much
▻ [IMG_447]
Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.
Sooba
▻ I want to touch you
He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.
InsertNameHere
▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah?
▻ Gonna think about you too
“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.
“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.
Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.
Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.
The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.
InsertNameHere
▻ Want you to feel good
▻ You there baby?
▻ Sooba?
▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names
Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.
Sooba
▻ sorry can’t multitask
▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name
Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.
InsertNameHere
▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol
▻ How are you feeling?
Sooba
▻ really good. sleepy
He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.
▻ what about you
InsertNameHere
▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3
The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.
The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.
▻ Can I ask you something?
▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me?
▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to
Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it.
Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him.
Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing.
Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had.
Sooba
▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.
▻ I’d like to go with you
▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there
InsertNameHere
▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited
▻ And super nervous
As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight.
Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction.
His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”
The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister.
The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy.
Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”.
That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”.
Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”.
“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”
A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found.
“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”.
The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement.
“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”.
Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”
“No, I don’t know”.
“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks.
Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”.
The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.
Scarier is the hope that you won’t.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”.
“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.
“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol.
He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”.
Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages.
After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter. It is disconcerting that you would now go silent.
The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks.
As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?”
And his mouth goes dry.
You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face.
Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap.
“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you.
Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you.
“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?”
The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.
He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”
Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then.
“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”.
“Shouto,” he says.
Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”
“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed.
“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”.
“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”
Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics.
Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”.
Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.
Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door.
The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.
He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.
“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine.
“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”.
He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued.
“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek.
“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”
You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.
You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears.
“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”.
“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.
“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”.
You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter.
“Hey, Shouto?”
He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.
Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?”
“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”
And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason.
“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”.
Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him.
“Can I kiss you now?”
“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”.
Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively.
He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him.
You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders.
You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him.
Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass.
“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities.
A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.
“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”.
“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”.
Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?”
“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.
You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him.
“It’s just a tremor”.
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LOUD.
“It’s a,” and here Cody bites his lips, scratches the side of his nose.
“A?” Obi-Wan prompts gently. Keldabe Kiss doesn’t, objectively, sound too dirty. What’s in a name etc. but when Cody had said, if Obi-Wan is game, they could try something, Obi-Wan had kept his expectations open.
“It’s a headbutt,” Cody wrings out of himself after another few seconds.
On the list of things Obi-Wan had, after all, expected to some degree, this isn’t one of them. He keeps silent. “You want to give me a concussion?” He’s great at being silent, turns out. “Or vice versa?”
Cody is already shaking his head, foot gently shoving his helmet further away from them. “No! It’s a sign of affection…”
Only in the Mandalorian culture, Obi-Wan thinks fondly. “Explain it to me,” he signs, eyes crinkling despite himself.
Cody huffs, leans back against the wall behind his bunk. Most of his armor is stacked on its stand. The helmet on the floor near them because Cody had been fiddling with the antennas when he’d gripped it with both hands, stared at the visor, and asked if Obi-Wan knew what a Keldabe Kiss was.
Obi-Wan sits cross-legged in front of him, restless fingers playing with the starched to death blanket. The mask is on and he wishes it weren’t. The last engagement had knocked the air right out of his lungs when a Hyena-class suddenly dropped down on them and delivered proton bombs on mass. He ended up gasping and on his back after the action was over, so for now the mask stays on.
Cody adjusts the hem on the t-shirt he’s wearing, the bandage no longer peeking out when he’s done. “I’m stalling.”
“I noticed,” Obi-Wan signs back, knocks his shin against Cody’s and lets it rest there.
“Growing up,” Cody begins after a few long moments where he’s watched their legs touch, “we’d sometimes see the Template put his forehead against Boba’s. Gently,” he adds, crooked smile for Obi-Wan’s concussion related fears. His voice turns wistful and Obi-Wan’s heart aches. “We didn’t— most of us didn’t want to be in his place. The Template hadn’t been popular with the clones long before he rejected us. But something about that gesture…”
The gentleness of it in contrast to the cold, neutral environment they’d been growing up in. The obvious affection of it had been calling them. One of the trainers had let it drop what it was named. And over time they had been able to put together a definition.
“You headbutt your enemy to get out of close quarters engagement,” Cody explains. “You have to be aware how you hit them so you don’t injure yourself while inflicting the maximum amount of damage to your opponent.”
“Is that why your nose is a bit,” Obi-Wan signs, pointing at the crook of his own nose just above the mask.
“Wolffe’s head is harder than his bucket,” Cody mutters, thumb stroking over Obi-Wan’s ankle absently.
The other definition, the one the clones had mostly embraced, the one that brought warmth and solidarity into their midst when no one else provided it, that one was based on affection. Clacking your helmets together after the heat of a battle, a job well done. Bringing your foreheads together to be there, to mourn together, to show the other isn’t alone. To remind the other they’re loved.
“It’s also a proxy for a kiss,” Cody explains, color high in his cheeks which makes Obi-Wan’s heart squirm in his chest. They’ve had sex a few possible and impossible ways and yet Cody is blushing over explaining a kiss. It’s sweet and touching and— “You can’t kiss when you wear buckets,” Cody says, “and sometimes you can’t kiss at all for various reasons. So it’s— it’s a kiss by proxy,” he ends, shrugging helplessly and aborted.
Obi-Wan waits as the question builds up inside Cody, firming the strokes of his thumb, the determination in his spine. He waits while Cody is stealing his breath.
“Can I kiss you?”
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in your arms ༓ jjk (m)
✑ Summary: You wake up next to your boyfriend for the first time since moving in with him.
Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x girlfriend!reader
AU/Genres: pwp, smut, fluff, established relationship, one shot
Rating: M, 18+
Word Count: 1,680
Warnings: cussing, jk teasing oc, soft pouty jk, of is restless sleeper which makes jk lowkey sad, sexual content
sexual warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, morning s*x, kind of rough s*x, unprotected s*x (Don't be like them!) , d*try talk, m*ssionary, b*gging, b**b kink?, sl*t calling once (tame)
Now Playing: A Thousand Years
A/N: needed dometic koo after listening to piano guys play thousand years. I have not seen Twilight but I like the sound track lol. Hope you enjoy! 💞
"You snore." Is the first thing he says to you, eyeing you from the other side of the bed. He's downright adorable with half his face tucked behind the fluffy comforter.
"I do?" You roll on your side. The soft linen brushing against your skin reminds you of your bare state. Last night was the first time you spent the night at Jungook's since moving in. He was a little eager to get you in his bed to say the least.
Jungkook nods in response, eyes still barely peaking out from the covers.
"But...I don't." You smile sheepishly. Many things you're known for doing in bed but snoring was not one of them. You're sure of it. "I definitely don't," you repeat in disbelief. "You're being a little shit again aren't you?"
A grin slowly spreads on your boyfriend's face—his eyes revealing all. What a menace as always. His playful spirit makes you giggle.
"Did you sleep okay?" You yawn and rub your tired eyes.
Jungkook shimmies himself closer to you. His nose is inches away from your the nape of your neck. "No," he says. "You were so far away from me the whole night."
The comforter he was tugging on earlier is now folded under his arm. From this angle, you can trace every muscle on his inked arm, so you do, with the tips of your fingers. "I'm sorry koo, I'm such a restless sleeper. I didn't kick you did I?"
Since a child you've never been able to sleep in one position. You were always starfishing, flopping from side to side, or genuinely just in the twistiest pretzel-like positions possible. Now and then you'd punch or knee at the bed too, depending how vivid the dream you were having was. That's why for the majority of your life you've slept alone.
Jungkook on the otherhand could sleep anywhere in the same position. All he needed was a good grip on his blankets or in this case, you, and he'd fall fast alseep until the morning. But you were not an easy one to snuggle with, causing him to pout until all hours of the night.
"I'm okay, but can we try cuddling or spooning again tonight? Wanna fall asleep with the girl of my dreams in my arms." Your heart does about ten somersaults. Ever since you hit 6 months, Jungkook's been begging you to move in with him and now that you've finally agreed, he's been coordinating your new living conditions down to the last detail.
He's also stopped refering to the apartment as his—it's now our apartment, our haven, our home.
You remove your hand from his arm to fluff through his messy hair. Something about the silky texture makes you unable to stop yourself. Jungkook likes it too. "Of course we can." Your face drops a few shades. "But I'm not sure if it'll be any different from last night. I might hurt you."
In that very moment your boyfriend props himself up on an elbow and leans himself over your body just enough for you to fall on your back. "No you won't," he insists. The same inked arm curls around your waist, pushing your chests together. "I'll hold ya down this time."
Your cheeks warm up from the gesture.
"What's got you blushing doll?"
"Just that you're everything I was hoping for and more." You wrap both arms around his neck, his lips ghosting over yours. "I love you so much." It's hardly a whisper but Jungkook has no trouble hearing.
"You know I was thinking similar," he says, placing a light kiss to the side of your neck. You hum. This will likely be a regular occurrence now that it's Jungkook you'll be waking up to every morning. His affection knows no bounds.
"You're all mine," he continues, tracing circles on your waist with his thumb. Even with the blankets shielding your naked body from his, you feel every imprint of his touch. "I'm all yours, too. And even if you do end up kicking me in your sleep, I'll alway be back for more because I'm in love with you....just try not to kick my dick though, that would kinda be a bummer for both of us." He shoots a quick wink and you snort.
"Sorry," you cover part of your face. "That was so ugly of me." Jungkook's heard you snort a thousand times but you've still a little self conscious about it.
"Its cute."
"Stop, you dont have to say that."
"It's cute because I like making you laugh and seeing you happy make—"
"Makes you horny." You finish the sentence, cackling at his suddenly doe-eyed expression. "I can feel your erection on my thigh Kook."
