An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Shouto-kun,” Todoroki hears, like an echo from his memory, in the exact same disappointed tone he’s using now. “Look at these,” Midoriya holds up the tattered pair of boxer briefs, delicately grasped between the very tips of his thumb and forefinger. “This is the old you,” Midoriya says, lifting them out of Todoroki’s reach as he tries to snatch them out of embarrassment.
“I- I get it, Izuku, just put them away!” He begs, trying to shield the other customers lingering near the fitting rooms from the view of his rattiest pair of underwear being flailed around like a flag to signify his shame.
“Repeat after me,” Midoriya demands, lowering the underwear to a less visible height, “I’m not a homeless person.”
“I’m not a homeless person,” Todoroki parrots.
“I’m actually kinda loaded.”
“I’m actua- wait-”
“There’s no reason I should be wearing underwear with holes in,” Midoriya finishes with a flourish. Todoroki hangs his head.
“There’s no reason I should be wearing underwear with holes in,” he agrees. Full of regret for letting Midoriya look through his clothes to see what there was to ‘work with,’ he turns tail with the pile of clothes Midoriya picked out and heads into one of the cubicles in the fitting room. He’d deemed Todoroki’s entire sock and underwear drawer a lost cause. Then said that most of his pajamas were only comfy because he’d been wearing the same ones for five years. Which might be true but Todoroki didn’t think they were complete write-offs, either. But that is how he had ended up out here shopping, Midoriya having made the very good point that wearing boxers without holes would already be an improvement.
Midoriya sits himself on the little bench inside the changing room, surrounded by bags full of underwear, socks, and pajamas that Todoroki had felt surprisingly not-guilty spending his allowance on. Although the purpose of him asking Midoriya for help had been envisioned completely differently, Todoroki recognises he really probably did need to refresh a lot of the basic items in his closet.
Alongside the few pairs of jeans he wanted to pick up, slimmer than he would usually wear due to his so-called best friend, nothing Midoriya had handed him in the pile screams ‘sexy’. But he sucks in a deep breath, draws the curtain behind him and goes for the jeans first. Admittedly, they do show off the shape of his legs. So he flicks the curtain open, receiving an approving nod from Midoriya.
“Show me the good stuff, Shouto-kun,” Midoriya practically bounces in his seat. Todoroki abandons the jeans, pulling a pair of leggings out of the pile. He hasn’t worn any since he was a child, too omegan for him to been seen wearing out and about. But they’re black and incredibly soft, so he slips into them, surprised to find they’re high waisted. And extremely comfortable.
When he looks in the mirror he’s surprised by his own appearance. The usually unnoticeable roundness in his hips is more pronounced, the waistband sitting right where his sides would nip in if he weren’t quite so strung with muscle. He hasn’t looked so close to being hourglass shaped in years. Hero training destroying pretty much all aspects of his physicality as an omega besides what is in his pants.
A little uncertain, he pulls out the knit sweater, as per Midoriya’s instructions. It’s grey, with thick strands woven together, hanging loosely off of one shoulder and just long enough to tuck under his ass. It makes his neck look incredibly long, he thinks.
He slides a hand along his bare shoulder, coming up to cup his palm around his scent gland, which somehow feels much more exposed than usual. Other than that, though, the entire ensemble is incredibly comfy. Todoroki is somehow both alright and not. He feels like he’s teetering right on the very edge of his comfort zone, which has him questioning what hope he ever really had of wearing anything risqué. But it's just Midoriya outside and so he steels himself.
He opens the curtain.
Midoriya’s eyes light up. Todoroki can see him practically vibrating out of his seat at the sight of a job well done.
“This isn’t really what I had in mind,” Todoroki admits, although it’s not bad either, moving a hand to cover his exposed shoulder.
“But you look so cute!” Midoriya squawks. Todoroki flushes, so he looks down to hide behind his fringe. Noticing his reluctance, Midoriya sighs. “If you’re not comfortable then that’s okay,” he says, voice soft. Todoroki looks up at him briefly, unable to hold eye contact for long.
“You don’t think- that it’s too obviously omegan?” Todoroki asks. He sees Midoriya shake his head in his peripheral vision. Which, somehow, gives him the courage to look up again. Midoriya is smiling at him, but it’s off.
“Betas experiment with omegan fashion all the time,” he points out, “this isn’t even that omegan.” He pauses, “did you forget that being an omega isn’t actually shameful?” Todoroki’s brain shuts down on him, jaw-dropping at the insinuation.
“Izuku, you know that’s not-”
“I know, you haven’t insulted me,” Midoriya laughs. Although his smile isn’t as lively as usual, opening up a pit of dread in Todoroki’s stomach. “It’s just clothes, Shouto-kun, who’s to say what piece of fabric is more one dynamic than another? I could put you in a studded leather jacket and you’d look just as good,” Midoriya flips his notebook open. “Actually, I’m going to add that to the list,” he says, visibly perking up at having new ideas. Midoriya doesn’t stop scribbling for a while, mumbling away and leaving Todoroki to his thoughts.
He supposes Midoriya is right. He’s not sure when he internalised his father’s rhetoric but he’s started to find being recognised as an omega embarrassing. Which is ridiculous, one of the people he loves and respects most in the world is the omega sat right in front of him. He watches Midoriya mutter to himself, the once slight little omega on the first day of class now broad, strong, confident, and wearing pastel pink skinny jeans with a floral shirt. He thinks, that if Midoriya can blend those things, then maybe he can too.
Maybe with fewer flowers.
“You’re right,” he says, interrupting Midoriya’s train of thought. He looks up from his notebook curiously, obviously having forgotten what they had been talking about. “There’s nothing shameful about being an omega,” he reminds him. Midoriya scoffs, vibrant amusement back in full force in those big green eyes. “Now, do I actually look good in this or were you just meddling again?” Todoroki teases. Midoriya taps his pen against his lips, giving the question some real thought, eyes roaming up and down Todoroki’s body.
“Have you ever seen something so soft that if you don’t pet it you feel like you might die?” Midoriya asks. Todoroki thinks of the cat that he sometimes passes by the convenience store and nods. Then thinks that through a little further.
“Oh,” Todoroki blinks. Then opens his arms. The sleeves are still too long even with his arms stretched all the way out, he notices.
Midoriya ditches his notebook, bounding up to Todoroki and launching himself into the hug. He hooks his chin on Todoroki’s shoulder, finally tall enough to do that now without standing on his tiptoes. True to his word, Midoriya rubs his hands up and down the soft fabric covering his back. Todoroki squeezes him.
There’s a moment of quiet, both enjoying the simplicity of it.
“Kacchan,” Midoriya murmurs, “you really like him?” Todoroki turns, nuzzling into Midoriya’s hair and inhaling. The familiar scent of a pack mate easing any tension left in him.
“Yes,” he says. Midoriya squeezes him back.
“I’m so happy for you, Shouto-kun.”
Todoroki really had not planned for this. After his Midoriya-induced epiphany, he thought that maybe he would consider wearing those comfy leggings to a movie night in the common room next week. Or possibly wear something a little less plain on their next unofficial class trip to the mall.
Instead, he finds himself outside of his dorm, donned in his leggings and very neck-exposing jumper, in the chilly evening wind, surrounded by his classmates as the fire alarm in their dorm blares. Worse, other classes in the buildings around them are looking out of their windows to see what the racket is.
He stands barefoot on the cold, wet, pavement. Midoriya stands next to him, wringing his hands and looking very guilty. But Todoroki knows this is equally their own fault. Really, they’re aiming to be pro heroes, get top scores in class, but they’re both too stupid to realise that Todoroki symbolically burning his ratty old underwear indoors would set off the fire alarm.
