#hoping wishing praying etc everything will be fine!!

[causticsunshine]

.

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆

summary - you and ransom had thought of playing a game, a game of jealousy. in the beginning, everything was fine, it was fun, but lately, it felt as though he no longer loved you, that he’d rather the women he flirted with. after the party, do you think their relationship can be resolved?

warning - angst, self-hate, talks of cheating.

the gif and headers I use aren’t mine, and the divider is by @firefly-graphics

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You remembered when you and Ransom made up this silly game. Oh, how stupid you were for agreeing to it. You didn’t think it would hurt as much as it did. At first, it was fun. Getting to see Ransom all worked up and jealous, but it changed… Drastically, it changed. You were the one to get worked up and jealous. Maybe it was because he seemed to enjoy other women’s attention more than yours now. Did you push it too far? Was it your fault that he’s falling out of love with you? It couldn’t be, right?

You and Ransom were hosting a party tonight. You weren’t as excited as you used to be. Parties with the love of your life used to be fun, but now with the neverending game... It felt like a punch in the face because no matter how pretty you made yourself, his eyes always seemed to be watching someone else.

You sighed as you stared at yourself in the mirror. The white dress with black outlines clung to your body. Your hair was neatly clipped back, with a few strands framing your face, and you stared into the eyes of the girl you once were. Your eyes were sad, drained, lifeless. The black eyeliner around them didn’t do much, nor did the deep red lipstick that covered your plump lips. The very lipstick that Ransom said was his favourite, but lately, it wasn’t.

Why were you doing this? Why couldn’t Ransom see that the game was now hurting you? Did he even want to see it? Was he happier getting a free pass to cheat because all it was to him was a game?

“Babe, the party is starting. Are you ready?” Your eyes connected with his through the mirror, noticing how he just leaned against the doorway. You remember when he used to sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around you, peppering your neck with kisses until you’d break into giggles, playfully pushing him away. Now, he just stands there… He looked annoyed, like he’d been waiting forever.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Glancing in the mirror one last time as you smooth out your dress, you slowly head toward the door. Feeling saddened when you find it empty, Ransom has already left, making his way to greet your guests. You had entered the room, already noticing that Ransom was flirting with some beautiful, busty redhead. Her hand squeezes his biceps as she giggles at whatever he says, your heart would squeeze at the sight of his hand resting on her hip, but you’ve become numb to it all.

You smile at your guests as you walk to your built-in bar. Hoping and praying that they couldn’t tell how fake it was, how you no longer felt happy. You made it to the bar, sitting on the stool and waving to the bartender. You give the man yet another very well-performed fake smile while ordering a drink. You don’t dare turn around when you take a sip, not wanting to watch your boyfriend with another woman. You wished you had the courage to end this game and tell him no more. You thought he’d notice the game was over when you no longer flirted with other men, but you guess Ransom was too into his head to see anything else.

“Y/n? Is that you?’ You turn your head slightly, and the seat beside you is filled as a man from your past sits down. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling with the happiness you wish you had. You wouldn’t deny the jealousy you felt by how genuine his joy looked. “Wow! It’s been so long! You look absolutely gorgeous! How have you been?”

You smile softly at his compliment, taking a sip of your drink before you respond. “Hi, Steve. I’ve been good… How about you? Last I heard, you opened your own art studio?” He nods, ordering himself a drink as he continues to smile at you.

“Yeah! It’s honestly the best decision I’ve made. Are you sure you’re okay? I thought you and Ransom were doing well?” You could’ve broken down right then and there at his concerned gaze. You wondered why he would ask such a question, so you turned. Oh, what a dumb decision. Why did you have to turn? Because there stood your boyfriend, with the redhead pushed against the wall as he continued to flirt, his hands dangerously close to her ass and her hands tangled in his hair.

“Oh… Uh, yeah. It’s just an uh… It’s a game that we have going on between us….” You quickly chug the rest of your drink, feeling tears brimming your eyes and the lump in your throat grow more significant. You refuse to look into Steve’s eyes, knowing they’d be filled with pity and confusion. “I–I’m going to… I need some air… If you’ll excuse me….” You quickly stand and rush outside, rushing around to the wall where you can’t be seen. Heartbreaking sobs escape you, your hands flying up so no one can hear you. You let it go, all the pain and heartbreak.

You didn’t hear or notice Steve following you, and you didn’t know you weren’t alone until you felt arms wrap around you, hands stroking your hair as they pressed you into their chest. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything will be okay.” Steve held you as you cried, rocking you slightly. His head turns, and his eyes connect with worried blue ones. Ransom had watched you leave the room, and he was confused about why you were crying in another man’s arms.

You slowly pull back, clearing your throat and blinking away the tears. You look at Steve’s shirt and frown. “Oh, god. I ruined your shirt… I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He continues to stroke your hair, looking deep into your eyes as he says this. You hear a huff and look over, your eyes finding your boyfriend’s. You notice the frown set on his face before he rolls his eyes and storms inside, probably to continue to flirt with the redhead. You could feel the numbness begin to set in, wondering how long you’ll be able to continue in a relationship where there’s no longer any love. “Hey.” Steve lifts your head, “go talk to him. Maybe this is a big misunderstanding? He followed you out here after noticing you left, shouldn’t that account for something?”

“Maybe…” You blink, your hands coming up to fix your makeup, but what does it matter? It’s not like anyone cared. “Thank you, Steve… Maybe we could go for lunch sometime?” Steve smiles, nodding before he reaches up and begins to help with your make-up, wiping away the mascara.

A few more hours passed before the party finally came to an end. You and Ransom had headed outside to say goodbye to the guests. His arm wrapped securely around your waist. You had noticed his focus had been more on you after what had happened outside. As the last of the guests were leaving, you saw the redhead that Ransom had been flirting with walking toward you both, her hips swaying, adjusting her bra so that her breasts were pushed up.

“Ransom.” She purrs, touching his arm when she stops before him, batting her eyelashes at him. “It was so good seeing you. You’ll call me, right?” You felt sick as his arm slowly slid from your waist, landing on hers as he smiled down at her.

The walls were built too high, and you could feel the alarms going off in your head. Warning you that your emotions were going into lockdown, begging you to feel. You stood there, again watching your boyfriend flirt with some easy bimbo right in front of you and when he looked at you. You could’ve sworn he looked broken. You weren’t sure why, though? He seemed to have what he wanted, but you didn’t know that Ransom wanted you to look at him with love in your eyes again. He wanted you to have the light and happiness in them when you used to look at him. But all he got was sadness. They were no longer full of life, just lifeless.

He wouldn’t admit it, but seeing you with Steve felt like a stab to his heart. Ransom could tell the smile you gave Steve was genuine, one that you’d only faked with him recently. Before he could say anything, you left, turning your back on him and walking back into the house.

“Can you just fuck off already? Jesus, why the fuck would I want some bimbo when I have the most amazing woman in there?” He growled, glaring at the whore in front of him.

“Really? You started flirting with me! You fucking asshole!” He felt the sting on his cheek, but Ransom didn’t care. He needed to win your love back. Ransom thought you were enjoying the game. He was an idiot for agreeing to it. Why did he do it? Why agree when he didn’t even find any other woman attractive? Ransom only wanted you. He wanted the whole package. Marriage, kids, grandkids. But he only saw that with you, not these worthless whores.

He stormed into the house and on the way to his room. He quickly realised his many mistakes, the flirting and the distance. Ransom had realised he didn’t compliment you on the stunning dress you picked out, god, he loved the dress. He loved that you wore his favourite shade of lipstick on your lips, the lips he loves kissing, the lips he’s missed.

As Ransom reached his room, he felt his whole world shatter around him. There you stood in front of the mirror, studying and judging yourself. He watches you cup your breasts, pushing them together and up, how you turn to stare at your ass. Ransom slowly stepped into the room, and your eyes snapped up and connected with his saddened ones. He could see that you tried to wipe the lipstick off. A beautiful shade of red was smeared across your cheek. Your hair was down and messy from the clip being torn out and thrown across the room.

“Princess–”

“Don’t.” You glare before turning and heading to the bathroom to wash off your makeup. Ransom follows. His heart was heavy as he thought of ways to make it up to you.