"Oh," he looks down at himself. Did he think he was being smooth and all trying to hide it and all? You're boyfriend's cute but a good liar he is not. "Well can I stick it in or not?" He looks at you again, expectanty.
"Kook!" You just had sex last night and to be honest you're a little sore from it as well as flopping around in your sleep all night.
Jungkook however is imposible to refuse with his pouty lips and big, ferocious eyes. He simultaneously wants to cuddle you to death and fuck you silly every second of the day. You ask him which he wants to do, he will always want both....at least twice in one go.
"I'll make it quick, promise. And it'll feel good too."
Once you give the okay Jungkook climbs on top of you from under the sheets. You spread your thighs, allowing him to slip in—which he easily does given the fact that he wasn't the only one all worked up.
"Fuck," he breaths above you, hands gripping the mattress on either side of your head. "Such a perfect pussy you know that? Always so wet for me."
"Yes Kook," you let out a small whine. Jungkook's dick always makes you so full so fast. "Fuck me."
"You want it huh?" He teases even though it's him who started this. "You want my big cock to stretch your tiny pussy? Make you scream? Say you want it baby. Need to hear it from you."
You concede to your boyfriend and tell him how much you want it. "Mhm please, need your cock Kook. Want it so bad, want it to make me come, please."
"Greedy little thing aren't you," he seethes, thrusting into you at a slow pace. "Just got fucked three times last night and still want more. What does that make you hm?"
"A slut." Jungkook growls when the words leave your lips. He ends up fucking into you faster, loving the sight of your breasts bounce up and down at the quickened pace. You move to grip onto both boobs but he growls again, letting you know his obvious disapproval.
"Wrap your legs around my waist," he grunts. "And don't you dare think about covering yourself up. Wanna see every bit of you."
You do as he says and he sinks further in you, cock finding that sweet spot at the same time. "Fuckfuckfuck," he chants. "So needy aren't you? Swallowing my cock like it's nothing for your pussy. Who taught you how to take cock this well huh?"
"Jungkook!" You scream when you feel the knot get stronger in the pit of your stomach. You boyfriend smirks and starts kissing up and down your neck.
"Say it again. Who taught you to take cock this well?"
"You—you Jungkook, you did. Please, gonna come soon." You claw his muscular back, knowing your high is about to come swift and fast. You hope to god he lets you come too. Last night he made you wait and wait. You had to keep begging him until he was fully satisfied. You squirted a lot and it was hot but you can't do that again so soon.
"Come for me baby," he coos. "Show me what I taught you back when all you knew how to do was give head. Gonna soak my cock now aren't you? I'm already so wet from your slick, fuck."
"Jungkook—oh god," you moan one last time before finally releasing. Your boyfriend let's out a deep, breathy groan and continues to thrust into for the sake of his own high. "Kook, please, please tell me you're close. It's almost too much."
"Shit just hold tight for me a little longer baby, I'm so close." He fucks into a few more times then spills himself into your warm cunt. You both bask in post-orgasmic blish until your boyfriend leans his head down to capture your lips. It's a bit of a sloppy kiss but still fiery and passionate.
He slips off you after a minute or two of making out, hair sticking to his forehead. "I'm so glad you said yes to moving in."
"What? You just want me here for the sex?" You pant, playful glimmer in your eye.
Jungkook shakes his head. "Of course not." You move to rest your head on his shoulder. "The sarcasm's nice too."
You roll your eyes. You'll be doing this all over again tonight. Maybe he'll be able to keep you in his arms tonight this time—you truly hope.
A/N: thanks for reading! Lmk your thoughts 💞
Masterlist
no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfics#bts smut#bts fluff#bts x reader#bts fanfic#bts imagines#bts scenarios#fic:inyourarms#kookslastbutton
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tags, pt2!
audio = audio. ✩ it’s about to be legendary
aesthetic = aes. ✩ restless heart
meme tag = meme. ✩ it’s your turn
answered asks = a. ✩ been lookin’ for answers
shippy memes = s/meme. ✩ build a fire from a spark
nsfw ship = s/nsfw. ✩ bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints
nsfw ship memes = s/n/meme. ✩ stay thirsty like before
verses = au. ✩
#ooc. ✩#au. ✩#audio. ✩ it’s about to be legendary#aes. ✩ restless heart#meme. ✩ it’s your turn#a. ✩ been lookin’ for answers#s/meme. ✩ build a fire from a spark#s/nsfw. ✩ bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints#s/n/meme. ✩ stay thirsty like before
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CW: themes of derealization, sacrificing/death and possibly more. be aware. can possibly become disturbing at times.
WORN OUT WORDS READ :
GREETINGS. I AM IMMORTAL BUT IF YOU MUST CALL ME BY THE NAME I ONCE WERE, ORPHEUS, DO AS YOU MUST. I AM HERE TO ACHIEVE ONE THING ONLY.
THERE IS MORE BELOW - SEE?
GUIDELINES.
WORDS THAT ARE DISCRIMINATORY OR OUTRIGHT DISGUSTING - I WILL NOT HESITATE TO BURN YOUR DAMNED WORDS.
DO NOT RUSH ME. I HAVE OTHER AFFAIRS I MUST ATTEND TO.
opinions of IMMORTAL are not reflected through I, ???. NOT FOR NOW. god why are you like this!
I WILL TRY TO DRAW WHAT I MAY OF THIS CYCLE. this is not the “truth” you seek just yet, is it? he’s lied before.
I DO NOT CARE IF YOU WISH TO USE YOUR WORDS TO FLIRT WITH I THIS TIME BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I RECIPROCATE - I AM TOO BUSY.
THE PAGE IS NOT ENDED, THERE IS SPACE FOR MORE AND A PEN LIES NEARBY. GO ON.
#identity v askblog#idv askblog#identity v orpheus#idv Orpheus#identity v#idv#( hi. this is all derived from the boredom of idv wait time. )#( welcome to this random au )#(home is where the heart is. homesick)#(the cards dealt. highroller)#(sins of father. hollow)#(of restless dreams. orfeo)#(bonds of family. anonrydice)
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Hey! I love your monster au and was wondering how Monster! TF 141 + König and Horangi would react to Y/N getting a serious/ life-threatening injury during mission?
This reminds me of your request @thatgirlwhocantfindausername
Cw: injury, blood and gore, monster 141 cod, overprotective, implied death, worry, tell me if I missed any.
You were rushed to the ER for an emergency surgery to take care of at least a dozen bullet wounds, consciousness hanging on a loose thread and body standing between blood loss and high on morphine. The nurses had to keep the TF from barging into the operation room to let the surgeons and doctors do their work, then security was called to have them escorted to the waiting room, somberly filling the corridor with their dark mood.
They spent hours upon hours wondering if you’d make it, the most pessimistic of them already fearful and minds shutting down at the simple thought of burying you, or scattering your ashes, or being the bearer of bad news for the rest of your relatives. Despite the stoic mess in their faces, lips pulled thinly and eyes shadowed, there were little signs of panic, a crack in their facade that showed their terror and worry. They shouldn’t have let you go without them, without at least one of them by your side.
Price looked as if he’d burst a vessel, his jaw clenched and fingers locked together to stop himself from fidgeting. König didn’t share the reserve, finger fidgeting, scratching at the loose thread of his gloves or the cuff of his shirt. Ghost wasn’t far from working his hands, his restlessness coming off from his leg, bouncing endlessly as he burned a hole into the floor. Soap was mumbling, quiet words lost to everyone’s ears, and it seemed like Horangi and Alejandro occupied their thoughts the same, hisses and swears slipping from their tongues like a waterfall. Gaz’s face looked the most pained, biting his pretty lips and brows screwed together, his eyes closed to block out his visions. And Rudolfo, the most human of them all, felt his tears blur his vision, staring blankly at the wall with trembling lips and a heart-wrenching expression.
When the head surgeon came out in clean garbs and heavy bags under his eyes, his smile took away the heaviness that weighted on the group’s shoulders, telling them that you would be fine and that you made it, albeit hooked up on painkillers, liquids, and other substance to keep you stable. The surgeon had warned them that you’d be coming in and out of sleep, dazed and in pain, that you’d mumble and whimper, but you never lucid enough to be conscious of your words.
And the moment your eyes open, blinking away the sleep that clung to your mind, the rushed to your side, whispering prises and encouragements, happiness and relief spilling from their every pores as they give you space to breathe and take a moment to take in your situation, mind still swimming in drugs and pain. They spend your recovery sitting in your room, occupying your time with small stories and little banter, making sure that every moment you spent in bed were joyful ones.
Despite the long recovery - a week spent at the hospital and a few more unable to put in any work - they clung to you, leaving one or two of them sticking by your side in case of an accident or an emergency. They were ready to help you with anything: bathing, eating, massages, or sleeping, as long as it caused you a bit of pain or annoyance.
Oh, +1000000% big guard dog privileges. None of them will let you go off on your own anymore, you’ll have one at your every beck and call, following you around like a lost pup.
Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara
#x reader#cod mw2 x reader#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#konig x reader#konig mw2#captain price#captain john price#price mw2#john price x reader#gaz mw2#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#soap mw2#soap x reader#horangi#horangi mw2#horangi x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas#alejandro cod#rudolfo parra#rudy x reader#rudy cod#monster 141#monster cod au#tw: wounds
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♡ 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 | 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡
【Synopsis】 : It's been so long since you've seen your boys. And when the youngest comes knocking on your door, the new life you had only just managed to build comes crashing down.
『Word count』 : 4.8k
-> Genre: Mafia au. Angst. Fluff.
Pairing: Mob Boss!Ot8 Ateez x Reader
[Warnings] : lots of heart ache. The reader is beside herself a lot. Blood. Gore. Death. Torture. Reader gets kidnapped. Tears. Hugging. Lots of cry. Grovelling (we stan a good grovel). And yeah, lots of angst but fluffy at the end. Kissing. Mingi got a dirty mind. Whoops.