He hadn’t even questioned it. Midoriya handed the cloth back to him after returning from their arduous shopping trip, laden with bags from various stores including one labelled ‘Victoria’s Secret’, and Todoroki switched his quirk on without batting an eyelid.
The only plus side is in his exhaustion he didn’t accidentally send his new clothes up in flames too. He can’t imagine having to face his father after he’s seen credit card charges to a store that exclusively sells lingerie and frilly pajamas, then go on to admit he’d accidentally burnt it all as soon as he got it home.
A situation made worse because this is exactly the kind of thing his father has been encouraging him to spend the family money on in order to try and squeeze Todoroki into a quirk marriage.
He curses Midoriya out in his head for being so convincing. About going into that store and because it makes it look like he’s falling for his father’s whims. It is, in fact, the exact opposite. Todoroki thinks he might have to avoid Endeavor for a while.
Kirishima sidles up next to him, shirtless but cheerful in the cold as the last of the class filter out of the building. No doubt Aizawa is going to give him a bollocking for this.
“You know what happened?” Kirishima asks, cheeky grin firmly in place.
“Ah-” Midoriya squawks, making a slashing motion at his neck as a sign to silence Kirishima. Todoroki rolls his eyes.
“You know where we were today,” he states. Kirishima shrugs, but the light dancing in his eyes tells Todoroki he knows exactly what was going on at the mall, even if his dynamic had been left out of it. It’s verging on humiliating to have more than one person know he’s so sexually inept. But, this is who his best friend has chosen to trust, so he sighs. “Izuku suggested I symbolically burn a piece of old clothing,” he omits the finer details. Todoroki can see Kirishima's grin freezes, fixed to his face as he tries to resist laughing. “Underwear,” he says. Kirishima guffaws, slapping him on the back.
“That’s manly as hell, dude,” Kirishima continues to laugh. As much as Todoroki wants the ground to open up and swallow him, for a multitude of reasons, he finds himself having to try and repress a smile. Kirishima’s laughter has always been infectious, and when Midoriya loses it and starts sniggering beside him he knows he’s lost the battle. The hilarity of the situation hits him all at once. He’s still embarrassed, cheeks as pink as the cold tip of his nose, but it’s much more enjoyable to belly laugh with his friends than wallow. He might also be a little hysterical.
“What are you losers laughing about?” Bakugou’s voice interrupts, tone mocking. Todoroki looks up, eyes a little watery, to see him striding over from the still-blaring building. There’s a harsh grin, almost cruel in its angles, stretched across his face. But there’s a warmth in it that could almost be considered friendly. Kirishima just wheezes harder at the sight of Bakugou’s swagger. Possibly because he’s only clad in a towel.
Todoroki is enjoying it. Very much. Especially when water drips from a dark lock of blond hair and hits his collarbone. The droplet streaks straight down his pec, coming to a stop when it hits a very hard, pink, nipple. Todoroki’s mouth goes dry.
In his distraction, he doesn’t notice that Bakugou hasn’t slowed down. Only realising something is off when Bakugou doesn’t stop in the space that would form their makeshift group into a neat circle. Instead, he pushes into the space between Todoroki and Kirishima, hooking an arm around Todoroki’s waist.
But Todoroki doesn’t stumble when Bakugou reels him in to press their sides together, already moving to do the same. He’s still hiccuping little laughs out every now and again but starts throwing heat out where Bakugou has attached himself and hopes that he won’t catch a cold. The smell of soap is so strong he thinks Aizawa probably plucked Bakugou straight from the shower and sent him marching outside.
Only when he’s got his arm firmly wrapped around Bakugou’s shoulders does he notice that Midoriya and Kirishima have gone silent. He looks up, curious as to their sudden quiet, only to find Kirishima staring wide-eyed.
He shakily lifts a finger, pointing at Bakugou and Todoroki where they’re pressed together, mouth opening and closing.
“Ba-Bakugou?!”
“Hah?!” Bakugou responds immediately. Midoriya shoots forward, pushing Kirishima’s arm down and crowding him in the opposite direction with a nervous smile. Kirishima doesn’t go easy, too busy staring to organise his feet into moving where Midoriya takes him.
“It was so nice hanging out with you today, Shouto-kun,” he babbles, giving Kirishima a shove. “We should do this again sometime- come on Eijirou-kun- I’ll text you!” He calls over his shoulder, wrangling his shell shocked mate into a headlock and dragging him away.
“See you, Izuku,” Todoroki calls after them. Slightly delayed if only because he’s touched that Midoriya had kept so much of his secret under wraps through whatever interrogation techniques Kirishima had used on him. He looks to Bakugou.
“What was that about?” Bakugou asks. Todoroki snorts involuntarily. Definitely hysterical. He shakes his head, unable to shift the smile from his face for some reason. He’s having fun, he realises. So he pulls Bakugou a little closer, who is looking at him with that magnetism again, brow and jaw relaxed for once in his life.
“What?” He asks. Bakugou doesn’t answer, using the hand not occupied with Todoroki’s waist to cup his jaw. His body moves as Bakugou turns Todoroki’s head to face him, bringing their chests flush. Bakugou continues to stare. Todoroki can feel his smile becoming more and more timid under the scrutiny, verging on breaking into a cold sweat under the intensity of his gaze. By the time Bakugou speaks they’re so close their noses are almost touching. It sends a thrill down Todoroki’s spine.
“You’re beautiful,” Bakugou says. All Todoroki has time to do is choke on his own inhale before Bakugou is kissing him. Out in the open. In front of everyone. Public kisses tend to be reserved for wedding ceremonies but Todoroki seems to conveniently forget because then Bakugou’s fingers are in his hair and the rest of the world doesn’t matter. Not while the soft flesh of Bakugou’s lips is sliding across his own, interlocking and parting with a little wet sound that Todoroki locks away in his memory vault of absolute filth to review late at night.
“Is nobody else seeing this?” He hears, on the edge of his awareness, amongst what sounds suspiciously like Kirishima screaming and Midoriya’s panicked shushing.
But Bakugou lets go of him as swiftly as he’s snatched him up, turning and half jogging back to the dorms. Which are no longer ringing with fire alarms, he realises with a start. Only once Bakugou has disappeared back inside does Todoroki realise he didn’t notice his new outfit. Todoroki laughs, a little dazed but amused by Bakugou’s eagerness to finish washing the suds from his hair and high on being called beautiful with seemingly no help needed from what he was wearing. He turns, suddenly courageous in the face of his classmates.
“What about him?” Uraraka asks. Less people have turned to see what Kirishima is so riled up about than he expected and there’s a steady filter of cold, underdressed, students heading back towards the dorms.
“He does look unusually happy,” Kaminari hums.
Midoriya catches Kirishima before he deflates onto the floor, red faced with an incredulous smile. Todoroki inhales the cool air, filled with a new sense of purpose, and turns to pursue Bakugou into the building. But not without giving Kirishima an apologetic wave.
For the writing prompts :D pick shigadabi either 105 or 149 pleeeaaase <333
105: “ You owe me. ”
149: “ Since when have we ever been friends? ”
a tough choice, how about both?
Dark Magic au
ao3
He holds the stem of the rose between thumb and forefinger, cracked and bloody from all the work he’d been doing on them before his unwelcome guest had appeared, demanding ingredients. He’s been gently coaxing these flowers into blooming for over a year. They’re straight-stemmed, thorns extraordinarily sharp, with deep red petals. The colour of a thick stream of freshly spilt blood, blackened and syrupy.