“The game was a stupid idea… I shouldn’t have agreed or continued to flirt with those women.” He leans against the bathroom door, continuing to talk even though you don’t look at him. “I don’t want anyone else, not since I met you. Hell, I’ve even had thoughts of starting a family and marrying you, only you. Anytime I try and think of doing that with anyone else, you are the only one I can think of.” He blinks back the tears that threaten to spill, “I’m the biggest idiot alive. I had the most beautiful woman on my arm and left it too late to see it.”

You stopped halfway through, taking your make-up off, staring at him through the mirror as he continued to ramble on. “If you mean that, why were you so close to her against the wall? Why did it seem like more than flirting?”

Ransom groans, rubbing his face. “Because I’m stupid! Because when I saw you and Steve talking, I realised how close I was to losing you forever!” He moves closer, spinning you and grabbing your hands. Ransom stares you in the eyes. “I always knew that you deserved someone like Steve, hell. You deserve so much more than this life, and when I saw you giving him a smile I haven’t seen since we started this stupid game. I lost it, and I became a dumb man.”

Your lip wobbles, eyes brimming with tears as you stare up at him. “And then, when I saw you rush outside, he followed you. I felt like I had failed, especially when I followed and saw you in his arms. My god, Princess, I love you! I love you! I love you! My heart is literally in pieces, I’ve been an ass, and I’ll do anything to get you to forgive me!” He drops to his knees, pressing his face into your stomach as he breaks down. “I’m so sorry. I’ll understand if you pack up and leave me forever.”

The tears fall from your eyes, and your eyes slowly close as your hands find their way to Ransom’s hair, trying to calm yourself by running your fingers through it. “How do I know I can trust that, Ransom? How can I trust your word of loving me when you seemed so happy? The game didn’t mean for you to distance yourself from me… You chose to avoid me. How can I trust that you won’t break my heart?”

He buries his face deeper, hugging you closer. “I’d rather stab myself in the heart than break yours.” Ransom stands, looking down at you with puffy red eyes. “You don’t have to forgive or trust me tonight, tomorrow, a week or a month. But I will stick by your side as long as you will have me, and hopefully… Hopefully, one day you’ll take my last name.” You look up at him, breathing heavily as your mind and heart struggle with your decision. He strokes your cheek before leaning down to lean his forehead against yours, a whisper falling from his lips. “I love you, Princess. I’m always going to love you.”

“...I love you too, Ransom… Always.”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[babyfairy]

feeling very resentful and angry tonight and just bitter towards the whole world and usually these feelings really trigger a lot of OCD fueled guilt (negative thinking = bad = punishment by the universe) but at this point it’s just like. i’ve already tried praying, manifesting, medicine, therapy, crisis lines, talking it out, expressing how i feel, journaling, keeping it all to myself, being open and vulnerable about it, etc etc etc it doesn’t matter. it does not improve or get better. in fact it kind of only seems to get worse the more i wish and hope for things to get better. so i think i’m ready to just accept it and stop hoping for it to relent in some way. doesn’t make it suck less and i feel like i’m losing myself in all of my grief and sorrow and anger but i just feel so blank and flat and apathetic about losing my sense of self. and just about everything honestly. feel so devoid of any sort of passion even about the things i love. nothing around me is permanent so why bother? everything i care about and love is temporary. i just anticipate the next loss or the next hurt and that’s it. even the small pockets of joy are ruined by the underlying worry that it won’t last and i’ll sink back into the same hole i’ve been in for over a year now. lol! like i’m not trying to sound unhinged i’m genuinely physically fine like i’m sitting on the couch relaxing. i’m of sound mind when i say all this. i hate living, and i am tired and embarrassed about my desperation to find some sort of peace or enjoyment in life. i don’t have the energy to try anymore right now 🫶🏼 maybe i will find it again or maybe i won’t. i don’t care lol it doesn’t seem to matter either way!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Fanfic Snippet

I made Martin cry.

I will not apologize.

(all unedited, not final version, etc. and so forth)

Kayne bothering Martin, who has had the WORST WEEK.

———

Three days have passed.

Three days without Jon.

Three days of feeling like his heart was left back there on the cold, gray beach, bleeding into the sand.

Three days, too, without the Fears being brought into the world, so… that’s good, at least.

Martin wipes at his eyes again. Takes up his notebook and Eloise’s ink.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone,” he murmurs as he writes, trusting Pepper to keep to the road.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone. Imagined rounds of hide and seek. A call and response, Seeking anew, Seeking another to be so dear.

“There’s a game I play when I can’t sleep, Breaking the rules of time and place. Imagining touch, Imagining you, Unprompted and sweetly divine.

“There’s a game I play when I…”

A tear splashes on the paper, smudging his words.

“Shit,” he mutters, putting the book aside (open, praying it won’t smudge further), wiping at his eyes, gripping the reins. “Shit.”

He almost wishes the Lonely were here in this world so he could retreat into it. He’d still be without Jon, but he wouldn’t feel it as much. Nowhere near.

“Oh, that’s not a healthy thing to think,” he mutters to himself, and wonders again how the hell Jon is resisting the call from all fourteen.

For something to do, he reaches into the back and takes out Kayne’s black book. He still doesn’t know why he was given it.

Now, it says, Patience, my little creme puff, over and over and over again.

“What’s the point of this?” he mutters at it. He’s sure Kayne can hear him. “You’re doing it all wrong, you know,” he informs the book. “I thought you didn’t want the Fears brought here. Well, Jon needs me. So if this is your plan, it’s a really stupid one. Short-sighted, apparently based on… entertainment, or something, instead of the actual issues at hand. I swear, it’s like you actually want the baby tentacle god to win.”

Pepper stops.

“Come on, girl, I don’t have time for this,” Martin mutters, jostling the reins.

Pepper won’t move.

Martin sighs and dismounts. “Of all the days to get stubborn on me, you had to do it right now?” he soothes, wipes his face again, then pets the mule’s. “What’s wrong? Do I need to check your shoes? What’s happening, girl?”

And Pepper says, “Just trying to keep you from being exploded.”

Martin yips and stumbles backwards.

Right into a hard, hot form that is person-shaped, but definitely not a person at all.

Martin leaps forward again.

Kayne laughs. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t help it!”

“Wh… leave the mule alone, for the love of god!” Martin says.

“She’s fine, I just borrowed her for a second!” And then Kayne switches the laughter off, like pulling the plug on a machine. “And really, I had to do something to prevent your little self-immolating tirade. That was rude, Martin. Very, very rude.”

Maybe Kayne has trigger-words, too, though Martin isn’t sure which ones he used.

He’s also fairly certain the use of his name is not a good sign, but he’s too miserable to stop now. “Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I wanted your attention.”

“Oh, like burning statements to get my eye, hoping you can survive the fallout? Oh, oh, no, my dear one. All you’ve done is leverage my pride against my ever-present desire to kill you (which, to be fair, I desire to do to everything all the time, but still). Very risky. A dangerous step. I absolutely loved it. Don’t do it again.”

“Don’t give me reason to, then,” Martin says, not even sure why he’s pushing, why he’s toeing the line even further (does he want to be hurt? Is that it?).

Kayne is suddenly right in front of him, hooking one foot around Martin’s ankle to make him fall, and catching him with one hand between his shoulders like a dance partner. He’s so close that Martin can see through Kayne’s eyes into time, space, eternity, nightmare, falling, terror, gravity, inversion, pain -

“No,” Kayne says, slowly, a clear warning. Then he drops him.

Caught in whatever hell spins behind Kayne’s eyes, Martin lands like a sack of wheat, and gets the breath knocked out of him. “You… you said - ”

“‘You said, what do you want, how dare you talk through my donkey,’ wah wah wah,” says Kayne.

And Martin is suddenly not here.

He’s in the Panopticon, cheek stinging from flying debris, staring up at Jon who is so beautiful and so terrifying and so infuriating and -

I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me!

And Martin is horrified at the rage in his voice, at his fury toward his love, at his choking fear that by doing this, Jon might have lost himself, and  -

I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this!

And Jon looks at him and Martin sees Jon is still in there, and that is somehow worse because it means they’ll both have to go survive the consequences, and no one will be spared -

You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard!

“Stop, please stop!” Martin shouts.

“Hm?” says Kayne, looking up from apparently buffing his nails on his shirt. Then he hits with one more memory.

I knew that you couldn’t help yourself. You never could! I knew you’d lied to me, that you were going in alone!

Tears blur the world. Martin is on his knees, head down. His heart might have actually exploded.