Note: uh, so hi. Ahha It's been a while... I finally decided to actually finish the alt ending of this fic. I've had people ask for more, and I honestly forgot about it. But then i saw someone send in THIS request, and it made me want to finish this. So this can be read as a stand-alone. But if you want to read part 1 and the other ending. Go ahead, otherwise enjoyyyyy ♡
Part one | Other Ending
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You were alone. Wandering through life with nothing to hold onto. You were going underwater, and no one was around to help you above the heavy waves. You were numb. Heartbreak ridding you of happiness… Or so you thought.
Through a bottle or two... Maybe three or four. You found at the end of it. You were just as unhappy as you were before you took the first sip. You needed a change. A change of scenery. A change of personality. A completely new life. So there you were two towns over. Maybe not a whole country away from the old you, but this was just as good. A new apartment. New job. Architectural design. You enjoyed it, so dearly. It became something that kept you going. That kept you waking up. You were fighting for a glimpse of happiness in mornings that were still hard, and nights were just as restless as ever.
You were alone. Yes. But you tried.
It's been two whole years. You think you’d forgotten everything by now. But the biggest, deepest pain didn’t seem to heal as quickly as everyone says it does. Fucking Liars…
You were having a break from your long hours of sketching a new mansion floor plan, a private owner wanted it done within the week and for a heavy price and as much as it was a distraction you couldn't help but think how the design the private buyer seemed to want a floor plan that resembled something that one of your old lovers would have loved. The vintage vibe with a green and gold theme matched Mingi and Yunho perfectly. Your brain almost thought maybe they were the private buyer. But why would they go to you after what you had ‘apparently done’ to them? Before you could dwell on the idea anymore, the sound of your doorbell broke your gaze from the large sketch in front of you.
You question why someone would be visiting you at this hour, given that most of your clients would email you beforehand and your ‘friends’ would text. So, who could possibly be at your door? Your heart thumped strangely as if your body knew who was beyond the large oak before you. A ball started to form at the base of your throat. Was this anxiousness you were feeling? Gripping the silver handle, you creek the door open slowly, and when your gaze met the other person you feel your heart stop.
“Hi…”
You looked at the man with a dumbfounded expression, tilting your head in confusion. Hi? After all these years, hi is what he starts with. What does he take you for? A hopeless woman needing a man to catch her when she falls?
You go to shut the door without a second thought, but he catches it in his strong arms. The same arms that used to hold you. Shield you from all the danger―no stop you didn’t need them when you were completely broken and you most certainly don’t need them now.
“Please let me explain. Honey, I just…” He was scrambling to find his words, his breath catching his throat like he was running a marathon prior to this interaction. “I wanted to see you…tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Jongho.” You finally spoke, silently yelling at yourself for sounding so shaky in your voice when you wanted to be mad, tone-deaf, blunt. But here you are, wanting to cry cause of the anger surging through you. Why must you always cry when you get mad. “You don’t get to come here after almost two fucking years, call me honey and tell me how much you miss me and think I’ll just fall back into your arms as if nothing happened.”
“T-that’s not what I want nor expect from you. I just want―I don’t care what you want. Now get off my porch.” You cut him off, slamming the door in his face before breaking down the minute you heard the latch click. Your legs buckle, sliding down the door before your knees hit the ground, sobbing into your hands. Your heart was breaking all over again, just like the night you left. You wanted nothing more than to run after him, beg him to hold you. But you couldn’t. They hurt you so much. How do you even begin to forgive them for what happened all those years ago?
-
Through the next months, you kept receiving letters, flowers, and gift boxes. Even teddy bears. Why would they give you teddy bears? You think they would have known you from being with them for so long. Throwing yet another soft plush toy on the ever-growing pile that sat in your office. You were beginning to become sick of it. You thought after you yelled at Jongho, he and the others would have gotten the hint, but you guess being dumped by eight mob bosses wasn’t as easy as you thought.
Sighing, you click your tongue, looking at the stack of letters you have yet to burn. You can’t even be bothered to open them, not wanting to even listen to anything they might have to say. But another part of you was curious. Maybe one letter couldn’t hurt, right? Reaching for the one on the top, your fingers grasp the small paper. It’s rough against your skin. Like the paper was made from a poor-quality tree. Odd? Why would your ex-lovers gift you such cheap gifts? Not that you were expecting high-priced gifts, but they had enough money to buy half the world, so you think them getting something with a heavier price tag wouldn’t matter. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t adding up.
But before you could think of anything else, a loud, almost anger-filled knock comes from the front door. Your body was suddenly on high alert. Goosebumps erode all over your skin as a sickening feeling clouds your head. Grabbing your letter opener―just in case―you walk slowly towards the noise. Thoughts ran through your head in time with the beats of your racing heart. You knew walking towards the suspicious noise was a bad idea, but what else could you do? Whoever was there would know you were home by the lights being on or how your car is parked in the driveway. You couldn’t just pretend you weren’t home, no matter how hard you wanted to try.
Your fingers graze the door handle, feeling your breath hitch. You twist it slowly until you hear the creek of the door hinges swing inwards. You brace yourself for whoever it was, but what you are met with confused you. The porch was empty?
No one in sight…
But you certainly heard a loud knock. You were going crazy… were you? You huff, straightening up, feeling relief wash over you. Maybe it was some kids pranking the neighbours again, and you were their target for the day. Who knows. You click the door closed, but you lock it this time because even though you see no threat, you wanted to be sure. Entering your office again you walk over to the letters in order to continue what you were doing but when your eyes gaze over the pieces of paper you notice the one you were going to open wasn’t on the table. Where did you go? You thought, placing the letter opener on the table so you could place your hand on the edge of the oak desk so you could look under it. You looked everywhere and couldn’t seem to find it. It was like it had vanished. But…was that a flash? Something caught your eye.
Looking at the teddy bears, you see the letter sitting in the lap of one of the plushies. Tilting your head you notice a little red flash like as if there was a recor―Your eyes snap open stumbling back slightly before turning to run but your body is met with a very broad object and then before you can get any baring on what or who was in behind of you, everything went black.
-
It was like the world was spinning, your head pinging with an aching pain from the left side of your skull. You tried to open your eyes and look around, but you quickly figured out you were blindfolded and bound to what seemed to be a chair. Typical. Why is it that whenever someone gets kidnapped, they get tied to an old wooden chair? Why couldn’t it be a couch or one of those soft deck chairs? You could hear some scampering around you, three, maybe four people had entered the room you were in. You can smell their shitty cheap cologne that they most likely think bend women at the knees. You knew what kind of people they were before even seeing them.
“Well well. Looks like my men have caught a pretty mouse of us to play with.” The heavy voice echoed around the room, hinting to you that you were most likely in an open area. A warehouse, maybe? “You are gonna be my ticket to freedom songbird.”
You had to cringe at the pet name that fell from his lips. The name you were known as in the mafia world. More specifically, Ateez’s Songbird. You tried to sit still, hoping to show a fraudulent sense of confidence, but in reality, you were petrified. You no longer had the eight men you loved dearly to save you. Then again, you had no one to save you. Most of your friends lived out of town and wouldn’t even come to the rescue if you begged. You were alone with these men. Blindfolded and at their will. The man you assume was talking before lifted your blindfold off, seeing your eyes suddenly gaze upon the piercing light from the headlamp above you. You can see your suspicions were correct, four men ranging from sizable jock build to more lean ones but in the end, they were all ghastly, staring you down as if you were nothing more than a piece of meat.
“I want to know where Ateez is….” The grunt that escaped from the immoral male smelled of booze and low-quality cigars. His eyes were painted his redness, as if he hadn't slept in days, weeks even. He was boarding insanity at this rate by his expression. “Well come on, I know you know where they are, and to be blunt, I need them dead. You know business and all.” He rambles, walking around your figure while you sit there listening to his utter bullshit. His words remind you of when a villain in the story starts blabbering to the captor about how they needed to defeat the hero in order to take over the world. But in this case, both sides are just as villainous as each other, and the “world” that’s referenced is stocks… weapons, contraband, drugs, money. The list goes on and on.
“Why are you so quiet, Songbird? Protecting your lovers?”
Now that one made you laugh, shaking your head in annoyance. Argh, what you would give to be home with a strong whiskey in hand right now. Your reaction sent a shocked expression to the disgusting man's face. He expected you to plea, beg for him to not hurt Ateez, to not hurt the loves of your life and yet here you sit, laughing right in his face like he had just said the most entertaining thing to you.
“I don’t know where they are.” You finally spoke, a sadistic smile painted your face. To never backed down from his gaze, almost trying to intimidate him with your blazed stare. “Why would I know, or care where they are? They don’t care about me.”
His paced. Fuck. He thought. Did his men really just kidnap you for no reason? He was going to shoot someone for this. He began to sweat, you were his only hope of getting the men he hates, attention. And now you were useless. His hand raked through his hair, coming down to scratch the stubble on his chin. What is he going to do with you now? Looking back at you his eyes slid down your body from head to toe, as if he was a predator sizing up his prey. You felt a sudden uneasiness. Maybe telling the man that held your life in his hand you were useless, wasn’t your greatest idea.
He moved away, whispering to one of his men before he sent him off, turning back to you straight after. He stepped one foot in front of the other in a slow and formed way, as if he had come up with the best plan in history. His devious smile brought a lump in your throat and the way he leaned down in front of you, placing both hands on the chair arms so he was face to face with you. “Well, little dove. We can find other uses for you, hmm?”
An idea popped into your head, and maybe it was your hotheadedness or your sheer stubbornness to do things out of spite. Bringing your body back slacked against the chair frame, you watched as his smirk grew, thinking he had finally managed to scare you, but before he could react, you whipped your head forward. Your forehead smashes against his nose with a sickening crack, and a blood-curtailing scream follows. The man gripped his nose with a sharp hiss. You could see blood pouring down like a waterfall from his nose, spilling all over his clothes and floor. Your blurred vision and ache in your skull doesn’t last long as you shake your head. You can see his men crowding around him to see if he is okay.