Rightly so, he thinks to himself. He’s opened his veins for this carnivorous plant every other day since he planted them. Now he has to give up one of his precious Blood Roses for… he shudders at the thought. He hesitates, knife against the stem near the root, regret already sinking in.
“You owe me,” Dabi’s voice rings out in the quiet of the greenhouse, “don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Shigaraki resolves himself. One swift movement and the rose it freed of its roots. The petals shiver.
He shakes off the little bit of dirt clinging to the end of the stem and makes his way over to the workbench Dabi has been leaning against. He wraps the stem in cotton, then folds it into some brown paper, tying it all together with some string. It takes longer than it should, only picking at the materials with two fingers on each hand at a time, but Dabi waits without complaint.
Shigaraki isn’t sure why he’s bothering to make it pretty, knowing that once it leaves in Dabi’s hands it’ll be stewed like a cheap tea leaf in whatever potion he’s concocting now. So he takes one last moment to appreciate the beauty of it and hands it over.
Dabi takes it, and not all too delicately, closing his fist around it and letting it hang at his side. Neither of them move. Shigaraki knows that Dabi would not linger if there isn’t something else he wants, so he sets about the slow process of tidying away the string and brown paper. He hopes it’s not another cutting of one of his rare plants. The amount of magic Dabi is carrying home in that rose alone, without paying a penny, is more than most people would get their hands on in a lifetime.
“Why do you do all this?” Dabi asks, gesturing to the greenhouse itself. “Shouldn’t you be trading in death?” Referring to Shigaraki’s necromancy, he assumes, and the necrotic magic in his palms that he can’t dampen.
“None of your business,” he grumbles. But before he can shuffle off to attend to the fruit tree saplings, Dabi’s hand has closed around his wrist, tugging him closer. He’s embarrassed to admit he lets himself be reeled in until they’re chest to chest.
So this is what he wants.
But Dabi waits. Until he realises Shigaraki has no plan to answer his question.
“Tell me,” he demands, “we’re- friends.” The way Dabi’s chest seems to constrict around the words amuses something twisted inside of Shigaraki.
“Since when have we ever been friends?” He sneers, leaning up on his toes to press their lips together. He can feel the tug of the dryness of his own mouth against the unnaturally smooth, grafted, skin of Dabi’s lower lip. It should be unpleasant, but Dabi kisses back, pushing his tongue into Shigaraki’s mouth with little preamble.
Shigaraki suspects it’s something to do with the reluctance of the rest of humanity to even look at men like them. They’re too bruised, cracked, and broken for the rest of the world. He’s come to revel in it and despite Dabi’s poker face, he knows it’s a sentiment returned.
Dabi is the one who ends the kiss. It’s only a glance and Shigaraki can see why. Dabi’s hand closing around the stem of the rose too tightly, and despite the cotton, his blood now drips onto Shigaraki’s clean floor. “You’re making a mess,” he observes lightly.
“I still want to know,” Dabi rejects the diversion of topic. Shigaraki rolls his eyes, shakes his wrist free of Dabi’s hold and turns away. He gestures grandly to the scenery of the three-story greenhouse.
It’s grown up like a forest now, decades upon decades of work, flourishing in dark greens, blacks, reds, and purples. Every plant blooms, all of them with some common or obscure use. Shigaraki pours his magic into them. It’s macabre. Never has he been anywhere, in all of his centuries roaming this godforsaken plane, that looks quite as gothic and wild as his greenhouse. He’s quietly proud. It’s beautiful. So much so that even those who deal in light magic and are forced to trade with him are struck dumb.
“With these hands,” he starts, but finds his voice getting smaller. “With these hands,” he tries again, “I just wanted to touch something living and-” he swallows. “To make it beautiful,” he breathes.
He feels Dabi at his back, one hand curling around his hip and the other around his throat. Dabi’s thumb strokes Shigaraki’s jaw, and it fills him with envy. To be able to touch without watching it rot away under his hands. He has always wanted it so desperately. But Dabi leans in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as he speaks.
“You must not own a mirror,” he says. As though Shigaraki is one of those beautiful people they both hate to love. But he lets himself indulge in Dabi’s attention.
Dabi splits him open right there on the workbench, bloody hand print at his hip and staring down a rose.
And when the wood begins to rot beneath his hands, clutching at the surface as though it can anchor him to the world, Dabi turns his hands over, rubbing his thumbs into Shigaraki’s palms and biting at his nape.
So if Shigaraki meets his end with Dabi’s broken gasp of ‘Tenko’, he can hardly blame himself.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I uploaded a new chapter of my todobaku yesterday~ Please check it out if that’s your thing!
You know where to find me
The disposition of a hero is independent by necessity. Being able to stand on your own, without support, as a pillar for others, is what being a hero is all about. He would never insult Bakugou by coddling him, and Bakugou holds the same respect for Todoroki. They both always have been and always will be self-reliant. Which... leaves them at an impasse.
The air between them holds a different kind of feeling, but other than that, very little has changed. It’s been almost three weeks since Todoroki let Bakugou pin him to his futon and blow his mind. Long enough that Todoroki’s cheeks no longer get hot at the thought of it. The intensity of their scenting and the quiet of the night all mixed into something that lowered their inhibitions. Significantly. He doesn’t regret a second of it, even craves it again, but the thought of initiating it is... nerve-wracking.
He’d woken up in Bakugou’s arms to find the blond watching him, eyes still half lidded and heavy with sleep. It should’ve been unsettling, especially with Bakugou’s face so carefully blank. Instead, he had felt an odd sense of safety.
Bakugou had not hung around for long after that. While Todoroki’s weekend was set to be jammed with studying and a few sparring practices in the afternoons, Bakugou was spending the two days on an internship in the city. A patrol schedule means keeping odd hours, which is why Bakugou had left Todoroki’s bed at just gone five in the morning.
Although not without nosing into the gland underneath Todoroki’s jaw first, giving it a few approving, long, hard, licks. To receive that kind of affection in a non-sexual situation, well, he can only compare it to the feeling of taking the first sip of a warm drink on a cold day. The warmth that emanates from somewhere deep in your core, with a promise of more heat with every sip.
It’d been hard to resist.
But Bakugou had to leave and Todoroki had fallen back asleep, leaving the entire incident feeling like a hazy dream. Bakugou had been so busy that they hadn’t seen each other again until class on Tuesday, because Todoroki took Monday out for his own internship.
Since then they had gone almost entirely back to normal. Although Bakugou would sit closer to him as they ate their breakfast, picking things from Todoroki’s plate with his chopsticks when he thought Todoroki wasn’t looking, eyes glinting with mischief. In class, Bakugou would occasionally drift over to his desk and drop a small snack into Todoroki’s hands. But the biggest change was in their occasional study sessions. Todoroki made his way to Bakugou’s room to go over their calculus homework after an intense shift on his internship with Endeavor. He’d been half asleep after ten minutes and found himself being bundled into Bakugou’s bed.
A half hour nap later he was woken with the promise of a cup of tea and a swift brush of Bakugou’s fingers through his hair. He'd been quieter than usual, eyes locked onto Todoroki instead of their homework. He wasn’t sure what it was that magnetised Bakugou that day but he keeps catching glimpses of it since. Whenever Bakugou is about to get up to bring him a snack, whenever Bakugou is plotting how to get a rise out of Todoroki at breakfast, whenever they’re sparring in class...