“Lesson learned, muffin?” says Kayne.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. “Go fuck yourself,” he gasps.

“I could, muffin, but I don’t think this planet would survive.”

“Ugh.” Martin manages to stand. He’s shaky; feels like he’s going to throw up. Well, that didn’t accomplish anything, he thinks, and wonders if Anabelle would still think him spider-worthy if she’d seen this little train-wreck.

Kayne chuckles, low.

Somehow, Martin pulls himself onto the cart. His heart hurts so much that he can barely breathe around it.

Kayne leaps. Suddenly, he’s astride Pepper (who does not seem to care), backwards, facing Martin. “You know, though, I’m being unfair? It’s not really your fault I’m in a bad mood. I thought today was the end, after all.”

Martin stares at him. “The end?”

“Mmm, yep. I thought this was it. The end of life as-is, because of course Hastur was going to have his way. But then do you know what happened? Do you? Do you?”

The Fears aren’t here, and Martin knows. “He didn't give in.” Pride lifts his chin. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

“Martin. Martin, Martin, Martin. Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being - ”

“Did he give in before? Is that what happened? Is that why the whole story went swirling like vomit down the toilet bowl? Is it, Martin? Is it?”

Ah.

No. It was not what happened.

Jon hadn’t given in at all, and that was why it went wrong.

Kayne wants him to make the connection, to dig out his trauma, to plug together terrible currents that Martin strives to keep apart. 

But Martin already has done that. He even thought he’d come to terms with what happened.

He’d realized, finally, how depressed Jon had been. How the weight of the whole suffering world had landed on Jon so much harder than it had him, because while even the bits Martin saw were too damn much, Martin could look away.

Jon could never close his eyes.

Martin knows that if he’d listened more, heard what Jon was saying, really understood how low Jon was, he’d have better anticipated what happened.

But he hadn’t. And then Jon drowned in hopeless sorrow, and Jon lied, and Jon decided to end the world instead of waiting to figure it out together, and Martin understands why.

Understanding doesn’t really make it better.

Martin feels like he’s holding a beloved teacup, a thing he treasures above all else, and sees the crack running through it, and doesn’t know how to make it whole. “Look, we haven’t…” He hates how he sounds - small and wobbly and beaten. “We haven’t talked about it, all right? This isn’t how I want to process it, either.”

“Oh, yes, yes, because first it was about keeping him alive, and then it was about stealing eggs for survival, and then it just was in the past, and you moved on, and it’s all okay because nobody would ever talk about it again. I get it! So sad.”

Of all people, for Kayne to understand this so well was deeply unsettling.

Kayne smiles. “Do you know how often I’m wrong?”

“At least once,” Martin says.

Kayne laughs.

Pepper shifts; the laughter bothers her, too, so Martin feels a little less pathetic for hating it.

“I mean, it’s still a given - he will lose,” says Kayne.

“Now, wait a minute - “

“But things got a little complicated today, and I think he’s going to take a much longer time to do it than I thought. Which means this is going to draaaaag ooouut, and who wants that, right?”

“I don’t - ”

“It’s filler. I don’t want filler. Nobody wants to see Goku get his driver’s license. No one wants to watch the Ceaseless Watcher change in response to what your lover becomes. So that means we need a script doctor, you get me?”

Martin feels like ice water just splashed down his spine. “It’s changing?”

“Your beloved is basically immortal, you know. He doesn’t age. Unlike you.”

Was Kayne going to drop bombs with every sentence? “What? Wh… what?”

“So I was already feeling just so depressed at how long this was all going to take, and how ugly it was going to get - but then Hastur cheated.” And the delight that stretches Kayne’s face now makes it anything but ordinary, anything but just some guy, anything but sane and human and recognizable, like some horrible ancient mask of clay being pulled by many hands.

Martin leans back, breathing quickly. He can’t look away. He dearly wants to look away.

“He cheated, so I get an advantage, because that’s the deal.”

Martin knows Kayne wants to be asked. “Ad… advantage?”

In that split second, Kayne is off the mule and into the cart, face an inch from his own.

Martin scrambles sideways and nearly falls off.

Kayne catches him. Suspends him, really, gripping his shirt in one hand like Martin weighs nothing, holding him horizontally over the ground.

Martin freezes.

“I’m sending you that cheat,” says Kayne again, “and you’re going to play from there and make it all interesting for me again. Oh, oh, and since you’ll want a clue - ” He lifts, just a little, impossibly raising Martin’s hips off the seat, leverage meaning nothing. “He’s taken the Archivist to the Dreamlands.” And he lets go.

Martin falls onto the ground.

When he scrambles up, feeling bruised, Kayne is gone.

Pepper flicks her ears.

This was… this was a lot.

He leans against the wheel, trying to process.

So Jon’s not aging. The Beholding is changing. And there is so much Martin hasn’t dealt with.

So much he hasn’t said.

He should have said. Why hadn’t he said?

Because it felt like we had time, he thinks, and wipes his eyes. “I forgive you, Jon,” he whispers. “I already did forgive you. But oh, gods, it hurts.”

He should have said this to Jon’s face.

He hopes he’ll still have the chance.

This crack in the teacup, Martin is certain, can be fixed.

But it’s going to have to be repaired from both sides.

[darkwyverness]

Dreams Of The Wanderer

Outside the window, the sky appears cloudy and grey, but when I turn the pages of the book, I can leave this location and go somewhere else without using a vehicle. I was just able to slink under the cozy blanket and take in the traveler's lovely sight story.

I do hope to travel the world someday. a person, like Lara Croft or Indiana Jones, who makes an unexpected discovery. I really want to go kayaking on the river and be surrounded by nature. I also want to visit an abandoned tomb or some ruins, sit down, and then draw those structures. Inside the oldest library or a person's home, whose owner doesn't mind if I remove it, I might find the ancient script from the past. I might be able to merely scan it or take a picture if the owner never allowed me to take it or even buy it. The script will then be printed and read at home by me after that.

Aside from that, I do wish I could breathe while lying on the grass and enjoying the wind's breeze while being surrounded by the wild flowers that will soon be used to adorn my grave. Additionally, I wished to experience lovely moments with wonderful people in wonderful settings while listening to a fine symphony through my headphones. What a beautiful day!

However, if the Lord gave me the strength to engage in such extreme activities, I would have loved to have been able to fly from the summit of the mountain, participate in a flying fox, go horseback riding while lost in the woods, hunt deer with a bow and arrow, make my own weapon, carry a large satchel on my back, and pack all of my art supplies and a journal. Even if it wasn't an artistic style like my own, the polaroid would be my closest friend if it was too heavy to bring many resources.

But above all, I want the courage to handle everything on my own. Even though I always fail and make mistakes, I do attempt to be autonomous because living is a journey.

They say that life is short. And they were indeed correct. Not here is bliss. Earth is this. Earth is the place where people like us discover information, pursue their lives' goals, and take a seat to briefly pray to God. Like before, I have to live by remembering my God. Without, I doubt I could move about or survive. And perhaps God had a purpose in bringing me here.

God wanted me to learn something, therefore I rationalize that there are many things out there for me to learn. God also wanted me to experience emotion. There is a message concealed within the poem, the truth behind the historical account, and a remake moment from the storyteller who wants me to experience the same emotions as they did and to have a heart-to-heart dialogue with someone who is searching for the same thing I am. Even yet, I gradually became someone who desired exploration.

I wander alone since I'm a loner. A historian who visits various monuments. an artist who moves about from place to place. a generous poet who enjoys hearing from others. An introverted writer who draws inspiration for their stories from their observations of the world around them. an individual who seeks education, joy, inspiration, and goodwill.

Unfortunately, I might hurt myself if I try to accomplish this alone. Eventually, many people had previously warned me about how risky being by myself was. How risky it is to be alone anywhere—in the movies, in the lobby, among people, on a pitch-black road at night, etc. The most depressing truth was that no one else enjoyed what I did. Instead, they advise me to follow their preferences so I can join their group. That, however, is the falsehood. Lying to myself that I’m okay doing what people like. They happy if I was helping them but no one knows how to make me happy as always beside making a cliché jokes or silly things around. The things are I never happy around the people because I lie to myself again.

During the time that all of my wishes came true, I was roaming. Perhaps if I took a step by going somewhere by myself, they would be satisfied with what I had done. When will I accomplish it, though? I have how many budgets? What are the possibilities for this life?