“Bitch!” He swore, standing up straight from his crouched position to stomp over to you and slap you clean in your face, making you and the chair fall over, smacking your side against the concrete. You can feel your wrist twist before popping out of place from the impact. Your elbow scraped against the harsh floor along with your arm, making you feel the sensation of your blood escaping through the broken skin. A cut on the top of your head also spilled some blood onto the floor making a headache begin to form. Maybe this wasn’t your best idea.
“Get the kit. I wanna teach this whore a lesson.” He spat out some blood that spilled into his mouth from his nose.
“whore? I thought it was bitch? Or as it little dove?” you need to shut your mouth but you choose to keep pushing his buttons. Idiot. He kicked you square in the gut making you hitch your breath before almost coughing up a lung at the pain. Your watered eyes could now barely see as you tried to blink the tears away. You spot out the corner of your eye a bag of what you could only guess, torture tools. Great, now you really fucked up.
-
You had passed out at least two or three times, and every time, you were woken up by ice-cold water to the face. The temperature of the water stung your opened wounds and burned at your hot red flesh. Time was absent to you, not knowing how long you’d been sitting, tied to the comfortable chair. God, your limbs were gonna ache once you were able to get out. that’s if you get out.
Maybe you will die here. The irony. Dying in a place of crime in a life of anguish when you so desperately tried to run from it. To try so hard to clean up and forget the darkness that lingered in your past. But in truth, you missed. As sicken as it sounded. You missed the violence, the thrill, the wealth and power. You missed being feared by your enemies and adored by your lovers. Call you sadistic for finding nostalgia in torture, but it was true. Even if you were the one who was currently being hurt, you couldn’t help but smile weakly.
“I found her!!” A muffled voice and sounds of gunshots echoed around you. But you were so dazed you couldn’t seem to pinpoint the noise. Your eyes were fuzzed, and blood tainted your view. Everything was happening so fast until you saw the stillness.
“Y-yuyu?” Your eyes glossed, seeing a blurred figure that resembled Yunho. But it couldn’t be him, could it? You must be dreaming, finally getting ready to leave this plane, but why would your guardian angel look like Yunho?
“I’ve got you, baby. Hold on.” You had already passed out for the final time before you would hear another word slip from your ex-lover's mouth. His rough hands gripped the rope that bounded your hands, cutting it away with his pocket knife. He snaked his arm under your legs and on your lower back, picking you up from the old wooden chair with ease. Your blood had pooled on the floor and now trailed behind Yunho as he jogged with you in his arms. His suit was now tainted red from you, but he couldn’t care less. The only thing on his mind was getting you to safety and maybe killing some assholes along the way.
-
To say you couldn’t explain the pain surging through your body was correct. You had never experienced such torture before, and man, you were definitely regretting some of the stupid shit you had said to the low-life mob boss earlier. Your vision was still so blurred, and your head was ringing. You could faintly see a bedside with a clock on it. But the face was dark like it was unplugged. You know this place. You remembered the smell of vanilla and pine. You remembered the dark spruce bed frame and emerald forest green bed sheets. You weren’t thinking when you started to snuggle into the bedding, inhaling the comforting scent.
You missed his smell. You missed being in this bed. God, you didn’t realize how much you missed them. You wanted to be strong. You didn’t want them, didn’t want to forgive them. But the comfort…. tears were falling from your cheeks onto the silk pillow. You were sobbing, and your mind was beside itself. One part screaming at you, telling you to suck it up and leave. But on the other side, you were so tired. So, so…tired…. and all you wanted was your boys.
“Sugar…” You froze, hearing the man that belonged to the bedroom. His deep voice, velvet and smooth. You could hear a crack in it like he had been in tears prior. You didn’t move, frozen with fear, because you knew if you looked at him in those beautiful brown eyes, you would be done for. “Baby, are you awake?”
He knew you were, but he didn’t want to approach you without knowing if it was okay. He knew by the way you looked at them last time you saw them that you had feared them. Something he never wanted to see in your beautiful innocent gaze. Torment that he and the others caused. He would never forgive himself, so he understood if you never did either. “I want to go home…”
You didn’t know what else to say. So god damned scared to stay cause if you did, you might not leave. And you couldn’t do that. What they put you through. You couldn’t possibly begin a relationship with them again… right? “Mingi, please take me home…” you felt so small calling for him, you didn’t want to be surrounded by his scent but at the same time, you didn’t so much as budge from the covers. You didn’t want him to be near you, but yet when he sat down on the edge of the bed, your body was screaming to be held by him. Everything was so messed up. Why did it have to end up like this? Why was this your ending with them?
Mingi couldn’t find his wording, his hand coming up to your covered shoulders, putting a firm but gentle touch on it. He wanted nothing more than to hold you, kiss you. Make love to you while repeating how sorry he was over and over while he caused you to come over and over. “I missed you…” His voice cracked. “We all have…” better now than never to explain himself, right? “After the first couple of weeks, we found out that those pictures were faked. A way to manipulate us into crumbling our empire. They thought if they could put us all at each other's throats. I guess they won…”
“How did you find they were fake?” You asked in a whisper, keeping your face covered with the bed sheet.
“Another anonymous tip went off that San was ‘sneaking’ around with some guy. But Wooyoung was quick to debunk it cause San was with him that whole week. So we quickly found out that this was a ploy to rip us all apart… which worked.” Mingi regretted every word he spoke. They managed to find out San was innocent quicker than you. San was lucky he had an alibi, though unlike you, that was away without their knowledge, just trying to buy a gift for your anniversary... god, they were so stupid...
“It...Worked?” You were confused about that since it only caused you to leave. From your knowledge, the boys were all still together? Mingi sighed, standing up, which caused you to peek out from your hiding spot to see him pouring a whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. Before downing the amber-coloured liquor.
“Seonghwa and Hongjoong became obsessed with work. They’ve become biter…” He took another shot of the harsh liquor. “Cruel… The number of people they’ve put in the dungeons just from looking in their direction wrong.”
You felt sick, flashes of them yelling at you, cursing you. The image of them with that anger plus a gun. You felt sorry for any of the suckers that were unlucky enough to gaze at them wrong. You tangled your fingers into the soft sheets, playing with the velvet fabric. You note how the hand that had popped out earlier was still slightly swollen and numb, making you barely able to feel the fabric on your right fingertips. “W-What about the others…”
“Jongho spent most of his time looking for you. Spying on you. Seeing all the achievements you have made.” He sounded proud of you for a moment like he sought knowledge of your life from the youngest. “Yeosang drove himself into his computer work, taking on small tasks in the outer parts of the city. If we hadn’t said we brought you home, he would have still been hiding somewhere.” He flicked his hand in the air, scoffing slightly.
“San and Wooyoung changed the most when you left. They became lost without you, distant… different. Like the sunshine was ripped from their life, and darkness consumed them.”
He took a seat at the end of the bed again. You had sat up, crossing your legs, eyeing his figure. He has gotten bigger than the last time you’ve seen him. He’s bulked up, and from what your memory could recall, Yunho was bigger as well. The way his arms felt being around you as he carried you to safety were definitely bulkier. “And what about you? Yunho?”
He huffed, glancing up at you. His hand was so close to your covered legs. So close yet so far. “Yunho and I are…fine. We missed you.”
You knew fine meant they were both struggling just as much as the others. You shifted, moving a little closer to him. Your heart was still aching, but your body was craving to feel some warmth. and at this point, you were so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running. Tired of anyone telling you who or how to live your life? who cares if you run back to your exes? Who cared if you decided you move back with them? It’s not like you have friends or family that would tell you otherwise. All you had was them. Eight cruel mob bosses who would do anything for you and who were scared when they thought you had betrayed them. “I missed you too.”
His wide, glossy eyes snapped to yours. Like he had just heard someone spill the secret to life itself. His mouth went dry, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to spill his guts about how much he missed your smile and missed your laugh. Missed the way you would tease him for being too clingy, but yet you were just as clingy in the next breath. He missed the way your body would melt against his on cold nights, searching for warmth. Or how you would fit so perfectly around his….
“Min…You mind is wondering…” You knew his tells, and you knew he was sinking into his mind.
“I uh…I’m just trying to find the words to say I’m sorry without it sounding like it was an excuse.”
“I believe you’re sorry, mingi. I believe you are all sorry. It doesn’t change or fix what happened. And it’s going to take time for me to trust you all again. But…” You leaned over, placing your hand on his shaking thigh. “I do forgive you.”
He broke.
“We don’t deserve your forgiveness. We don’t deserve you…” Tears were falling down his red cheeks, making you jump to wipe each one away without a second thought. You hadn’t realized how close you were until you noted the smell of the whiskey on his breath and the warmth of his body radiating to yours.
“You might not deserve me. But who is here to tell me to stay away…” he gave you a smile. You didn’t want to forgive him or the others fully per se, but you did want this push-and-pull game. This cruel twisted game of forbidden love.
“The others are going to want to see you…” He spoke cautiously, afraid you might recoil away from him if he spoke too loudly. You just sighed, lowering your hands into your lap once again, sitting back. You could feel your wounds with every movement, but it wasn’t as painful as before. They must have given you some painkillers prior to when you were passed out. You were about to speak when a sudden thud was heard, quickly followed by a bunch of hushed whispers. You couldn’t help but smirk at the childishness, for angry mafia kings they sure know how to act like goofballs.
“They’re outside aren’t they?” You cocked your brow, giving Mingi a simple straight expression. He just rubbed the back of his neck with a small whisper of, ‘Sorry.’