Todoroki ponders all of this from underneath Bakugou’s sheets. He’s embarrassed to admit that he snuck in here for a nap surrounded by Bakugou’s scent. But it had been Bakugou who had left the key to his balcony door on Todoroki’s desk. He’s certain he’s welcome.
It feels a little odd, nonetheless, to be surrounded by Bakugou and his life without Bakugou also being present.
Maybe he’d stayed a little longer than necessary and completed an assignment at Bakugou’s desk after he’d woken up... and then gotten back into bed. It’s not like anyone will ever know. Bakugou isn’t due back from his patrol for another couple of hours, so even he won’t find out. Anyway, it's Sunday, he's allowed to take it easy. On that note, Todoroki rolls over in the bright light of the midday sun and shoves his face into the pillow.
His body registers the remnant of pheromones in the same way it does Bakugou’s body. Pleasant tingles run their way down his spine, effectively turning him into goo. It stirs something in his core that, as much as he’s tempted, he thinks might be a step too far. But that doesn’t stop him from stretching out, languid and happy as a cat plopped on top of a heat pad.
The hazy relaxation and his assumption that Bakugou won’t be back for some time are the reason he remains unbothered at the sound of the elevator’s arrival on this floor. Then the door is unlocked, flung open, and slammed shut with a resounding bang in such quick succession he's not fast enough to respond.
He shoots up, shock throwing him for a loop as he sees Bakugou launch his bag across the room.
Only when it’s clattered violently against the wall does Bakugou notice Todoroki is clutching his sheets like a startled damsel. Todoroki sees the realisation of it, the violent rage etched lines in Bakugou's scowl easing into little more than a surprised frown. They stare at each other like that for what feels like a lifetime, but then whatever is bothering Bakugou hits him again.
He drops into a crouch, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting his hands into his hair so tightly that Todoroki involuntarily launches himself out of bed.
He kneels in front of Bakugou, closing his fingers around his wrists and stroking encouragingly at his glands with his thumbs. Bakugou is shaking, violently enough that he can feel it against his palms.
Todoroki isn’t stupid. For Bakugou to be home so early, to be so riled up, means something went wrong on his patrol.
“Come on,” he murmurs, “don’t hurt yourself.”
When Bakugou doesn’t let up his grip, Todoroki sets to work uncurling his fingers one by one. It takes longer than he expects, having to rub and massage Bakugou’s knuckles until he decides to cooperate.
Bakugou’s skin is rough, unsurprising given his quirk. They’re also broad, with thick fingers and sturdy knuckles. Todoroki takes his time to observe them as he brings them into his lap, Bakugou giving in and dropping onto his ass with a thud. He thinks that Bakugou will probably be arthritic when he’s older if all of the stress fractures from creating massive explosions are already starting to show their effect in the slightly crooked nature of his joints.
Although, his nails are neatly trimmed, clean of dirt, and he can tell that his skin has seen some hand cream in the past few days. It warms something in him to think of Bakugou taking meticulous care of his greatest tool and weapon.
“What’re you smiling about?” Bakugou asks, voice low and anger seemingly evaporated. He’s looking at Todoroki with that magnetism again, studying every corner of his expression with the same focus he’s seen Bakugou use on equations.
Todoroki can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, even though he knows he probably should be right now. Not only was he just rolling around in Bakugou’s scent but now he’s mooning over Bakugou’s hands while he has some kind of emotional crisis. He swallows back his apprehension.
“Do you moisturise?”
Bakugou snatches his hands back with a huff.
Todoroki wonders if he’s annoyed him, but Bakugou gets up and picks his bag up off the floor, settling it in its rightful place. When Bakugou starts stripping out of his shirt Todoroki perches on the end of Bakugou’s bed and tries to avert his eyes.
Really, he thinks its key that he made the effort not to look, even if he failed. In his defence, it’s very difficult not to look when your mate has replaced his shirt for a tank top and his pants with- well- nothing. Todoroki fiddles with a string that’s come loose of his long, plaid, pajama pants, combined with a simple white tshirt, thats been stretched out in all the wrong places. He feels a little out of his depth.
Especially when Bakugou is so effortlessly sexy, even in plain clothes. Whether because the clothes are tight or Bakugou just fills them out perfectly. It makes Todoroki feel frumpy, somehow.
Which ticks him off because never once in his life has he cared what he looked like in his clothes before this very moment. Of course, Bakugou manages to break him out of that train of thought as he strides over in his very tight, grey, boxers. Todoroki has never been so mesmerised by the movement of a bulge before and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to clear the haze and wait for the swooping sensation in his stomach to pass.
It’s only when Bakugou throws his sheets back that Todoroki realises he must have been riling up a scent storm in there. Bakugou’s nostrils flare, entire body going so still he could be mistaken for one of those erotic Greek statues.
“What were you-” Bakugou grinds out, although he doesn’t lift his eyes from the bed. Todoroki feels as though he might break out into a cold sweat.
“Sleeping,” he murmurs, feeling his own cheeks warm. Bakugou turns his head to look at him then. There’s a look on his face that asks “you were napping at just gone lunchtime?” He shrugs, sheepish. Bakugou just rolls his eyes, finally relaxing and clambering into bed. He holds the covers up again, raising an eyebrow at Todoroki, who hasn’t moved from his position at the end of the bed.
“Well?” Bakugou snaps. Todoroki makes sure to punch his calf through the covers before he gets up to join Bakugou beneath them. Bakugou only grunts, letting the sheets fall over Todoroki as he lays his head on the pillow, facing Bakugou. “You really did a number on my bed,” Bakugou observes, nose twitching in a way that Todoroki immediately labels as cute.
“Sorry,” Todoroki lies - convincingly.
“It’s okay,” Bakugou’s hand twitches where it rests on the bed between them. Todoroki reaches out, tangling their fingers together. Bakugou’s eyes soften then, watching their joined hands in favour of meeting Todoroki’s gaze. Which Todoroki doesn’t dispute because he thinks it might be easier for Bakugou, like this.
“Are you?” he asks. Bakugou doesn’t flinch, or tense, or otherwise recoil defensively from the question; which has Todoroki riding high at an inconvenient moment again . Instead, he blinks slowly at their joined hands, mouth twisting.
“Yeah,” he says. Todoroki waits. That twist in Bakugou’s mouth signalling he’s got something to say. He can almost see the cogs turning inside Bakugou’s head as he works out how to verbalise his thoughts, and it takes a long time. Long enough that Todoroki has wandered down a completely different train of thought by the time Bakugou speaks. “There was no appropriately equipped hero on scene, the building was about to come down with so much as a nudge,” Bakugou explains, hesitating as though he's tasting the words before he says them. “I couldn’t use my quirk and we ran into a villain while I was evacuating civilians,” Bakugou’s hand goes tight around Todoroki’s. “He had a gun,” Bakugou barely breathes the words.
Todoroki’s blood runs cold.
Guns are so incredibly rare in the area, not just because of gun control, but because most villains have such a massive ego surrounding the power of their quirk that they think they would never need one. “I couldn’t do anything except try to talk him down, which obviously didn’t fucking work,” Bakugou scoffs. Todoroki rubs his thumb into Bakugou’s skin, trying to soothe but hopeless in the face of the magnitude of what Bakugou likely perceived as weakness. “Best Jeanist turned up so- it was fine,” but it almost wasn’t , is what Todoroki hears.
“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” is what he settles on saying. Bakugou looks up at him then, eyes as alive as the smirk taking over his face.