No response.

And everyone will keep critiquing my concepts and aspirations.

Maybe on another day, when I had sufficient financial, intellectual, and physical fortitude to move on my own far from this prison. For that reason, I hold onto this item for so long that I lose track of who I really am. I read here while hiding under the blanket. painting while seated at a table or on the floor. laying on the bed, thinking while listening. Next, I write. As I sleep, I record what I witnessed in my dream. I had a dream that I was around the world and flying foxing to abandoned buildings. Without knowing that, I'm not sure where I am.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wed[nesday] 15 May 1833

8 5/..

11 3/4

P

L

rain for ab[ou]t an h[ou]r till 9 - found very gentle signs of my cousin an hour preparing

two napkins etc  put one on between three and four in the afternoon F[ahrenheit] 56° at 10 1/4 at w[hi]ch h[ou]r br[eak]f[a]st -

skim[me]d ov[e]r the courier - dawd[le]d away the morn[in]g as us[ua]l - saunt[ere]d out a lit[tle] ab[ou]t 1 alone and read[in]g a few of Volt[aire]s let[ter]s vol[ume] 2

Eliz[abe]th Dalton left us ab[ou]t 2 - so[me]ti[me] d[o]wnst[ai]rs and th[e]n w[i]th IN- [Isabella Norcliffe] in h[e]r r[oo]m and th[e]n co[me] to my own

bef[ore] 4, and wr[ote] out Mon[day] yest[erday] and so far of today till 4 1/2 - the parc[e]l arriv[e]d th[i]s morn[in]g fr[om] Shibd[e]n

forward[e]d fr[om] Edin[burgh] - sm[all] pap[e]r box cont[ainin]g 2 p[ai]r woollen kneecaps and 1 p[ai]r d[itt]o socks fr[om] Miss

Walker (knitt[e]d for me by her) and no[te] fr[om] h[e]r dat[e]d ‘Udale 2 Ap[ril] 24th 1833’ - she seems no better

in mind and surely there neither is nor perhaps out to be any prospect of our being toge

ther tho’ I shall of course expect some answer to my letter to her this day week from York -

Miss W- [Walker] begs to hear fr[om] me bef[ore] my leav[in]g Eng[lan]d ‘when do you leave Eng[lan]d? where are you go[in]g fr[om]

‘Paris? w[i]th wh[o]m do you cross the channel? - I can[no]t tell you an[y]th[in]g really fav[oura]ble of my own mind,

‘I am gett[in]g qui[te] stout, b[u]t I feel th[a]t I am n[o]t improv[in]g in health of mind, and evils seem to increase up[on]

‘me, I ha[ve] n[o]t yet been ab[le] to form one resolut[io]n as to my ret[ur]n ho[me] tho’ my a[un]t says she wishes it

but I dread the idea of returning to greater evil  all your predictions  or I ought to say your warnings

appear to have been realized in me and I get deeper in the mire every day if you saw me now I am sure you

would say I was changed and you would observe it with regret and I begin to fear that my hopes of meeting

you again renewed in heart and body to which I have hitherto faintly clung will never be fulfilled

my sister and Captain Sutherland beg me to say everything that is kind from them with their very kinds regards  accept all that friendship can

offer from myself  pray let me hear from you for I shall not forget you and whatever befalls

me you will hear of either from myself or your aunt  thro’ her at least I can gain intelligence

of you ever believe me yours faithfully and affectionately Ann Walker - dress[e]d - din[ner] at 5 1/4

made notes fr[om] Norc[liffe]s’ tour - upst[ai]rs at 10 50/.. - F[ahrenheit] 67° at 11 3/4 p.m. - an h[ou]r’s r[ai]n till 9 a.m. th[e]n fine

till ev[enin]g - rainy, windy night -

[pteropods]

Hello Dear, I hope you get my message while you're fine.🙏

I'm Ola, a graduate student from the faculty of science at Al-Azhar university Gaza, Palestine. I'm a dedicated and passionate student, striving to become a good researcher and teacher.

Unexpectedly, After October 7th, my life took a drastic turn with the commencement of the cruel war on Gaza, transforming me from a passionate student to a person struggling for survival. 🥺

I have created a campaign to help my family rebuild their lives and get the basic needs of food, drink, etc in these cruel conditions. And also it will help me to complete my education.

All of what I am asking of you is your support, you can support us by making a reblog of the pinned post on my page or by writing a post about my compaign, it would provide invaluable assistance in reaching more potential supporters and I would very grateful if you share the campaign link with your friends and family via mail or other social networking sites.❤️

I sincerely wish if you can empathize with my dire situation and consider supporting us. Please be certain that any help gets us closer to our goal and no matter how small your donation might be, it will make a significant difference in my family's lives.

I would be very grateful if you could follow me to stay updated, as I will always need your help.💔

My compaign vetted by @90-ghost and @northgazaupdates and @el-shab-Hussien and @nabulsi's vetted list, line 205.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview#gid=0

Thanks in advance for your kindness and support. I am waiting for your response ❤️

This is my GFM link:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/empower-olas-pursuit-of-education-amid-crisis?qid=30ec4c502382b9962b96d698a687d9a8

Please donate and/or share with others 🥺🙏🇵🇸

Sincerely,

Ola

It pains me to hear everything you have gone through 💔 I pray you can get the funds you need quickly. And I hope you can soon return to a normal life of research and education. I will share your fundraiser now

[bish-0-p]

Hello Dear, I hope you get my message while you're fine.🙏

I'm Ola, a graduate student from the faculty of science at Al-Azhar university Gaza, Palestine. I'm a dedicated and passionate student, striving to become a good researcher and teacher.

Unexpectedly, After October 7th, my life took a drastic turn with the commencement of the cruel war on Gaza, transforming me from a passionate student to a person struggling for survival. 🥺

I have created a campaign to help my family rebuild their lives and get the basic needs of food, drink, etc in these cruel conditions. And also it will help me to complete my education.

All of what I am asking of you is a reblog of the pinned post on my page and to donate if you can🙏🥺.

I sincerely wish if you can empathize with my dire situation and consider supporting us. Please be certain that any help gets us closer to our goal and no matter how small your donation might be, it will make a significant difference in my family's lives.

I would be very grateful if you could follow me to stay updated, as I will always need your help.💔

My compaign vetted by @90-ghost and @northgazaupdates and @el-shab-Hussien and @nabulsi's vetted list, line 205.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview#gid=0

Thanks in advance for your kindness and support. I am waiting for your response ❤️

This is my GFM link:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/empower-olas-pursuit-of-education-amid-crisis?qid=30ec4c502382b9962b96d698a687d9a8

Please donate and/or share with others 🥺🙏🇵🇸

Sincerely,

Ola

hi ola, i am so sorry to hear about everything that you've gone through in the past couple of months. i'll share your story, i'm praying for yours and your family's safety

this fundraiser is at $23,533/$50,000. let's get her to 24k!

[cheolism]

for me, i was always aware of kpop but no groups really caught my attention until mamamoo but i didn’t really follow up with them until i got into ateez and started finding about more groups

the testing went okay, there were news reporter at the place i was taking the test and was praying they won’t ask me about how it went cuz i’d probably bawl my eyes out. the results don’t come out until the 27th which is pretty nerve wrecking but i think it’ll be fine, after that (hopefully) the next time i send an ask i’ll be a uni student woohooo honestly why’d no one ever say about how hard it is to choose a major 😭😭 losing my mindddddd

HOW DO YOU DO IT

OMG!! i was wondering abt you!!! i'm happy to see you back !!! <3

i didn't really know abt kpop until 2016. i'm not sure if i even knew it existed?? that's so cool that ateez was your first group!!! what was your first comeback w them???

and omg!! yay uni!!!!! i hope for positive results omg!!!!!! i wish i could tell you that there's no use in worrying because that won't help, but ik that's just a load of bullshit and you'll worry regardless lmao

i also applied to a uni!!! and i'll also reveal some of my backstory lmao so!! at 18 i chose a program that would open doors to a job that offered job security and good money and healthcare and all that jazz!!! but the program!! fucking made me extremely mentally ill. the time i started writing on tumblr was one of the darkest points in my life, and it was. very bad! i won't go into details!! but i tried to stay in the program because, at that point, i had put two years into it and i knew my family really wanted me to go through with it. i knew it was the best option for me and my skills.