You rolled your eyes, telling him to let them in. Your heart might have been racing faster than a race car, but you tried to hide the growing anxiousness with a plain expression. You were going to hear them all out. You were going to hug San and Wooyoung as they sobbed on the end of your bed with mumblers of ‘I’m sorry.’ over and over again. You were going to give Yeosang a knowing look, so he knew that his silence was accepted and that you weren’t mad. You were going to thank Yunho for saving you, and he was going to kiss your palm as you held his cheek briefly.
And you were going to cry.
Sob at how Hongjoong sat on his knees, grovelling for your forgiveness and pleading how he was so messed up for not believing you. You’d all cry seeing the leader so vulnerable. And Seonghwa. Your darling, hwa… you would see such sorrow in his eyes. But you would let him kiss your cheek, hold you for a moment. Let him have you for a moment while you get your mind into check.
This was not a redemption. This was not forgetting. But a new chance.
Not a new chapter but a new book entirely.
You were going to grow, do your own thing. Be with them while you find yourself. And maybe, just maybe. You’d take Jongho’s offer all those years ago…and finally say yes…
— ♡
#ateez#ja3hwa#ateez smut#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#ateez reaction#ateez reactions#ateez fanfic#ateez fluff#ateez scenario#ateez fanfiction#ateez poly#ateez x female reader#ateez x reader#ateez x reader smut#ateez fic#atz reactions#atz smut#atz fluff#atz drabbles#atz hard hours#atz imagines#atz scenarios#atz x reader#atz fanfic#ateez mafia au#ot8 atz#ot8 ateez x reader#ot8 x reader#ateez ot8
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click! finale (e.w.)
SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]
WORD COUNT: 4.7k
WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black, parental trauma, self-worth issues, slight disordered eating, brief alcoholism and hypersexuality, heavy grief, pining but depressed
A/N: finally on break yaassss….. sequel? LOL
The air around you is strangling. You haven’t left your room in two days. You’re not passing this semester.
The room next to yours, however, is filled with life. Ellie’s back to blasting her music and banging on walls, but you have yet to cross paths. Not in class, not at home; You haven’t seen her. Pickle never hesitates to scratch at your door for hugs. And kisses. She’s brought you so much comfort, even in times where you feel like you’re undeserving.
Christmas is around the corner, and you’re alone. Amaya never shied away from taking you home for her breaks, but she’s gone. She hasn’t called in a while; You hope she’s doing okay.
So, you seek escape in a different way and do what you haven’t in a long time.
Tears flood your vision, your thumb hovering over a number you haven’t touched in ages. Your hands won’t stop trembling. You’re going to regret this. Your heart's already breaking into pieces at the heart and cloud emojis of the contact.
Soft paws knead your thighs and you kiss kit-kat’s tiny head as she nuzzles your chin. You’re trying to keep your sobs to a minimum, but they’re tearing your throat to shreds.
Your thumb comes down on the contact and the line rings. And rings… and rings until the dial tone sounds.
“At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up or press one for more options.”
You knew no one would answer. No one ever answers, but still, you listen for her voice. The steadiness of her breathing. You take a shaky breath, “Hi, mom.” Mindless sentences pour out of you like a waterfall. You just sit there and allow Pickle to playfully bite your finger.
“I, uh… I’m not…” Another sob, “I’m not doing well.”
You would never say that if she were here. You always masked your true feelings for her sake; She never needed any additional stress.
Void images of your father reoccur in your memory, “I think there’s something wrong with me… I don’t think I’m a g-good person.” A barbed tongue affectionately licks at your finger, and you try to smile.
“I… We found a kitty in the snow,” You whisper, “She's the cutest thing ever.” Pickle looks up like she knows what you’re saying, and you weep at her delicate eyes.
“It was the weirdest thing…” You huff wetly, “It felt like you put her there to stop me from making a mistake.” More tears flood your shut eyes.
“I just miss you…” Your palm digs into your eye, “and I wish you w-were here. I’m not…” Pickle climbs to rest in your lap; You always did that with your mom for comfort. Another loud sob.
“I lov— “
You jolt at the loud dial tone, and the line ends. You drop your phone on your blanket and search around your room, the portrait of your mother standing tall on your desk. You need to make another one for her birthday.
Your eyes travel over your space, and for the first time, you don’t feel comfort. Your mind is racing with thoughts that expose your truth; They’re vile and dirty and they make you feel like scum. A disease walking.
The dark nights are restless and the days are silent, halls only filled with soft purrs and pattering paws.
Your home no longer holds the joy that it once did when Amaya was here. Excitement used to burst through you whenever she prepped your movie nights after work, the living room filled with laughter and corny love lines that made your stomach secretly twist with warmth.
You’re not happy anymore. Anxiety brews in you whenever you walk into the kitchen, the living room, go to feed and snuggle Pickle. It’s fucking miserable in here, and as difficult as it was for you to admit, it’s all your fault.
It’s almost finals week, and you’re nowhere near prepared. You can’t focus on anything except the treacherous silence of your space. It’s almost like Ellie’s already gone.
You should be anticipating her departure, antsy to have your space to yourself again, but your chest aches. This past month was anything but smooth, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. For some reason. Maybe it’s because you got to live your main character moment, even if it was just for a few hours.
Ellie, as much as you hate to admit it, deserves better. Just like how you deserve to spend your life alone, trapped and secluded with your own thoughts. She should want better for herself; Nothing is worse than being in your presence; Maybe that’s why you have no one.
You desperately want to do better for yourself, but you’re tired. Your mother would be so disappointed in you. You retire from wallowing and climb under the covers, Pickle clutched tightly to your chest. You hope she doesn’t mind the tears from your tee.
The portfolio is finished. Ellie can’t stop staring at the booklet enclosed in leather on her desk.
The online submission process was infuriating, mainly due to her laptop dying during the portfolio render, but it’s done. Her ticket into a life-changing position is no longer hers to judge; It can only go up from here.
All she needs is that phone call from the recruiting manager and it’s over. She’ll be in the city in no time. She’s excited and jittery; Every buzz from her phone is met with clenched hands and a sweaty forehead. Her disappointment heals when she sees her father’s classic thumbs up emojis surrounded by black and red hearts; Even from miles away, he knows when she needs support.
Ellie lays her forehead on the leather, sighing in relief for what seems like the billionth time. It’s a surreal feeling, relishing in accomplishments. She's never done it, mainly because her mother never wanted to acknowledge happenings she wasn’t the center of. Hearing congratulations is still a mindfuck years later.
… Your photos looked stunning. You’re made for this, even if you don’t believe it.
Ellie will never admit how much energy she put into editing those pictures, specifically the ones you’re in. She spent hours recoloring, scaling, sharpening those photos, and they turned out incredible. Probably some
of the best shots she’s ever taken, and you’re in the center. And your eyes… There’s so much light in those hazel specks.
Another mindfuck.
Whenever Ellie comes home, she checks the small space between the floor and door of your bedroom to see if you’re awake. If you’re alive. The relief she feels when she sees a lamp light or shadow eases the tension in her shoulders.
She never knocks, though. Never.
So why are you?
Ellie’s back instantly straightens at the soft pats on her door, heart pounding in her ears. You never knock.
She’s embarrassed at how fast she stands, chair nearly falling over as she flies to pull her door open.
She’s met with you; She hopes you can’t hear the shatters from her chest at the sight of your disheveled appearance. Your hair is matted and the brunette river in your eyes are surrounded by redness
“Sorry, I—“ Your voice cracks like you haven’t spoken in ages, “She was lying there and I felt bad. She missed you, I think.” She’s never heard you sound so tedious. You’re always the loudest, goofiest person in the room. Ellie’s brows furrow before following your line of vision. Pickle’s sleep in front of her door, curled like a cinnamon roll. Ellie sighs as picks her up as fluidly
as she can, trying her best not to wake her.
“You’re gonna have to take her when you leave.”
Devastation sets in your tone as you stare at the little fur ball, “Why?” She asks.
“My dad’s allergic.” You whisper.
Ellie peers down when Pickle stirs, “Is… is he visiting?” She asks, just as quietly.
Your head shakes, “I’m going home.”
Ellie does an impeccable job of hiding her shock. So many questions race in her mind: going home? Where’s home for you? Is it permanent? Are you moving out? When? Are you and your dad close?
You’re turning away back into your room, but Ellie blurts out before you can shut the door. “I finished my portfolio! It’s… it’s done. I turned it in.”
You turn, and your eyes are watery. Your smile is tiny, but genuine. “Congratulations,” you’re so quiet and your voice shakes. Ellie’s mind whirls, “They’re gonna love it.” You take one last look at Pickle, and your bottom lip wobbles. You shut and lock the door before Ellie can say thank you for helping me.
Ellie’s eyes lock onto the floor, watching your lamp turn off, ears honing in on the shuffling of blankets. She swiftly scurries inside her space when she hears crying.
Her chest concaves at the sobs echoing through the dark, silent halls. Through the thin wall as she sets the kitty on her favorite pillow to sleep on. She paces around her room and yanks at her pinky. How she wishes to be a fly on the wall; She wants to knock on your door so badly, but she doesn’t know what to say. How to comfort. She's always relied on her father for that.
So, she just listens with regret and makes her final decision.
If you move from this counter, you’ll faceplant into hardwood. You don’t like the blaringly loud song coming from above, so you down another seltzer. It’s distracting enough.
You feel yourself leaning forward, so you force yourself back up, practically flung over the counter. You’re never drinking again, you promise yourself. How many times has that one been broken? You don’t remember. You miss Ellie.
You’re going to fall again, but this time, you’re supported. And not by the counter. You instantly relax at the familiar scent.
Abby’s mumbling something about something, but it sounds like gibberish. You throw your arms around her neck, inhaling deeply; You miss Ellie terribly.
We gotta get you outta here. You frown; You don’t want to leave! The party just started!