“Nah, just gotta go pitch some ideas to Hatsume,” he boasts. Bakugou is so clever, Todoroki is sure he really does have some ideas for a last resort defensive device to attach to his hero costume. It fills Todoroki with something like excitement, to know that clever Bakugou has chosen him to be his for the foreseeable future. “What’s got you smiling now?” Bakugou teases, poking Todoroki in the ribs with his free hand. Todoroki delivers a swift kick to Bakugou’s shin. “Oi,” Bakugou splutters, “what is it with you destroying my legs today?”
“You’re clever,” Todoroki voices his thought.
“I know you’re dumb as a brick but my brain is in my head, not my legs,” Bakugou’s sentence wobbles as Todoroki dives on top of him in a mock attack. “If you’re trying to sabotage me-”
“Shut up,” Todoroki laughs, pinning Bakugou to the bed with a forearm across his chest. But Bakugou just looks up at him with that magnetised look, again. “Look who’s the half-ass today,” Todoroki quips and then pinches Bakugou’s inner arm, “fight me, big bad alpha.”
“You asked for it,” Bakugou threatens, attempting to roll them over. But Todoroki puts up a strong resistance. They end up on their sides again, scrabbling at each other like children and letting out short bursts of laughter between fake grunts and growls.
“Okay, truce, truce!” Todoroki yells when Bakugou pulls up the edge of his shirt and blows a raspberry into Todoroki’s hip. Bakugou scoffs but relents, uncurling from where he had to duck down to reach Todoroki’s stomach. They would be facing each other if Bakugou bothered to shuffle back up the bed, but Todoroki has a suspicion they’re both enjoying that Bakugou is at a height where Todoroki can run his fingers through his hair.
That, and he’s got a leg slung over Bakugou’s waist.
Bakugou’s hand is tucked into the back of Todoroki’s knee, holding it there even though their play fight is over. It alights something in Todoroki that’s been simmering in him all morning, that he’s beginning to associate with Bakugou’s presence instead of heated moments alone.
So he welcomes it when Bakugou cups his palm around his thigh, stroking up the length of it right up to the crease where thigh becomes ass. At Bakugou’s pause, Todoroki looks down, finding Bakugou looking back at him with a quirked eyebrow.
He lifts his hand to answer Bakugou’s question, stroking the sharp line of his jaw with his fingers and tracing the seam of Bakugou’s lips with his thumb. It’s intimate, and Bakugou doesn’t take it passively, parting his lips and laving at the pad of Todoroki’s thumb.
Arousal lingers between them, both of them hyper-aware of the scent. Bakugou’s is much more prominent in the air than last time, it has Todoroki’s nose twitching. His brain stutters, body slowing to almost a complete stop as he prioritises working out what those pheromones mean. But Bakugou has a knack for distracting him. With his body already responding just to the scent of him, it’s easy for Bakugou to rile him up just by sucking lewdly on his thumb and letting that hand wander to palm at Todoroki’s ass cheek and squeeze.
Dazed, Todoroki lets out an approving little moan before he can realise how ridiculous it sounds. Bakugou’s scent spikes. Todoroki gets a little dizzier.
It’s then that he realises what is happening. To be so easily affected by pheromones that have made no contact with any of his scent glands means Bakugou is coming on towards his first rut. Something bottoms out in Todoroki’s stomach.
They’re going to spend that rut together, that’s part of what being mates means. He’s so affected by Bakugou just like this nevermind when he’s leaking rut pheromones all over the place and horny as a dog. And he’s going to want to- Todoroki stops himself. He buries his, now tomato red, face in the pillow and tries not to imagine Bakugou being- being- inside him- as his fingers now wander closer to his crotch. Bakugou gives Todoroki’s thumb one last suck before pulling away.
“You okay?” Bakugou asks, voice low. Todoroki nods into the pillow. He breathes deep through his mouth so as not to be knocked out with pheromones again, attempting to regulate himself a little and ease the full body blush he can feel hot on his skin. Bakugou’s hand drifts again, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants and tugging. “Can I take these off?” Todoroki takes his time, emerging from his hiding spot in the pillow when he feels ready.
“Yeah,” he rasps, wondering when his throat closed up. The fabric slips down his thighs between Bakugou’s fingers easily, although it gets a little tangled at his knees. He kicks them off, pushing them away under the covers until they fall out over the edge of the bed. By the time he’s done, Bakugou’s head has appeared on the pillow next to him, eyes studying him again.
Todoroki pushes their bodies together, Bakugou slipping his leg between his and pressing his thigh up against his sex, only the thin cotton of Todoroki’s shorts standing between them. His head swims.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bakugou frowns, “you’re kind of out of it.” Todoroki scoffs at the gall of it.
“You’re the one leaking rutfuck pheromones everywhere,” the words slur a little. He knows he’s beyond dazed. He doesn’t feel like risking standing up with the way the world is spinning while he’s laid down. Bakugou’s frown gets deeper, worry creeping into his expression.
“It’s not coming for another few weeks yet,” he explains. Todoroki is as lost as Bakugou on this one. He’s got no idea why he’s so drunk on Bakugou’s scent, not that he dislikes it. “Maybe I should go see Recovery Girl,” Bakugou thinks aloud. Todoroki agrees but makes no motion to show it. This wouldn’t be the first time someone just so happened to have strong pheromones, or someone just so happened to be more susceptible, but it never hurts to check.
“We both have to go see her,” Todoroki says instead. He’ll need some shots before he can actually go through any rut cycle with Bakugou and they still haven’t registered each other as mates in a medical capacity.
“We can go later this afternoon,” Bakugou says. Todoroki expects Bakugou to go right back to being handsy. But Bakugou takes his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting Todoroki’s head back to study his face better. “Your brain turned mulch, huh?”
“Oi,” Todoroki frowns at him. Despite knowing he’s a mess he can’t seem to snap himself out of it, especially with Bakugou distracting him. Worse, he must look just as out of it as he feels. But Bakugou smiles at him, one of those rare little curves that make Todoroki’s tummy flip. Suddenly he doesn’t care anymore, too busy staring dumbstruck at Bakugou to worry about his own expression.
Bakugou nuzzles at his cheek, leaving fleeting kisses across his jaw. Maybe Bakugou isn’t so good with words, Todoroki notices, but he’s somehow mastered affectionate body language. It’s so ridiculously sweet and un-Bakugou that when he finally brings their lips together Todoroki feels like he could cry, emotion swelling and spilling over in a swift rush. He’s never considered himself overly emotional, he hasn’t truly cried in years, and yet somehow Bakugou manages to drag it out of him. Which seems to be a theme, Bakugou pushing him right to the edge and then barreling both of them through whatever wall they’re facing. For better or worse.
And now, all of Todoroki’s hesitation, the space between them, everything has crumbled in the face of Bakugou’s will.
So he kisses him back with fervour. Todoroki making sure he’s the one to push, for once, even while overwhelmed by the purest form of affection in the book. He slides his tongue across Bakugou’s lower lip, relishing in the little hitch in his breathing before taking the chance to nip the same spot, opening his eyes to see the crease between Bakugou’s brows deepen. He takes the opportunity to roll his hips, grinding himself onto Bakugou’s thigh and groaning when Bakugou grips his hip hard enough to bruise.
Bakugou opens his eyes again, pupils dilated and grinning.
“Filthy little thing, don’t stop now.”
He relives the moment he’d frotted himself to orgasm on Bakugou’s thigh over his juice box at lunch the next day. Everything about Bakugou had been effortless, including the way he’d riled Todoroki up into something undoubtedly slutty without breaking a sweat. Recovery Girl had taken blood and hormone samples from the both of them and cleared them of any abnormalities.
Todoroki just has very sensitive scent receptors, apparently.