but during july a few things happened. my grandpa fell and broke his hip and that like. idk? snapped something into me? and it made me realized i needed a job where i felt fulfilled as a person, where i was able to do the things that i love. so, without telling anyone in my family, i dropped out of my program and got with an advisor and made plans to switch into the liberal arts department and focus on getting an english diploma. i told my family everything after i had solidified the plans (don't do this!! i didn't do this on impulse. i did tons of research on the requirements for an english bachelors and the best way to do it and what everything i would need to do, etc. i don't do big steps impulsively, no matter what it seems like). and this spring i will be finishing up one half of my degree and come autumn i will be at uni beginning to do the second half of my english bachelors and getting a teaching certificate!!! i'll also probably try to do a minors in history.

all this being said: you don't know what you want to do. at 18 i went into the first program knowing i didn't want to do it but trying to bear it because it was the best path to try and get myself into a better financial and social standing than my parents. but it wasn't until literally four months ago? that i knew for sure that i couldn't do the program and i wanted to do something i loved.

i don't know how college works in your country!!!! and idk if you've already been going through college!! but i strongly recommend just getting the general things out of the way before you even think about worrying about what you want to do. through doing general coursework you can get an idea of what you like to do and what you're good at. i really believe in getting all the facts of something before you make a decision, and i recommend getting all the facts about who you are, what you like and what you love, before trying to commit to something that'll last a lifetime.

[xodaisiesxo]

day 19

i thought i should write down my feelings and emotions as it is everywhere. i thought i’m fine, i thought i’m ok, i thought i have accepted the break up - not 100% but at least a part of it. but i guess not. seoul was a distraction and now that i am back, i have to face my feelings and all these emotions of a heartbreak.

all i know is that, i miss him, a lot. everywhere here, reminds me of him. everything reminds me of him. there’s parts of us - everywhere. but as much as i dont want to be here, i cant do anything but to just be here. i wonder if he misses me too, i wonder if he has thoughts like “i used to go here with her, i have memories of her here”. i wonder if his heart is breaking like how mine is. i may seem happy online but i hope he knows i’m breaking inside. as much as i wish for his happiness, i hope he suffers the loss and regret for awhile, i wouldn’t want to be the only one suffering this heartbreak. yeah i would say we didn’t end our relationship in a bad manner, but it sucks because i know there was still love between us. i just wished he would have stayed and fight for us. i know i dont deserve someone who is unsure of me, someone who is unsure of us. i know i deserve better. but why cant that be him? why couldn’t he be better for me?

tell me how to move on to something better when all i ever wanted was him. for the whole of my teenage years and my twenties, i had him by my side. i guess ya i shouldn’t have relied on him or given him my all, but i guess that’s just me. when i love, i love unconditionally. i guess now its time to learn to love myself again and move on. but its easier said than done. i’m so close to msging him, asking him how is he doing, if he misses me, telling him i miss him. but i know i shouldn’t. i know that all i can do now is to pray, pray for the best of us. whether we do end up together again in the future or we just find our happiness separately. i know He has better plans for me, i have to trust. but sometimes its hard to trust and have faith when my heart is breaking and all i feel is pain.

but girl, pls remember that the only one who can heal you is Him. the one who can heal your broken heart, is Him. you dont live for M or anyone else. you live for yourself & Him. i hope you find new things you love, i hope you find all the distraction you need, i hope you continue to be better at work, i hope you continue to grow and learn more about yourself. and most importantly, i hope you find the true happiness and true love within yourself. its okay to miss M, it’s okay to miss him and what you had with him, its okay to wonder how is he. it’s okay to take the time to cry and dwell in your sadness - but always get back up after. i hope you dont overthink too much too because its not healthy for your mind. dont stress on “what is he doing today?” “what is his plans today?” “is he messaging another girl?” “is he happy?” “why never watch my story?” etc - just dont. dont constantly check up on him - will it do you good? it won’t. but u know what? i hope he has these thoughts too. just think, maybe whatever you’re thinking or feeling, he feels it too or maybe not, well we will never know.

dont think too much of the future or what will happen in the next few months/years. the future is so uncertain so dont overthink that. let’s live in the present & continue to do better now. please be kinder to yourself and your heart. dont overthink too much & please continue to live and be happy - for yourself. it will hurt, it will take time to heal, it won’t be easy. but you will get better. <3

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request an imagine where a victim “escapes” from the slashers and hurts s/o in the process. What would the slashers do during and after? Thank you!!

Hi! I wasn't sure which slashers you wanted for this, so I put my list into a randomizer and went with the first 5!

Walter Sullivan

Thomas Hewitt

Jason Voorhees

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Erik ("The Phantom")

SLASHERS WHOSE VICTIM HURTS THEIR S/O

cw: mentions of suicide, reader being injured/in mortal peril, mentions of torture and killing etc etc

--

Walter Sullivan

Oh no. Oh dear.

You are possibly the only good, pure thing in this world or the Otherworld and someone hurt you? Walter is ... not happy, to put it lightly. The only person who should ever hurt you is him, and he won't do that unless it's for your own good.

This only enforces his belief that the world and everyone in it are monstrous. It drives home the truth he's already convinced of - this existence in terrible and torturous and needs to be destroyed if anything holy is ever going to be allowed to blossom again.

Whether The Victim is pre- or post- Walter's suicide, he's already stopping at nothing to go after them. He doesn't view it as personal, he doesn't hold any particular hatred for most (most) of his victims; they're simply links in a chain. But this person, the one who hurt you ... it's personal. They'll die in absolute agony.

If the victim in question is pre-suicide, Walter will bring them down and find somewhere to keep them for later. This will not be a quick death.

While they're bound/gagged or knocked out, he'll check on you. You're special, possibly even the Mother Reborn, and he can't let you die until the time is right. If you're seriously injured, he'll see to it that you're taken to the hospital, and pray to a dead God if he has to that you'll be alright. If you're not seriously injured, he'll do his best to patch you up - he lived on the streets for many years and had to take care of himself, so he knows basic first aid.

Once he's certain you're safe, he will put you somewhere where you won't witness what he's about to do. Even if you want to see it, he'll insist you stay hidden, saying the sinner doesn't deserve to be in your presence. You'll have to really convince him if for some reason you want to watch.

Their torture will depend on what they did to you. If it was just a few scrapes and cuts, he'll let them feel every ounce of pain before they die. If they really hurt you, their torture will be prolonged. In his mind, and according to his religion, death is a sacred sacrament, and this evil being doesn't deserve its release. If they did something to seriously traumatize and/or sully you ... the crime scene he leaves behind is going to be grisly, to put it lightly.

If the victim in question is post-suicide, the results will be similar, but he has absolute control over the Otherworld - and he will utilize that. He will have his creations take care of you and keep you somewhere safe ... they may be terrifying, but they won't hurt you unless he wills it. As for the victim, he can twist them into their worst nightmares over and over again before killing them. He will make them see their wrongdoings and pay for their evil. They will beg for mercy and there will be none.

After it all, he will simply move onto the next one, with you somewhere safe ... until it's time. Until it's time. You are so perfect.

Thomas Hewitt

Dammit. If he'd just been quicker or smarter, he could have caught them before they escaped and hurt you. He immediately blames himself.

There's no time to beat himself up over it, though. He briefly checks to make sure you're not bleeding from anywhere vital and sends you (or locks you up) somewhere safe before going after the victim. You're on your own for first aid for now - unless you're literally dying, he can't let them leave the property.

If you are literally dying, he's staying and doing all he can to help you. But if Hoyt yells, he may have to pawn you off on someone else and hope they do a good job taking care of you. He'll hold your face and give you tender kisses goodbye - whether you want them or not - because this might be the last time he ever sees you.

He chases the victim in a fever, much more erratic than you would expect from him. He's faster, less careful, more inclined to put himself at risk just to get a swing in at them. It's not generally anything personal when he kills someone - it's something he does for the good of his family, and because he was told to. This one he's not interested in saving for meat. They hurt you. You, his special person. He's going to grind them into the mud, and he's not even going to let Hoyt have a go at them.

Sometimes, sometimes, he struggles to see the animals in his victims. But this one ... he doesn't even feel the urge to twist them into an animal. That's a whole human, an evil one, one he wants to kill. It's a different feeling for him.