Her strong arms wrap around your waist to maneuver you. You’re not sure where she's taking you, but you don’t fight. You simply allow her to snatch your heels off and carry you into the piercing-sharp cold. Just allow her to drag you to safety. You wish it was Ellie.
The world around you moves in a blur; The pace is making you dizzy. You don’t want to vomit in Abby’s car. When did she get a car?
“Abby…”
“Yeah, hun? You good?” She sounds so far away. Your mumbles are incoherent. She's so confused, so she asks you to repeat it.
You face her from the passenger seat with a sultry grin. You miss Ellie, “I missed you.” Your words are garbled and your hands are as loose as your tongue, shakily landing on her muscular thigh, massaging the skin.
Abby tenses with a sigh, planting a gentle hand on your traveling one. Her grip tightens when you try to move. “Did you really?”
That's your green light. Your smile grows as you clumsily unbuckle your seatbelt, “Stop… stop the car.”
Abby’s foot plants on the break, and you jerk forward. Like the night you found Pickle. Like when Ellie…
“What’s the matter?”
I miss my roommate. “I’m horny.”
Your friend scoffs and shakes her head. Either you’re too drunk or she’s disappointed… Not the reaction you were seeking. Your smile tries to fade, but you force the corners of your mouth back up.
“No, you’re not.” She snaps, and it takes you a second to catch it. Abby’s upset again. What the fuck did you do this time? Your facade finally falters. Now you’re irritated.
“How’re y… how’re you gonna tell me what the fuck I am?” You sound like a fucking idiot, but your rage ignites your slurs, “If you don’t want me, why’re you here!”
“Because you fucking called and I’m your friend! I didn’t wanna leave you by yours— “
“You should’ve!” Your shriek is piercing; You’re shocked the windows didn’t shatter and slice you both.
“That’s how you fucking feel? Really?”
You try to swallow tears, but they flow. The words you want to say are on the tip of your tongue; Thank you for coming to get me. I’m sorry for being awful. Don’t leave me by myself.
But none of them escaped. They sit and rot in your throat. You’ve never seen Abby so…
And she doesn’t let up, “Now you wanna cry? Are you serious?” There’s fire in her eyes; It burns in a way you’re not used to, especially not her, “This victim shit is getting very old— “
“I don’t care!”
“I don’t fucking care, either! If you wanna keep getting used like a piece of meat by random bitches, then do that! Leave me the fuck out of it!” Abby slams her hand down on the armrest, and the car doors unlock, “Matter of fact, get the fuck out!”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck YOU! Get out! Get the fuck out!”
Curses and heated exclamations leave the two of you until you wobbly exit the vehicle, slamming the door as hard as your brain would allow. The wind blows like tacks, stabbing through the skin of your bare arms and chest. Abby zooms off, and you scream.
You dig in your pocket for your phone, ineptly dialing Ellie’s number. It’s fucking one in the morning
“… Hello?” She was asleep. Your heart eases at the steadiness of her tone.
You’re shivering, “… E—Ellie?”
“Hm?”
“I’m… I’m really cold and I don’t,” sob, “I dunno where I am— “
“What do you mean?” She asks abruptly, alert. Your heart flutters.
You whimper, “I’m lost, I don’t… I’m a bad person— “
“Send me your location. Where’re your keys?”
“I— I don’t remember— “
“Are you drunk right now?”
“Yes,” You mumble meekly. This is so fucking embarrassing.
Ellie sighs heavily, “Just… Is there somewhere you can wait until I get there?”
You search through tears, finding mostly dark retail stores and restaurants across the street… Except Jack in the Box! The munchies hotspot never fails you.
“There’s a Jack in the Crack over there.” You point like she can see you. She snickers softly.
“Go, then. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
“Wait! Don’t… don’t hang up, please, I’m scared— “
“I wasn’t going to.”
You closely listen to the shuffling on the other line as you wobbly trek across the street. You sharply inhale at every slip and stumble on your journey, almost sobbing through every confirmation to Ellie’s small are you okay?
You finally make it inside and thank God that it’s warm. You take a seat and sigh at the familiar jingle of keys.
“You in there?”
“Mhm.”
“I’m coming, send me where you are.”
“K.”
It takes you longer than it should’ve to get her the location thanks to the Casa in your system, but she’s on the way… You really want curly fries. Fuck.
You hate how your thoughts wander, self-loathing at the forefront of your lobe. You take after your father more than you thought: a filthy, lying train wreck. You’ve ruined every glimmer of hope, of positive influence around you, and you’re forced to bathe in the treachery you’ve created all over again.
“Hey.”
You leap out of your seat at Ellie’s raspy tone, seeing your hoodie draped over her forearm and keys dangling in her hand. Your tummy growls when you wave. Ellie’s gaze softens. “Hungry?” She hands you the hoodie for you to throw on. You nod.
“What do you wanna eat?”
“… Fries,” you croak, “Curly, please.”
Ellie nods and waddles to the service counter. You watch her backside under her puffer as she pays and collects a small baggie and water before nodding towards the car. You follow close behind her in silence, munching on your snack.
The ride back home is silent, but for once, the air isn’t deadly. You’re eased back from your breakdown, and it’s definitely not due to the forest in your roommate’s vision.
You enter your warm apartment and get greeted with soft purrs, Kit-Kat skipping over to rub against your leg. It’s almost enough to make you break down all over again; You can’t believe you have to say goodbye to her next week.
You kick your sneakers off and squat down to her level, “I love you so much, baby girl. Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper and pet her head, all the way down to her tail. She meows like she loves you. Ellie shuts the door and watches you silently. You turn to face her. For the first time, she doesn't fidget at your inspection.
Her eyes are much glossier and she’s picking at the skin on her pinky. She wants to say something.
“You okay?” You murmur, and Ellie nods. You don’t believe her. Her eyes are downcast. Why does she look so nervous?
The silence is killing you, so you speak.
“Ellie, I’m… I’m sorry for everything,” You stand and ramble. “I’m the worst roommate imaginable and I-I’m terrible and impulsive and I fucking suck, but I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”
I also kinda like you.
Not even your word vomit lets that slip. So, you apologize, sloppily and snot-filled. Tears drip down your face in waterfalls, “I’m— I don't wanna go... and I don’t want you to go…”
Ellie’s timid facade breaks, only slightly, eyes closing gently as she listens. “I know I don’t deserve t-to ask that and it’s not… I wasn’t apart of your plan— “
“You’re drunk.”
You’re plummeting into the void all over again, succumbing to a familiar, oddly comforting darkness.
“H-Huh?”
Ellie’s as firm as a tree, unmoving. Strong. Still. You’re transported back to your first conversation and how intimidated she made you feel. “You’re drunk… and I leave in the morning. I got the job.”
Drowning. That’s what this feels like. Strangely proud. Oddly suffocating. You’re underwater, but refuse to resurface. “I-In the morning?”
Her head jerks. “I, uh. I got rent covered. Sorry for the late notice.” She shoves her hands in her pocket. You shake your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s okay.” You whisper. “Where’re you gonna go?”
“My dad’s. He’s a few hours out. The truck comes tomorrow.”
Your head bobs in acknowledgement, “H-How was the stats final?” She pauses; Her eyes sadden, tilting like an unwatered rose. “You’ll do fine.” She whispers.
“Promise to take care of my daughter?” You blurt between sniffles, already moving down the hall, ignoring the loud shattering in your heart when you peep all her boxes in the now vacant room beside yours.
Ellie mumbles your name but you’re sick of ugly crying in front of people. “Good luck with everything.” You mutter with hot feet.
And with the last click of your bedroom lock, you shut out the vine who entangled your heart for the last time. You give into the feelings of loss, the emotions that come with failure, and release them into your hands.
What could’ve been, your brain hollers while your heart wails. What could’ve been if you weren’t you.
You don’t remember waking up, but you’re in pain. Physically, mentally; You're hurting. The intensity of it somehow gets worse at the sound of Ellie dragging boxes out of her — the room.
You just cry. There’s nothing to do but cry. Your phone has been ringing all morning, but you don’t have strength to reach for it. You relish in the deserving pain of your hangover. Tequila hasn’t done shit for you.
Hours pass, and your home is silent. Ellie’s gone. Pickle’s gone. Amaya’s gone. Abby’s gone. Your mother’s gone. You take their departures as signs. It’s probably time for you to go, too.
Your shower is incredibly long. You wash and wash and re-wash, wanting the feelings of cleanliness to cascade down your skin, but it never comes. You tearfully accept your lecherous nature and every vile entity attached to it. You’re a vessel for heartbreak and villainy. Forever your worst enemy. You look in the mirror for the first time in days. Just for a second. You can’t stand to see yourself for longer than that, your naked form a reminder of every violation you’ve had to endure since you were fifteen.
Ellie isn't thinking twice about you, and yet, she terrorizes your mind, trying to convince yourself that your time together wasn’t all bad. You’ll never forget the color she brought to you. Her seed is forever planted and growing in your heart, her roots forcing their way into your system, intertwining with your rough, cracked bones, enclosing around your lungs with each breath.
Too bad you impacted her in the worst way. You couldn’t even manage to give her a sober apology before she left. It’s hard to accept the fact that you’ll never see her again, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.
Once again, you’re too late.
The short lap around your living room crushes your spirit. Somehow, all of your memories are shrouded in emptiness. All the proof of Ellie’s residency is gone… Except the indent of her body on the couch. She always loved sleeping there.
One last heavy exhale. That’s all you can manage before you grab your coat and beanie and exit, locking the door behind you. You keep your head down on the way to the parking garage, hopping into the driver’s seat. The ride to the academic advisory office is silent and swift; It matches the finality of your meeting.
Tears glaze your eyes when you ask your counselor, “What’s… What’s the first step of withdrawing? Like, from school.”