Although, he’s convinced it’s something to do with the way Bakugou looked wearing only a tank top and underwear. Which is frustrating. Todoroki has never considered himself sexy, nor ever really tried to be. But for Bakugou to be able to keep such a cool head while Todoroki went so glassy-eyed that he was hauled off to the nurse later that day is embarrassing.
He wants to have that sort of affect on Bakugou too.
Todoroki studies Midoriya, who is scribbling notes in a brand new notebook and muttering to himself. Midoriya, who has been mated to Kirishima for a few months now and seems to have a very positive relationship with him. Todoroki squints.
“Izuku,” he says, trying to pull his attention away from those notes. Today, it seems, Midoriya is easily distracted because he finishes the sentence he’s writing and flips his notebook closed.
“Yes?” Todoroki looks into those earnest eyes and glittering smile, studying him carefully. Yes, Kirishima trips over himself whenever Midoriya blinks those big eyes at him. Not that Bakugou will ever be so obviously smitten by anyone. Ever. But his lack of charm may have something to do with it. Maybe that’s the key difference between Todoroki and Midoriya. Todoroki just isn’t cute. Just not very omegan overall, really. For all he knows, that could be the problem. He’s struck by the irony that all his time spent acting like he’s not an omega is backfiring now.
But he’s not ready to give in that easily. Surely there are things he can do to get around his lack of charm. He looks around them, noticing that, as long as they don’t raise their voices, no one should overhear them from over here at their table.
“Do you ever do anything special for Kirishima?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even. Midoriya blinks at him as though this question isn’t awkward as all hell. He fiddles with his pen a little, obviously mulling it over. Although he’s dreading the answer, Todoroki appreciates he has a friend like Midoriya, who will always do his best to advise.
“Well, sometimes I make dinner for the both of us. It’s nice to just spend time together…” and off he goes, rambling out the rest of his thoughts. Not the kind of answer Todoroki wanted, really. He and Bakugou already have their, now oddly romantic, breakfasts down to a fine art. Todoroki sees the misunderstanding clearly but lets Midoriya talk for a minute anyway, allowing him some room to ramble happily before he destroys this innocent conversation. “... uhm, and sometimes when we go to the park together I bring cut up grapes for the ducks, he likes feeding them-”
“I meant sexually,” Todoroki deadpans. Midoriya’s jaw drops. He can practically hear the crickets chirping. Seeing that he's not getting anywhere with that, he tries again. “For example, do you ever- wear anything different?” At that Midoriya closes his mouth, audibly gulping. Just as Todoroki expected, Midoriya thinks about the question, battling through the embarrassment like a true friend.
Although, he is very pink.
“Well, I- I’ve never worn one of those- uhm- sexy costume things,” Midoriya stutters, “but I try to wear nice clothes and, uh, underwear,” he finishes, still glowing. The embarrassment seemingly killing off his long-winded nature.
“What constitutes nice clothes?” Todoroki questions, leaning in as Midoriya’s voice gets smaller.
“I wear those- uh- omega pyjamas, you know, with the really tiny pink shorts,” he admits. Todoroki knows what he’s referring to, they’re often lacy and floral, sometimes not even opaque. “But that’s really a personal preference, you don’t have to wear those just to look nice,” he continues. Todoroki tries to picture what he would look like in pink lace and draws a blank, but he stashes it away in his memory as a last resort.
“I’m not sure I’d suit it,” he thinks aloud. Midoriya hums his agreement.
“You’d look a lot better in white,” he mumbles. Todoroki’s ears burn. He’d never considered what colours might suit him, even when Fuyumi had told him off for wearing colours that clash with his red hair. That might be useful.
“Anything else?” He asks, that he's beginning to feel hopeless showing through if Midoriya's sympathetic smile is anything to go by.
“I don’t know, Shouto-kun, it’s hard to say when it’s not for a specific situation.” Midoriya shrugs.
“Alright-” Todoroki begins.
“Oh no, you’re actually going to tell me,” Midoriya shoves his face into his hands.
“I have a mate now,” Midoriya’s head springs up, eyes wide. “He’s very- aesthetically pleasing and I feel like, since I’m not very physically appealing as an ome- ah, you know- that I should probably wear something nicer than my winter pyjamas.” When Midoriya doesn’t move, or even blink, for a slightly worrying amount of time, Todoroki waves his hand before Midoriya’s face.
The next thing he knows his wrist is caught in Midoriya’s hand and he’s sniffing at Todoroki’s scent gland.
He drops his wrist like it’s burned him.
Which, for a second, Todoroki thinks he has. Until he realises that’s the wrong side of his quirk. Midoriya leans back in his chair, tipping over the back and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“Kacchan,” Midoriya breathes. Which only makes Todoroki wonder how close Bakugou and Midoriya really are for Midoriya to be able to recognise Bakugou’s scent on someone else. “You’re asking me what to wear to mate Kacchan,” he elaborates, seemingly to himself. Or at least that’s what Todoroki hopes because he has no appropriate answer.
“If it’s too uncomfortable I could ask Iida what he thinks would be appro-” Midoriya snaps forward again, eyes blazing with new determination.
“You can’t ask an alpha, they’re all tasteless in the end. I won’t let you look like a cheap hooker!” He declares, stabbing a finger in the air at Todoroki’s face. Despite his reaction, and embarrassment, Todoroki finds himself smiling at Midoriya’s determination to elevate Todoroki in all areas of his life. Including his sex life, apparently.
He only hopes he can return the favour. Preferably in some other aspect of Midoriya’s life though.
“What do you suggest?” He prompts, taking another sip of his juice. Midoriya grins, eyes dark, flipping his notebook open again and brandishing his pen like a weapon.
“I’ll write this all down for you and by the time we’re done, you’ll be dynamite.”
Very well aligned with Bakugou's tastes. Todoroki nods his assent.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Merry Christmas, Katsuki
Life had been too much, again. And the trail up into the mountains is an easy thirty minutes away from his home by car. The peaceful allure of the familiar mountain he’s been visiting since childhood had drawn him out.
"Please don't use your pathetic pick up lines on me" - ereri :)
I laughed at myself throughout this entire thing.
Rough day is an understatement if Eren ever heard one. Generally, he doesn’t mind his job too much. Working retail had never been the dream, will never be the dream, but it’s fine. He likes being helpful, he likes that he got hired in the flagship Hollister store because he looks like the models on their advertisements, he likes … well that’s about it.
But working the last Friday before Christmas is hell. Not only is the store heaving, but there’s about thrice as many middle aged women demanding to see the manager just so Eren can repeat to them exactly what they’ve already been told; except they listen with significantly more hair flicking and eyelash batting.
Another side effect of working at Hollister, he’s slowly being turned off of dating. Which is unfortunate, since he hasn’t gotten laid or even been on a date in nearing six months.
He’ll never make the mistake of taking out a cute girl that flirted with him over their display of sweaters ever again.
But that’s exactly why he’s here, in Jean’s haunt, being herded to the bar by the man himself. It’s more of a club than a bar, the coloured lights kind of disorient him now that Jean has poured a couple of shots down his neck.
“Come on, man. Don’t look so fucking grumpy,” Jean bemoans, arm around Eren’s shoulders tightening. “How are we ever gonna find you a cute guy to go home with if you look like that?”
“This was a bad idea,” Eren grunts when Jean shoves him into the corner of the bar and puts a twenty in his hand.