Once it's all over and everything's calmed down, he's rushing directly to your side. People don't come around all too often, so he's comfortable putting down the chainsaw for now. He neglects any skin projects he planned and lets someone else do the butchering, focusing on taking care of you, especially if you're seriously injured and put up in bed.

If you're not as seriously injured and tell him you're fine, he's still keeping an eye on you ... and making sure you're well-fed. You've been through a lot and it was all his fault. He doesn't want you to be exposed like that again. Next time someone comes around, he'll insist you hide somewhere.

Jason Voorhees

It's a toss up whether or not he'll actually notice you're hurt. Not because he doesn't care or anything, but because Camp Crystal Lake is a lot of ground to cover and there's a low chance he'll be in the same area as you at any given time.

For this imagine, though, let's assume you've found your way to him or he's sensed you're in trouble and has rushed to you.

You were supposed to be safe in the cabin, so he's a little irritated that you wandered out, but that's completely overshadowed when he realizes you're hurt. He stops everything he's doing and clinically and thoroughly pats you down, identifying every solitary injury.

Just like his mother before him, he is a vengeful soul, so he is not letting this go even if you're just scraped or bruised. If you are critically injured, he'll at least get you to the cabin and get a tourniquet on you.

Otherwise, he leaves you behind. Not very mindful, but you should know that he wants you to get back to the cabin or at least stay out of the way. He is no longer thinking of you - he has established his target and knows what he has to do. He's laser focused and decisive as he stalks after them, using anything at his disposal to get to them.

Their death is quick - he doesn't play around - but he has a lingering sense of irony and playfulness. If there's a particularly interesting weapon nearby, he'll take them out with that; or perhaps he'll hurt them in the way they hurt you, just, you know ... more fatal. And a lot gorier.

After that, he'll move onto their friends, until every last one is dead. Once his objective is completed, he is returning to you directly and finishing the job of patching you up.

He can't help but feel a little guilty that you were hurt. You shouldn't have left the cabin, true, but perhaps he should have been watching for you. He should have locked you up. Pamela might say rude things in his head. Then again, she might comfort him. If she doesn't like you, maybe she'll even wish he'd left you to die.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Well ... you usually keep him around to scare off other Ghostfaces - something he's very handy at - but you don't usually run into trouble with his victims.

He doesn't really tell you to go anywhere in particular when he's killing. He knows you can take care of yourself. But now he feels stupid for not having a backup plan. Of course some asshole was gonna eventually identify you as his loved one and try to get cute. He should've had something prepared for that.

But, if he's good at anything, it's improvising. He skids into whatever room you're in, drops his weapon, and pulls his mask off right away to check you over. If you're only mildly injured, he's visibly relieved, and tells you to stay put while he deals with whomever hurt you. If you're more seriously injured, he'll grab your phone and shove it in your hand. "Get in the car, get the fuck out of here. Drive to the emergency room if you have to, just leave."

If you're unable to drive, he'll make you call emergency services - or call them for you, if he has to. The game is over, he's done playing; this isn't fun if he's not winning. Everyone in this place is gonna be dead and he'll be long gone by the time the ambulance shows up for you.

The one who hurt you is going to get an extra special surprise. A particularly grisly death, and a bunch of selfies/short videos of Ghostface with the corpse - taken with the victim's own phone, posted to their instagram, tiktok, facebook, sent to any discord groups, and any other social media they have. If he has the time, he'll even make them in meme formats (definitely posting with meme captions, the fucking troll). He'll probably send a copy to you as a "hey, look what I did!"

If there are survivors, especially if that survivor is the one who hurt you, you better believe he is immediately doxxing them. Since he's had a little time to cool down, he might even play the long game, maybe catfishing and blackmailing them. Ruining their pathetic little life even further would be pretty fun. In the end, though, they'll die like all the others.

When all is said and done, he's going to be there for you, helping you recover any way he can. He'd suggest rest (for an amount of time relative to your injury), some movies and candy, maybe some video games. And time spent with your favorite Ghostface, of course, right?

He'll never forget what happened, though. Even though the person is dead, he'll be stewing and pissed off about it for a long, long time. And he won't let something like that happen again, or at least, not without a contingency plan in place.

The hash mark/tally mark he stitches into his costume to symbolize this kill is gonna be twice as long and large as the others, maybe in the place you got hurt as a reminder.

Erik

You already know what's about to happen.

If anyone so much as hurts your feelings they're getting menaced and receiving a strongly worded letter - actually physically harming you? That's suicide.

If he can't immediately kill this person, or if you're seriously injured, his primary objective is helping/comforting you. He has to push down a lot of wrath to do it ... every instinct tells him to immediately dispatch the fiend responsible ... but you are more important to him than anything in this world, even revenge. He will administer any first aid you need and may even drug you with ether to ensure you rest.

Don't think that means your attacker is off the hook, though. As soon as he decides you're well enough, he will put you somewhere safe - lock you away if he has to - and kill them. His preferred method is the Punjab lasso, but if they did something particularly egregious, he'll knock them out and take them to his torture chamber. They have a lesson to learn before they go to Hades.

Another option is, like Deacon, playing the long game ... playing with his food, stalking them, making them live in fear before they die. But he has a lot of wrath in that skinny little body, so it's a toss up as to whether or not he'll actually be able to follow through with that for very long. It depends on his mood, really!

He will keep the killing and torture hidden from you, of course ... unless you express an interest in seeing the vengeance being carried out. He would be worried for you, however, and advise against it. Those sights are not for the faint of heart, and certainly not for someone as beautiful and good as you.

Once all is said and done, it's as if it never happened. As if that person never existed! What a happy thought! Sometimes you even think Erik has completely forgotten the incident ... until he's stalking another victim and he locks you away again, and you remember you are always on his mind. He will never, never let that happen to you again.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hey! I love your meta’s, a little while ago you talked about The Order of the Phoenix as an organization could you talk about the Death Eaters?

The post anon is referencing.

TL;DR the Order is incompetently hilarious and Dumbledore is a man who trusts no one.

Oh, the Death Eaters, what to say about the Death Eaters...

In a World Without Voldemort, They'd Probably Be Arsonists

One of the things JKR implies in the series, and something fandom seems to take for granted, is that Tom Riddle is the ultimate corrupting influence.

Were it not for him, the Wizarding World would be a much better place, and people like Bellatrix LeStrange would be productive members of society.

As soon as he is killed, even, by Harry, the good guys win, their problems all presumably solved, and Harry tells his son Albus Severus that it's totally fine if he's put into Slytherin.

I don't believe that though.

To me, it's not so much that Tom Riddle corrupted these people, but that he gave them an organized cause. The people themselves, oh, they were itching for a fight.

In a world without Tom I think they'd be a loosely, poorly organized, group (probably with Bellatrix as the ring leader) where they commit acts of domestic terrorism probably involving burning offensive shops to the ground or attacking muggleborns, halfbloods, and blood traitors.

Voldemort, to me, is designed to pander to them (and not the other way around).

The Death Eaters' Beginnings

So, first off, I think Tom's goals are not what he says they are. What he represents to his followers is exactly what they want to hear, wrapped in a grandiose theatric bow that they just love.

But how did this all start?

First, I don't believe in the Knights of Walpurgis. Instead I think Tom came relatively out of nowhere in the 70's uses parseltongue to prove his heritage as the Heir of Slytherin and thus of purer blood than any of them.

He throws these exciting rallies/parties that the rebellious, angsty, teenage heirs all go to. There he says everything they wanted to hear in the most eloquent manner they've ever heard, promises them the action that their fathers have never delivered, promises them a role in the glorious revolution and a place in history, and probably offers them mounds of cocaine.

All the Death Eaters we see, or the core of them, appear to be in this age range where they'd be in Hogwarts or just out of it when Voldemort came knocking. I can imagine they're all whipped up with excitement, YEAH LET'S BLOW UP THE MUDBLOODS and for some that's great, for others... things don't go the way they expected.

October 31, 1981: It All Falls Apart

Regulus famously steals Tom's horcrux. I imagine it wasn't so much that he learned the error of his ways but that he saw what Tom Riddle was really after: the destruction of his very society.

Lucius is riding high until October 31, 1981 and he sees the complete destruction of the entire Black family. Lucius' priorities greatly shift and as he grows older he prays Voldemort never returns. Unfortunately, Tom does, and he charges interest.