-
-
-
CHRISTMAS EVE
Your fork picks at the pasta noodles on your barely touched plate. The wine is delicious.
“Honey, are you…” Your dad says softly before sighing, “How’s the meal?” You blink up at him, focusing on the crinkles in his eyes. He seems youthful somehow. Healing looks good on him.
You gulp down more maroon, “… It’s great. Thank you.” You mutter. You’re not used to talking to him; You’re glad the feelings are mutual. He only nods, head downcast onto his plate. At least he’s eaten.
He sets his fork down on his plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin, “I hope you like your gift.” He says before standing to place the dish in the sink.
A dark smile spreads behind your glass.
“Never thought you’d buy me anything.” You snicker sarcastically. “Don’t start.” His voice slices through the kitchen. You hold back your flinch. You’re not ten anymore.
You shrug, shoulders heavy, “Just saying.” A glass shatters in the sink, and he curses and storms off, the bedroom door nearly swinging off the hinges with a slam. Your smile grows at the booming echo. Like father, like daughter you suppose.
-
-
-
DECEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH
“Are you ready, kiddo?”
Ellie’s heart is pounding through her chest as she stares out the window. She can’t believe her father hasn’t commented on the bursting organ. “No.” She whispers, adjusting the camera strapped around her neck. She's fighting not to bite her nails; Her dad hates that.
He chuckles softly, “Yes, you are.”
No, she’s not.
The photography studio is fucking huge and surrounded by tall windows that display suited individuals laughing, conversing, perfecting their lenses. She can see the bright specks of neon color on the white floors, white walls, white couches. It’s so much brighter than she ever imagined.
The colors are reminiscent of you. Vivid. Captivating. Beaming like your smile. There are flashes coming from all directions inside the studio and it’s making her shake in the passenger seat. A strong hand plants on her blazer, giving an encouraging squeeze. “Look at me.”
Ellie’s head turns, eyes locking with her dad’s.
“I love you. You got this.” He says with confidence. Ellie nods in agreement, but he doesn’t accept it. “Say it.”
“I got this.” Not as confident. A lot quieter, but getting there.
“Eh?” Her dad leans in closer, ear pointed at her. She giggles and repeats herself. A little louder. He decides that it’s good enough, pulling her close over the center console. Ellie inhales as deeply as she can, right in the crook of his neck. He plants one last kiss on her cheek before releasing her. She grabs her bag from the floor and pushes the door open, looking over her shoulder one last time. “I love you.” She whispers. He bops her nose with the most delicate grin. Pride is radiating off him, and it warms her from the cold outside.
Ellie departs with one last wave, shutting the door and skipping onto the sidewalk, walking right up to the front door of the studio. A final peek at her dad; He sends her two thumbs up. She smiles.
Breathe in, one… two… three…
When the door pushes open, she's greeted with wide grins and warm hugs. It feels like home already.
Finally... Finally.
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#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧#ellie williams au#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams tlou#ellie x reader#ellie williams x reader#black!oc#black!reader#lesbian#works 𖧧࣪#ellie williams angst
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backburner | n.jm (teaser)
Pairing: Na Jaemin x reader
Themes: college! au, exes! au, the situationship vibes are STRONG, angst, fluff, exes to ???, reader is a serial overthinker.
Warnings: profanity, heavy ANGST, kissing, food, underage alcohol consumption and alcohol consumption in general, jaemin is lowkey an asshole, more to be added for the full fic.
Word count for teaser: 580 | Estimated word count: 12-15k
Summary: After three months of ignoring your presence entirely, Na Jaemin saunters right back into your life without so much as single warning, leaving you to once again pick up the pieces of your burning heart.
Notes from brooke: a late christmas present from me<3 i'm back to writing my college aus so i hope all of you will enjoy my pain (literally).
[send an ask to be added to the taglist!]
It was one in the morning when your phone rang.
A sigh left your chapped lips as you glanced down from the screen of your laptop to the device sitting by its side, your eyes burning at the too bright light emitting from your phone. The rest of your dorm was dark, having switched the lights off earlier at the request of your roommate, who had an early class the next day.
Unfortunately for you, you had an assignment due the next day that you had, as usual, left for the last minute. Music played through your headphones as you tried to construct what you deemed a coherent enough essay to submit.
Scrambling so you wouldn’t wake your roommate up, you pushed your headphones off and swiped the call icon across the screen of your phone, accepting it a second before you registered who the caller was. The contact glared at you as if it was mocking you for your carelessness and hastiness, causing you to bite down hard on the inside of your cheek.
Well. It was too late now.
Swallowing hard, you held your phone up to your ear and whispered. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
A breath you didn’t know you had been holding in escaped from your lips, having you shut your eyes and process his voice. It was funny, how just one inconsequential word from a single person could change your entire disposition.
“Jaemin? Are you okay?”
He hummed in response. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think I might be a little tipsy though.”
You could just imagine him right then, a glass being gripped loosely by his fingers, leaning against some wall as he spoke to you over the phone. The image was enough that you slipped out of your bed and pacing about your room as quietly as you could, restless.
“Oh. Um, don’t drink too much.”
He chuckled, a sound so familiar yet so distant to you. “I won’t, don’t worry.”
Jaemin liked alcohol, you knew this much. He liked the way it would slowly hit his head and render him more easy going than he already was, causing that pretty smile of his to show more liberally. You were well versed with everything about him, from his walk to the way his eyes would express everything he was thinking, the slightly changes making themselves completely obvious for you,
The two of you had been so in tune with each other. Sometimes, you forgot how easy that made it for it all to fall apart.
“Okay.” You weren’t really sure where you were supposed to go with this conversation anymore. “Do you need something?”
“Not really.”
“Then….then why did you call me?” Bewilderment crept into your voice as clear as day. If you were in front of him right then, perhaps he would have teased you, tucking your hair behind your ear and muttering something about how cute you were.
He stayed silent for a moment. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
You stopped your pacing, coming to a standstill as his words settled over you. In the silence of the night, you were almost too aware of the way your heart rate increased ever so slightly.
Yunjin was right. There was hardly ever a time where your best friend’s advice wasn’t spot on, but this time you found yourself wishing you had complied and actually blocked him like she had suggested you do. Maybe then you wouldn’t have found yourself in such a position.
coming soon. | lebrookestore 2024
#jaemin x reader#na jaemin x reader#nct dream#nct dream x reader#nct x reader#nct dream scenarios#nct jaemin scenarios#jaemin scenarios#nct au#jaemin au#jaemin#na jaemin#jaemin fanfic#nct scenarios#nct fanfiction#nct dream fluff#nct dream angst#jaemin imagines#nct dream jaemin#jaemin fluff#jaemin angst#nct fluff#nct drabbles#nct dream jaemin x reader
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Hii! I have an idea ☝️😈
What about teen gojo and geto meeting future reader and they’re all baffled and mesmerized and all this fluffy stuff and reader is just like “🧍♀️” confused since she was fighting a curse a few seconds ago- But the adult versions of the two are busy doing whatever else so she has to deal with them until the curse wears off?
Just wanted to ramble 🏃♀️ Merry Christmas!
i like ur rambling, anon. guess what timeline i picked, hehe. whether or not it’s canon to main dyf au, is for you to decide. merry christmas hohoho
You practically deflate onto the ground, knees scraping against the soft dirt whilst your poor, beaten up staff was used as your sole support where you had stabbed it into the dirt, your hands sliding down the handle of your weapon as the dust settles around you.
It was rare to have you deployed on-field for an exorcism of a curse, and even rarer for you to have to deal with anything above a Grade 2.
(Mainly due to your husbands who were sorely against you having to do any exorcism at all.)
But, alas, even they can’t slay every single curse in the world; the higher-ups having purposefully kept their most powerful busy as of late.
“And you promise to abandon your mission if you can’t defeat it?” A seriousness in his tone, almost dreadful, almost domineering in nature. Geto Suguru will not take no for an answer, his hands upon your shoulders squeezing lightly, trembling just ever so slightly.
“Do not fight anything you deem above your skill level.” Gojo Satoru is wholly deadpan, your pinkies interlocked in a promise as intense eyes stare you down. You feel his pinky tighten, restless, unlabeled impatience. Absent of any semblance of playfulness. “Okay?”
You’ve taken their words seriously, only taking fights that you know you would win; only running when you know you can’t.
A jujutsu sorcerer does not give their life up so easily.
You hear a rustle from the bushes, eyes darting behind you, and ripping your weapon out and readying for another face off just as you feel a familiar, overwhelming power looming just where you had looked away.
“Now, now, now.” That familiar voice, lacking in all the more mature tones you were used to, all the gentleness that you’ve grown so fond of.
“You’re gonna drop your weapon, put your pretty hands up and slowly turn around to face me.”
(You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Was he flying?)
There’s no hesitation in your compliance, the clatter of your staff to the ground as your hands are held up. The malice in the energy you feel all stoked and ready to explode at any given moment, the tones of his voice an underlying, upset melancholy.
You’re facing the Gojo Satoru, afterall. However, there’s an issue with him, something you’ve realized all too soon after loving him for so long.
There’s a tensed silence between the both of you during the stare-down, your eyes still getting used to his slightly shorter stature, much shorter hair as compared to your highschool days and current adult age. His cheeks a tad bit fuller, but eyes dulled considerably.
He’s still so cute.
“My Six Eyes tell me that you’re (name) (last name).” From your breathing pattern down to every last speck of your cursed energy; it was undeniably you. His eyes shine with quiet grief, and gritted regret as you meet his gaze.
You feel sorry for him.
“…but you’re not my (name).” You’re a little more mature looking, a little far too calm and collected in his presence. You’re the same; yet not the one he knew. His eyes narrow as the red on his glowing hand fizzles out, his stance commanding and broad as his feet finally touch the ground before you, using his looming height as a threat. It contrasts the way his voice cracks just as he ends his words, a beating silence enveloping the both of you as your heart calms, your hands slowly going down.