“Order me and Marco a beer, I’m gonna take a leak,” Jean slaps him on the back and disappears into the crowd. Eren leans his elbows on the bar and tries not to get too jostled by the people around him. Ends up with his head in his hands and sighing after he’s been stood waiting to get served for a stupid amount of time. The music is so loud that his ears are ringing a little and he finds himself wanting to go home, when Jean appears again at his shoulder.
“Did you clean your pants with Windex? I can practically see myself in them,” Jean puts a new beer down on the bar next to him and it’s the last straw.
“Please,” Eren practically spits, “don’t use your pathetic pick up lines on me, Jea- you’re not… Jean,” he says when he catches sight of the guy beside him. He’s frowning a little, corners of his mouth turned down and shoulders tense. Eren guesses that’s his fault, but despite it all, he’s possibly the best looking guy Eren has seen outside of the dumb promotional magazines they keep by the tills in the store. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s fine,” he tilts the bottle in his own hand and nods towards Eren, turning away. “I won’t bother y-”
“Wait!” Then Eren’s hand is around the guy’s bicep and it’s- well fuck- it’s solid. He whips his hand back, “sorry, again.” Could he look any more desperate? But he’s stopped turning away, stopped frowning quite as much, so Eren takes his chance. “Uhm, thanks- I mean- for the drink. What’s your name?”
“Levi, you?” Eren smiles as Levi takes that one step back towards him.
“Eren,” he swallows down the nervous lump in his throat. “Did you… really ask if I cleaned my pants with Windex?” Eren feels the laughter building even though he thinks he’s probably said the wrong thing. But Levi doesn’t frown, just turns slightly pink and opens his mouth a couple times like he’s not sure how to justify how grotesque that line was. Then Eren’s laughing, possibly too hard. Maybe it’s a little hysterical from exhaustion and alcohol.
He scrubs his face with his hands and forces himself to stop when he realises he might really be embarrassing him. And when he looks back at Levi, he’s smiling. Well, it’s more of a fond smirk. His dark hair is falling in his eyes a little, since he tilted his head to watch Eren laugh.
“Was it really that awful?” Levi asks. Eren shakes his head, still not quite able to shift the grin off of his face.
“I think I might’ve liked it, just a little bit,”
“Wow, that’s so embarrassing,” Levi teases. Something in Eren’s gut flickers alight and he holds out his hand.
“Give me your phone,”
“Why?”
“So you can call tomorrow, after you’ve fucked my brains out on all of my furniture,” Eren gives his best bedroom eyes. Which, judging by Levi’s frantic scramble for his phone, is quite effective.
The stranger next to Eren whistles, “now that was a a pick up line.”
the fluffiest smut i’ve ever written (ereri, nsfw, 2000~ words, ao3 link)
The light from the television flickers over Levi’s hip bones in patterns that Eren can’t seem to resist tracing with his fingers. He’s lost track of what’s happening on the small screen at the end of his bed, more focused on the sound of Levi’s breathing where he’s pillowed his head on his chest. Every now and again it’ll hitch, sometimes from Eren’s ministrations, sometimes from whatever is happening in the audiobook Levi is listening to through his headphones.
He lets his fingers wander, smiling a little when Levi’s stomach jumps away from the soft brush of skin on skin. Eren circles his navel, then continues following a line up to just below his sternum and retraces his path back down again. A few more minutes of this and he’s settled on just running his fingers over Levi’s stomach where it dips just a little. Eren’s always considered Levi’s belly button kind of cute. It’s small, more of a line than a circle, really. Eren knows that if he were to dip his finger into it then Levi would squirm and pretend not to be ticklish. Instead, he lets his pinky drag a little over the skin just to see Levi’s abs twitch.
He eventually leaves Levi’s belly button alone, drifting down to the soft, fine, hair that trails down to Levi’s cock. He’s too distracted by the audiobook to get hard when Eren runs his fingers through the hair, gently scraping his nails over Levi’s skin right at the base of his cock on the return journey to his hip. Or perhaps he’s just too spent from earlier. Levi sighs, melts a little further into the soft mattress.
He considers all the things about Levi that are soft, his hair, his skin, his navel. Eren isn’t sure when he noticed that Levi’s body is full of contradictions. He loves how delicate Levi’s skin is just inside his sharp, jutting hip bone. He loves the way Levi rolls his hips, falls languid over furniture and yet still has hard shoulders, calloused hands and stubble on his jaw.
He considers all the things about Levi that aren’t soft, his eyes, his vocabulary, his abs. He loves the way Levi looks at him with cold, hard eyes but a soft curve to his lips. He loves how Levi covers up all of his blunt edges with soft sweaters when he’s cold. He loves how Levi is too prideful to be kind, will curse him out when he’s been foolish and then nurture his heart when he’s vulnerable.
Levi is a walking contradiction.
Eren is so in love with him.
He splays his hand out across Levi’s stomach, appreciating how big it feels in comparison to Levi’s tapered waist. He loves how stark and bright Levi’s skin looks illuminated by the television screen, juxtaposed with the rose coloured flush of his nipples and the tip of his cock. His hand moves of its own accord, tucking itself around Levi’s waist and stroking up his ribs. Levi has become aware of Eren’s attention sometime while he was lost in thought. Eren doesn’t wait for him to speak up, just continues petting and admiring as long as he can. He wonders if that rosy flush has spread to Levi’s cheekbones.
He thinks the rim of Levi’s hole turns the same colour when he moans underneath him. He considers Levi’s chest turns the same colour from exertion when he buries Eren’s face in the mattress and growls when Eren squirms. It’s his own breath hitching this time, warning him of the way his cock is growing hot the more he thinks about it. He lifts his head, turning to look as Levi’s eyelashes flutter against sculpted cheekbones.
Eren realises that Levi’s lips are the same rose pink.
His thumb is there before he can think it through, hand cupping Levi’s jaw and thumbing Levi’s smooth lower lip away from his teeth. Levi opens his eyes then, just barely, just to watch what Eren is doing. He doesn’t bother to meet Levi’s eyes, takes his passivity as the consent that it is and pulls Levi’s jaw wider, denting the pad of his thumb on those hard, blunt teeth. He props himself up on his elbow, leaning over Levi before he ventures further. He only brushes the tip of Levi’s tongue but revels in the way he responds, laving at Eren’s finger. Levi only puts up with it for a minute before nipping at him in a kind of playful protest.
Eren’s cock throbs hard and heavy where it’s resting against Levi’s hip. He lets himself meet Levi’s eyes, trying to portray what he wants without disturbing the atmosphere. Levi looks back at him for a moment, Eren’s thumb trapped between his teeth and a contemplative look in his eye. Then he releases his hold and licks a slow, decadent, stripe up each of Eren’s fingers. When Eren regains his leverage on Levi’s teeth his jaw slackens, letting his mouth open so Eren can reunite their tongues.
Eren goes weak at the disgruntled whine Levi emits when Eren won’t kiss him properly and gives in almost immediately, pressing kisses onto Levi’s mouth in between laving and nipping at his lips.
Levi removes his earbuds, letting them fall aside while Eren starts a path of nips and licks down his chest. He lavishes Levi’s nipples with slow attention, more riled with every gasp and moan he manages to coax out of his lover. But he makes an effort to push aside the need to rush. That’s not what he wants, he doesn’t want to ruin this feeling. Instead, he takes the time to dip his tongue into Levi’s cute bellybutton just to watch him snort, squirm and kick.
Just when he thinks Levi is getting too distracted he sucks a mark into the sensitive dip inside Levi’s hip until he’s writhing for completely different reasons. He laves at the skin there, watching carefully for the hitch in Levi’s breathing that means he’s exactly where Eren wants him.