Bellatrix absolutely loses her mind, refuses to accept reality, and tries to torture the Longbottoms for information they do not possess. She is imprisoned in Azkaban and never truly recovers from this.

Snape ends up the cause of death for Lily Evans and must forever live with the guilt and be tied to her prophesied son. He also becomes Dumbledore's lackey forever, which ultimately gets him killed.

Point being, no one's having a good time. Some because they figure out being a Death Eater wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and others because they had the Voldemort rug pulled out from under their feet when Tom Riddle disappears.

Pettigrew flees and lives as the Weasley rat for nearly fifteen years.

They're left making a mad scramble as they try to pick up the pieces of their lives.

Canon Catches Up

More than ten years go by and then suddenly, in a muggle graveyard, the surviving Death Eaters discover that they are bound to Voldemort for the rest of their lives.

Death cannot stop this man and he has branded them: there's no escape.

Some are still enthusiastic supporters of the cause: Bellatrix is vindicated that her lord has returned, he rescues her from hell on earth, and everything's finally coming up Bella. Barty is similar in actively working for Voldemort's resurrection.

Lucius, meanwhile, lives in constant terror. Karkaroff desperately flees the country and hopes Tom will not find him. Snape, is in fact, Dumbledore's agent. Pettigrew only returned in utter desperation and has now cut off his own hand.

They're not the young men they were, some of them have families, to some of the past ten years have been utterly miserable. They have to watch as their children make the same damn mistakes they did, be sucked into this same hell hole, and there's nothing they can do about it.

There is a notable reluctance for the cause, and yet, they have to try with the same vigor or this madman will kill them all.

And it's all worthless anyway: come 1998, Voldemort dies again (perhaps for real this time, who knows, Harry Potter seems to think so for whatever reason) and then they are imprisoned for their acts as Death Eaters.

And they just laugh, because how badly Lucius wishes he could go back in time and tell his eighteen-year-old self, "YOU DUMB FUCK, LEAVE NOW!"

But Do They Learn Anything?

No.

Just because we see some of them regret being Death Eaters doesn't mean they regret their beliefs. Their beliefs were fine, even blowing up people here and there, a bit gauche but fine.

But maybe following Voldemort blindly was a bad idea.

Are They More Competent Than the Order?

No.

Tom Riddle is terrifyingly competent in that he infiltrates the government with ease, has spies everywhere, and all but proclaims himself minister one day and nobody blinks.

He gains the full support of most of the wizarding world's wealthiest and prestigious families.

But he doesn't actually give these people anything to do. Because there's nothing for them to do, with them, Tom's won. He owns the Wizengamot, the Ministry, everything.

There's no need to fight. It's over, there never was a war. Society is primed to accept Tom Riddle as their ruler.

However, the likes of Bellatrix LeStrange thinks there's a glorious war on, so "uh, go out and blow up a few muggles, have fun." And the young Death Eaters (and the older ones), think they've committed this great, daring, brave, and very important act.

Tom only seems to hand out real assignments when in desperate straits or else when being particularly vindictive.

Lucius, after messing up with the diary, is told to retrieve a prophecy he is not allowed to touch in a department of the ministry he should have no access to. If he fails: Tom kills his entire family. When Lucius does fail, Tom assigns his son to assassinate an already dying Dumbledore. These aren't real tasks, though they do have the appearance of one, and consequences for failure.

Barty, Tom is forced to rely on, as he is trapped in this dying infant's body. And better Barty, someone who is truly loyal and seems fairly clever, than Peter Pettigrew who is a miserable scum bag who'd sell his grandmother for a bar of soap.

Barty, of course, fucks this up. Rather than just kidnap Harry Potter at any of the many easy points this could be done (Hogsmeade trip, lure Harry out to Hogsmeade with super secret serial information about Voldemort/Snape being a Death Eater, etc.), Barty is determined to make use of the Triwizard Tournament to destroy his father's legacy.

This means rather than a few weeks, it takes months to kidnap Harry, and even then they bring along an extra boy who then gets killed and provides some evidence that Tom Riddle has in fact returned. (Somebody murdered Cedric). It takes months and Barty actively ensuring Harry makes it through the tournament and does well, leaving open the possibility that he might get caught helping Harry cheat at any moment. And of course, Barty has to pretend to be Madeye Moody for months, keeping his man locked and drugged in his trunk.

Thankfully, Moody's such a paranoid wreck, no one even notices.

Quirrell, Tom is forced to rely on. Quirrell fucks up, though admittedly not as badly as Barty. Quirrell fails to steal the stone when it's in transit/in Gringotts. He fails to murder Harry Potter, an eleven year old boy in the world's most dangerous school. He rouses Snape's suspicion almost immediately. Then of course he doesn't get the stone. He at least gets to the room with the stone and nearly overpowers Harry and gets it had he not been mysteriously lit on fire by the power of love/Lily Evans.

The only one Tom ever really relies on by choice is Snape. Snape is charged with spying on Dumbledore and later running Hogwarts (which he fucks up).

There is only one competent man in Britain: Severus Snape. Which is, of course, why he's a double agent that Dumbledore and Tom both extensively rely on despite his being a double agent.

There's no one else.

Tom Riddle doesn't make use of the Death Eaters but given they prove themselves enthusiastically incompetent at every turn I don't blame him. Just pretend to give them something to do and hope it makes them feel important.

That's all I've got in general, you want anything else you'll have to ask for something more specific.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 30 November 1832

7 ¾

12 ¼

F45 ½° at 7 ¾ and fine November morning - message at 8 by James Miss Walker’s servant to say she was not well - sent him off for Mr Sunderland and desired him (James) to call on his return for a note - wrote 2 pages and 2 or 3 lines of ½ sheet (very kind note) under envelope to ‘Miss Walker Lightcliffe’ - said I had a person on business at 9 and one or 2 people to speak to that could not be with her till noon - otherwise should have been off to her immediately - she to tell Mr Sunderland to call here on his return I wished to see him myself - ‘Keep yourself as quiet and your mind as tranquil as you can and banish from your thought everything that is unpleasing - remember that the desert has its green spots, and that, in anger or in mercy, heaven never afflicts us beyond that we are able to bear - you have at least one comfort, if I may hope that I can be a comfort to you, to be assured of the affectionate interest and regard of yours very faithfully AL’ – went down to breakfast with my father at 9 ¼, found Mr. Mitchell (the landvaluer) just come – so saw him 1st and breakfasted with Marian at 9 ¾ - he advises me to be quiet about Godley, and thinks I shall get it last – but told him not to lose sight of it – I would give his valuation etc........ according to my note written but not sent (vid. line 5 et seq. of p. 304) asked the utmost I would sacrifice – said £500 which would make £2600 the utmost price I would give – but he thinks I shall get it for less – thinks Carr has in fact no chap for it but trusts to my writing it – told M- to value the 4 cottages at Godley for me as he told me they were on sale – said Holt had said I might have them for £200. told M- also to value the rent of Pickersgills’ farm for me, and gave him the plan [to take] home with him – this was led to by my walking of planting Bairstow – he said the best soil here was the red gravel under the top soil, and Bairstow ought to be trenched so as to turn that up – could be done at £3.10.0 an acre – he had 2 of the best fields of Ovenden, best because this gravel had been turned and the top soil buried under it – he had found this plant out by accident - Told Marian I was about