“And you’re not my Satoru.” It causes a stuttering, reddish plum to his cheeks, a throb to his heart that he hadn’t expected to feel, clenching his fists, a click of realization alongside his fingernails digging into his skin, intrepid gaze holding your calm one.
“So I am in another world.”
——
This wasn’t your Suguru either. His hair is messily bunned up, the bags under his eyes darker than you have ever seen him. His lips are dry, his complexion lacking any of the usual vigor your Suguru had.
He looks far too weary, far too tired as he sits upon a nearby bench, hunched over and just so exhausted that it makes you wonder when was the last time he has had a good night’s sleep.
“Oi, Suguru!” The ‘Satoru’ that you had met is all too keen to greet the boy, his hand around your elbow and pulling you along with him. “I found out where we’re at!” His loud call only heeds the visible slump of the black-haired boy’s tensed shoulders, eyes still cast towards the ground as the cicadas call around him.
“And I found somebody to help us.” He brings the both of yourselves to a stop before the blank boy.
“It’s nice to meet you?” You’re honestly at a loss for words at the situation. For how all powerful and odd Gojo’s powers can be, you hadn’t expected this situation one bit.
It’s at your voice that this ‘Geto Suguru’ nearly whirls his head back at a speed so quick that it nearly scares you. Dry, reddened eyes widening and mouth opening, getting up on shaky legs as he extends a hand towards you.
“You—“
——
“So…” The silence is far too awkward for you to be comfortable. “There was a (name) in your timeline too, I hear?” Your fingers are twiddling with your jujutsu uniform as you sat in between the both of them, their proximity a just inching between the line of too close whilst awaiting for Ijichi’s pickup to the campus.
‘Gojo Satoru’ is the first to speak up. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“Our (name) is… Dead.” You see ‘Geto Suguru’’s hands clench at his uniform pants, bundling the fabric up so tight that his knuckles started to turn white.
Oh. You feel bad now.
“I’m… Sorry about that.”
A breath is sucked in through his teeth. “Don’t be.”
You shouldn’t feel sorry for them at all. It’ll just make it worse than it already is.
Isn’t it funny? Comical? That their (name) had to be ripped away from their hold, had to be clawed away from their reach, only for fate to place another you; living, breathing right in front of them.
So palpable, so alike, so unbearably, painfully you. It makes them want to throw up in disgust, honestly. But they can’t.
Because it’s you.
“I-I’m sure that I-“ No. “Your (name) lived a good life if you were both around, then. Please- Trust me on this.” You know. You know that any version of ‘you’ would be satisfied with their life if they had friends like them; Gojo, Geto and Ieiri.
It’s a life that no version of you would ever regret. You wouldn’t regret becoming a jujutsu sorcerer if you had gotten to meet people like them.
And it brings two broken hearts just a tinge more comfort.
——
“Um, Satoru..”
“Yes?” It was a chorus of two similar voices.
“Ah— No. Uhm— My Satoru.” You’re a bit frazzled as you nod towards your blindfolded husband, a satisfied hum coming from him as he made his way towards you.
“Just call the other one Gojo! Or you can just call for your hubby~” He’s cooing into your ear for the duo to watch on, a hand on your waist to hook you in close as a smile is donned upon his face.
There’s a beat of silence before the more intimidating white-haired sorcerer spoke up.
“No. I want to be called Satoru.” The younger Gojo had had his eyes set upon you, never letting you leave his vicinity. Then, that means that the other ‘Geto Suguru’ would be called as simply ‘Suguru’, then.
“Your blindfold’s pretty lame. Do I actually want to wear that?”
Your Gojo chooses to turn his nose up, and ignore that sneer his younger counterpart gave him. “Man, I was so angry.” You hear a sigh as you see a hand wave off the younger boy. “Do whatever you please, little me. But don’tcha leave yet, please! My Suguru’s gonna be so stoked to see this.”
Oh, speaking of your Suguru.
“Did you tell him to pick up some dashi stock for our dinner tonight? I ran out yesterday.”
“…how about we just order a pizza tonight?”
“Sator— Gojo!” Your hands are immediately upon your hips as you feel him hug you towards him, a hand going up to stroke the back of your head, as your face is pressed to his chest to muffle the incoming scolding.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t be mad at me! A wife’s scorn is a husband’s greatest regret!”
“…you guys live all together?” ‘Suguru’’s voice breaks the moment between the both of you.
You feel a rumbling of your husband’s chest as a laugh is released.
“And we got kids together too. Ya jealous yet?”
——
“Aha, this is certainly a sight.” Suguru is shedding himself of his jacket as he kicks off his shoes by the genkan, the sight of his younger self, and double the Gojo certainly jarring for him as they sat around the dining table.
“Welcome home, honey!” It’s your Gojo that skips along to press an obnoxiously wet kiss to your other husband’s lips first as you gently place the final bowl of zaru soba down.
(Minus the miso soup side dish. You’re still slightly mad, but you have guests over.
“We could’ve just ordered a pizzaaaaaa!” Your husband’s whines are ignored as you strain the noodles out.
“I’m not feeding guests a pizza, dearest idiot husband of mind.” You pat your hands dry upon your apron, turning to flick at his forehead as he whines even more, begetting a giggle before you tiptoe up to press a kiss to the area.)
“Welcome home.” Your voice greeting your husband is lost on ‘Satoru’ and ‘Suguru’’s ears as they stare down at the bowl before them. The significance of the food almost making the cursed spirit user tear up.
This was his favourite food. It— ‘You’ and himself used to eat this frequently until—
“Suguru… Are you okay?” A whispered concern from his Satoru.
“Yeah. I—“ He thinks he’s going to be sick. “I’m fine.”
“It isn’t much, but I hope you enjoy it.” His ears finally tune back in just in time to hear your voice once more. Dreary copper-amethyst gaze flicking up to meet your warm, lovely face.
He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it.
“Don’t push yourself if you can’t.” It’s this world’s Suguru that pops in, much longer hair, his older features, his broader stature and more muscled body.
(Does— He know what he’s been through?)
His chopsticks are trembling as he brings the noodles to his lips, mouth opening and slowly chewing— He stops as a realization hits him.
It’s delicious. It’s so delicious. There are tears in his eyes as he begins to gobble it up, a hack in his throat as ‘Suguru’ pushes the urge to vomit away to take in more.
(If— if this was his final time meeting you- Then he has to. He has to. But— This is strange. Even his counterpart didn’t react all that much to his and Satoru’s appearance.
It occurs to him that perhaps, they aren’t in another world. If they’re meeting their older selves, then— Perhaps they are in another timeline.
Which means—)
His gaze returns down to the now empty bowl before him, before flickering up to meet your satisfied, almost prideful face.
“Thank you for the meal.”
“You’re welcome! I’m so happy you loved it that much!”
Perhaps this situation wasn’t so bad at all, giving him the chance to see your smiling face once more.
——
“If you give me a kiss, I’ll tell him~” Is he mocking his younger self…? You just wanted him to help the other ‘Satoru’ to get back to his world. Alas, you relent, leaning over to press a chaste, quick kiss to his cheek as your Geto watched on with upturned eyes and a happy smile.
“Hey, kid me.” A joyful hum, a satisfied gait as your Gojo watches the little boy who he once was.
“You already figured out how to go back already, right? Whatcha waiting for?” Huh…? Your Gojo already knows how to get them back?! Your eyes widen as you nearly choke on your water.
“Now, now Gojo. Don’t tease them.” Your Geto is chuckling, patting your back as you cough. “You’ll make our poor wife worried. I’m sure that they have some sort of unfinished business here.”
What?! Were they both in on this? This is just getting stranger, and stranger…
“Heh. Guess it isn’t a surprise I would know myself best, huh?” Satoru lets a cocky grin overtake his features as his fingers intertwined with his Suguru’s.
“Guess I really am the strongest.”
His gaze finally stops at you. “It was nice— Y’know.” He grows shy, eyes shifty from behind his sunglasses. “Seeing a (name) again.”
‘Suguru’ speaks up. “Thank you for— Allowing us to experience it again.” He’s grateful. The most he’s ever been, the most he’s ever felt ever since your passing.
Thank you. But— It’s only goodbye for now.
“It was nice meeting the both of you!” You’re bowing politely as you wave.
(The younger Suguru is finally smiling. Even if it’s just a little.)
“We’ll see you soon! Wait for us!” A salute and a bright grin. And in a flash, they have disappeared.
…what?
masterlist
Notes:
If you don’t get it, your current Satoru and Suguru have experienced what their younger counterparts have been through.
Younger Gojo and Geto have been watching every move you’ve been making. Keep that in mind if you ever reread this, haha.
During dinner, younger Gojo and Geto decided to share a bowl together since Geto hasn’t been able to eat a full meal without throwing up. It was the first time in a while he’s eaten so much. When Gojo saw how much he was eating, he asked for a separate bowl for himself.
Geto Suguru thinks he’s pretty handsome in this world. Would…you have liked someone like that too? His Satoru certainly does. He’s seen the shifty, almost shy gaze his Gojo threw the older Geto. Maybe he will grow out his hair.
“Aww, I was such an adorable brat!~” His hands are placed upon his cheeks as he cooed, watching as his husband and yourself cleared the plates.
“Hmm. I suppose you must’ve lost all that cuteness in your youth, wouldn’t you agree, darling?.” Suguru’s cooing back at him from the kitchen with a laugh, his body turning to you to ask for your opinion.
“His younger self was certainly so cute… But I suppose my answer depends on whether he helps with the dishes today.” You’re teasing him right back as you slowly wash the plate.
“W-what? Fine, I’m coming! Call me adorable, pleaseee!”
#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satosugu x reader#geto suguru x reader#jjk angst#gojo x reader#geto x reader
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