It doesn’t take long. There’s something about tonight, right then, that has them both malleable. Eren stops wasting time and engulfs Levi’s thick cock in his mouth.
It’s sloppy. He doesn’t hold back the lewd slurping noise when he pops off Levi’s cock. Twice more and Levi is heavy on his tongue, hiding quiet noises behind his hand and averting his eyes when he realises Eren has no plans to wipe the saliva dripping from lip to chin. He swallows him deep, not bothering to stop his throat from rebelling and convulsing with a wet noise that he knows is going to wreck Levi. True to form, Levi’s hips twitch. Eren doesn’t bother to push him back into the bed or to stop him from rolling them with his cock buried uncomfortably deep. Every movement sends the head of Levi’s cock pushing his gag reflex. He doesn’t fight it, lets Levi continue his small thrusts into the wet, hot, responsive cavern of his mouth. He tries not to smirk when Levi groans and uses the hand not stifling his moans to cup Eren’s jaw. Levi sweeps his thumb across Eren’s lower lip, feeling how he’s stretched them wide and staring as his cock moves past them. His pupils are blown wider than Eren has ever seen them, no thanks to the darkness of their surroundings. But Levi looks so fucked-out that Eren’s own cock twitches where it’s trapped between him and the mattress. Still, he watches Levi through the stinging in his eyes as he gets more desperate; wanton need replacing hesitance as Levi brings the hand down from his mouth and tugs at Eren’s hair.
“C’mon- c’mon, Eren please,” Levi whispers mostly to himself. Eren makes an appreciative hum at the acknowledgement that Levi’s not in control tonight, despite what Eren has allowed him to do. When he doesn’t give Levi more room to move and the pace doesn’t change Levi’s fingers dig more harshly into his hair. The stinging in his scalp is distracting, bordering on truly painful, but the hand still cupping his jaw is so gentle. Levi’s thumb works in gentle strokes where the muscles in Eren’s jaw strain and he’s so lost. Lost for Levi and his stupid contradictions.
Then Eren moves, making sure to use the rough flat of his tongue across the frenulum. Levi chokes out a moan, thighs coming up to clamp around Eren’s head. He pries them away just enough to be able to bob his head and then suck Levi right back down again. He allows Levi his desperate little hip rolls, meeting every bob of Eren’s head with an enthused little twitch, until his thighs tremble in Eren’s grip from the strain of it. Maybe on another day Eren would hold off; or maybe on another day Levi would be holding off. But today Eren coaxes it out of Levi as fast as feels natural, because Levi is chasing his pleasure in Eren’s body in a way that makes Eren feel as though he’s part of the natural conclusion. So familiar and with so much future that Levi has no reason to make this more spectacular than he would with his hand. Because Eren will be there tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.
So Levi looks down at dark, heavy lidded eyes and sees the promise of another day. Another day so don’t rush. Just let it happen.
But of course that makes it better and Levi’s orgasm hits him hard and fast. And his stomach clenches, pulling him in to curl around Eren’s head where he’s still clinging on for dear life and flooding Eren’s mouth. Eren drinks him down with a broken moan. Levi loses his grip on reality for a mere moment, during which he falls back against the bed and the tension rolls out of him.
When he opens his eyes Eren is leaning over him, one arm sinking into the mattress beside Levi’s head and the other reaching down his body. Levi doesn’t have to look to know what Eren is doing, can hear the slick noise of Eren using the moisture leftover on Levi’s cock on himself. Something about having Eren, breathless and a little desperate, on top of him sends a fresh pang of arousal through Levi’s gut. He hitches a knee up, pressing his thigh into Eren’s side and hooking his ankle around Eren’s back. “Come for me?” he asks, slipping a hand between them to stroke Eren’s abs.
“Fuck,” is the only thing that passes Eren’s lips before he’s tipping over the edge. Levi, with his palm pressed flat against Eren’s body, feels the delicious way his abs twitch. He knocks Eren’s hand away, stroking him through the last few spurts and grinning at Eren’s winded groan.
“That was a lot,” Levi says. Eren just huffs a silent laugh and rolls away onto his back. Levi notes happily that Eren hands the tissues over without prompting. “And here I thought you’d exhausted yourself on the sofa,”
“Me? Tired?” Eren glances down Levi’s body to where he’s wiping Eren’s come from his skin. “Never,” he says. Levi only has to glance at Eren’s wolfish grin to work out where this is going.
60. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”
(link to prompts)
how do we feel about eruriren instead ?
Eren tried his damn best to stay out of this one. He even tried escaping the house and going to spend a few days with Mikasa (perhaps claiming Armin, the English Lop rabbit, was dying and needed to see a vet was an obvious lie. Y’know, since rabbits don’t know how to play dead.)
But instead, he’s been dragged into Erwin’s meddling. Again.
Erwin’s recent obsession with home improvement has been a blessing in a household that has three busy adults coming and going at the drop of a hat. But there was some organisation to it, otherwise Levi might have had an aneurysm when he found no space was safe from Eren and Erwin’s mess.
So the two of them were deemed free to make as much mess as they wanted, as long as they kept it within their own space. There are many benefits to the floor of Erwin’s home office no longer serving as his filing cabinet but the organisation has spread beyond his own territory.
“Before you decide to murder me, let me explain-”
“I can’t believe-”
“I was only trying to he-”
“You’ve messed everything up!”
“No, look it’s all in a logical and efficient arrangement-”
“I can’t find any of my fucking clothes! Where are my socks?”
“Here, look! Next to your underwear-”
“Erwin!”
“Okay, okay,” Erwin holds his hands up in surrender. Eren jabs an accusing finger in his direction, opens his mouth, closes it again and drops his hand. He doesn’t have much of his own space in the house. Moving in with a long established couple that are both at least a decade older than him had been a challenge. And so he had been designated his own bedroom. Not that it has a bed in it.
“I just,” Eren trails off, “this is my stuff.” He spends every night in the over sized bed in Erwin and Levi’s room, but his clothes and all of his other bedroom items reside in here. He’d eventually recruited Jean to help him set up a sofa and his games consoles too. This had always been a space untouched by anyone else (especially since Erwin and Levi know of Mikasa’s blatant ignorance of Eren’s need for personal space) until Erwin came in and put his dirty mitts all over everything. “My- my stuff-” he tries again.
“Eren, I’m sorry. I really am,” Erwin drops his hands and risks taking a step closer. “I just didn’t think it through, I got carried away, I-”
“Stop talking,” Eren says and slaps his hand across Erwin’s mouth. “How is Armin going to remain house trained if you move his litter box?” Erwin’s eyes widen and Eren feels triumph. Downstairs, the door opens and closes with a loud slam. No doubt Levi home from a bad day at work and making his way towards the kitchen - where Armin’s litter box should be.
Eren steps closer, right up into Erwin’s personal space and grins. “I’ll bet you ten bucks he’s going to notice the rabbit droppings before he even starts making his tea,”
As though summoned, Levi’s footsteps can be heard stomping through the house. “Oh, he’s noticed,” Eren whispers and tries not to laugh at the grave look of acceptance on Erwin’s face. Eren steps back and raises his hands in a mirror of Erwin’s surrender right as Levi throws the door open. “Erwin moved the litter box!”
“Eren!” Erwin gapes, betrayal written across his face. Levi shifts subtly, redirecting his fury on Erwin. If there’s one thing Eren has learned in the years they’ve been together, it’s not to do anything that might disturb Levi’s tea ritual. This, he decides, is the perfect revenge.
“Erwin,” Levi phrases his name like a question.
“Levi, please, before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”