 SH:7/ML/E/15/0157

buying Godley, but Carr asked too much mentioned what – but charged her not to name it to my father he was so deaf, I dreaded people overhearing what was said - Note from Mr Jeremiah Rawson saying he thought he had almost persuaded his brother to let him take the 10 acres at £230.10.0 but they must have whole coal surface measure and all the coal - mentioned this - said I would send an answer by and by - I must explain differently from this - they want to smuggle both beds into the agreement which will not do - at Lidgate in ½ hour at 11 50  just after Mr Sunderland – saw him go in - went upstairs and staid while he was there (Miss W- in bed) - saw him afterwards - mentioned feeling anxious as having taken her over to Dr Belcombe - mentioned the medicines being made up in York because Miss W- never liked its being known that she was not well if she could help it etc etc said the fever she had this morning was an effect, not a cause and said I was persuaded she had some mental uneasiness - begged Mr S- to write to Dr Beclombe which he said he would do as soon as these little feverish symptoms were removed - just shewed Mr S- in to Miss Parkhill and went and sat by Miss W-‘s bedside till 2 when she got up   she had been fretting all yesterday and last night because she thought from my note of yesterday    that all was over and I had made up my mind to end the thing between us and she could not bear to part with me   could not think what she meant     it was that I had concluded with affectionately yours leaving out faithfully    she said if I had gone away she should never give up the hope of our coming together some time   she had never felt drawn so close to me since Tuesday and now thought that I could make her happy and had prayed for us to be happy together    I did not say much but asked why with these feelings she refused me   she owned she always thought she should refuse the man she might merely to try his affection    she asked if I would be her executor I neither said yes nor no but rather declined than otherwise     but said that all this seemed as if she really cared for me    oh yes she never knew before how much    in fact she does not like to give me up but said that she should sink when I went and nothing could raise her     she knew not what she would do but   would leave Lidgate and return here no more till she came to Cliff Hill    she could not bear to look at Shibden yesterday in passing     I behaved very kindly but did not press her to decide bade her think of it till the first of January  and we would go to York afterwards   she had doubted that I would go to York    said I would do all I could for her as long as I could     she said she should never have such confidence in anybody else she owned that Cliff Hill was no longer an obstacle    only wished to consult her sister      even her objection to going abroad was hardly alluded to     she seems getting attached to me said she had never felt for me as she did now    should have no confidence in Mr A- should not be happy with him     in fact now that I care less she cares more      I said I had made up my mind conditionally but pledged myself to nothing    said it was not my intention to make violent after what she said on Tuesday as to its being wrong     this objection she seems to have almost got over     I shall let the thing take its chance and think and care little about it    Miss Harriet Parkhill is all jealous and wrong and has done all the mischief as Miss W- owned   but she seems almost tired of her    she went out before 2 and staid away till 4    Miss W- thought she had gone to Brighouse taken a chaise and been off in a huff – In the walk from Lidgate at 4 ½  – sometime with John and Pickels and his son John who had got in 300 fine hollies from Tates’ 1st I have had from there – the 2 latter holing and John Booth planting in Lower brook Ing wood – home at 5 – near an hour musing and looking about in the library passage – dressed – dinner at 6 10 – wrote the last 29 lines -

 Once more give her till the first of January

 the following is my letter to π- written last night ‘Shibden Hall - Thursday Evening 29 November 1832. Somehow or other, my dearest Mary, your letter is a comfort to me, tho’ I know not whether it in reality contains much that is cheering - but I am better satisfied to be certified of your state of mind - I seem to understand it more clearly than I did before, and shall be reconciled by and by - I had moments of incredulity up to Tuesday evening when your letter reached me, but I shall have no more - I congratulate you on having made your will, and set all you care about in such order. I wish I could say as much for myself - I have, in fact, done nothing - but perhaps your example may have a good effect - I shall hope to see you at Leamington - what you say on the subject of coming here, is weighty, and tho’ you are really mistaken about Marian (for this is much less unhappy to see you than Mr L- is to see me) I will not urge the thing further - we must try to do at Leamington all I should have been glad to do here, fancying that we could have more quiet and leisure here than anywhere else. I cannot imagine why you are so bent upon thinking and believing, that I shall never live here long together - you have never seen my interest in the place decrease, even tho’ both you and I have lived to see the hope that cheered me on in early days blighted forever - you ask ‘what makes you so devoted to a foreign climate? Because, as I have said, I wished not to make myself a home in England, except at Shibden. However lovely the green Alp near Grenoble, it could not seem to me a resting place - I despair of getting to Naples in time this year - it is not a place for summer - whether lady V- will winter there or not, is now uncertain - But be this as it may, I am determined, when I do get off from here, to leave as little to call me back again, as possible - You almost persuade me to forget what I have longed for all my life, and to believe that I am better as I am than I should be if I had a companion. If I have not the pleasure, I shall not have the pain - and I shall certainly get rid of the Blue Devils which are by no means natural concomitants of a temperament like mine - you used to tell me what a happy temper I had - I know it is long ago, just so long ago as when disappointment came not from one particular quarter - Things were not as they used to be, when you told me the 3 most unhappy people you knew - but I am better than I was, and less deserve my place among your trio - I hope you will be agreeably surprised when you see me at L- I am out all day long in all weathers, and it does me good. I am much stronger than I was a few months ago and my spirit, tho’ bonding for long beneath the tyranny of disappointment, is really starting up again with something like its former elasticity - your last letter but  two (inadvertently, I see, on your part) touched a chord which can be made to vibrate still, but even this can no longer conjure up Blue Devils, as you shall see by and by - It will be good enough if after all, you spend the 3 years chiefly at Lawton - ‘For human weal heaven husbands all events’ - and you may have reason enough to be satisfied - you must tell me when we meet how you have settled things, and if it be possible for me to be of any use to you in any of your plans - you write as if you had some thought of sending Mariana to Miss Cornell’s - how is this? I hope, and trust your life will be longer spared than you seem to think or wish - It seems as if you had yet much good to do - as Snape is made the Rectory, I suppose there will be the choice you always talked of for the John Lawtons returning to it - Surely you were right to refused the other place - as to some people’s reasoning on any subject, how can you expect it? your life may be the shorter because you wish it so, and because, in this respect, you are more selfish than you used to be - why (you ask me) do you say ‘poor Louisa de Noé?’ you remember she is lame - I thought of this and of all her amiability and ‘poor’ was probably an epithet of tendresse - I am amusing myself here, and spending more money than is quite convenient to me just now, but I hope I shall get over it - It is certainly for the good of the estate, tho’ it does not add much to is beauty being all in the useful rather than the ornamental way - after all my trouble, there is little done that you would observe - I perpetually talk of getting off in January, but perhaps I shall not be able, for I have several things in hand not likely to be settled, and done

 SH:7/ML/E/15/0158

so soon - If I am detained longer, I shall put Eugenie on board wages - what do you advise me to do about a manservant? Do think about this for me - I should like to have a good, steady, enterprising English groom, who would take care of the carriage and do anything I wanted doing while abroad - if I had such a man to depend upon, I should do well enough for the rest - and this man of confidence might have the place he liked at home, and stay with me to my life’s end - Do pray give me your opinion - how is Grantham? I wish you would sometime or other net me another purse. God bless you, Mary! I have sometimes been not so good as you thought? but very often not so bad - it is probable that you have never appreciate me exactly as I deserved - Ever very especially and entirely yours. AL’ - had just written so far at 8 ¾ - then wrote 3 pages to Dr Beclombe - thanks for his letter received yesterday having sent for Mr Sunderland to Miss W- this morning - and that he will write to Dr B- as soon as he has removed the present feverish symptoms - and that I had said the fevershing was rather effect than cause - ask Steph to give me his own last prescription to tell me what Mr S- writes - said Mr Day was to be there at 12 tomorrow and I too - adding that when all trades fail I will set up for the cure of bodies and who knows that I may not rival my Lord Rochester of old - had advised Miss W- just to taste Mr S-‘s medicines (opening and febrifuge and then set it aside and take Steph’s) the whole letter rather in quizzing style like my last making very light Miss W-‘s complaints - went into the other room for near ½ hour and came back here at 10 ¼ - then till 11 20 writing copy of long  note to Mr. Parker respecting the culvert I want driving under the Lower brea branch road embankment etc. etc. and went up to my room – fine day – F46 ½° at midnight -

[currentlyprocrastinating]

707 | you deserve more

Summary: You're there for him -- always.

Genres/Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 578

Notes: This is my first contribution to @gureishi’s event! I plan to write more, hopefully I can follow through, haha. As you can see, 500 words is quite the challenge for me…

lol I’m usually the type of writer to include the prompt or fancy phrase, etc., into the actual work, but I couldn’t quite fit it in this time. Also, here’s hoping that the situation isn’t too confusing, haha 😅 It's unedited, so... ye

Anyways, enjoy! Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!! :D

EDIT: I FORGOT TO SAy, I don't own the original banner image, but I did do the editing n stuff. I tried to reverse-search(?) the image, but I only saw pinterest and related links.

Saeyoung’s voice sounded off from the start. Like he was attempting to put on a bright and enthusiastic front, but was too distracted to keep it in check. Anxiety edged his every word, and despite being separated by miles, the tension on his end seeped into the air around you.

You didn’t have to ask. You could easily guess. It was only the beginnings of the fourth month, after all. Saeran would need time. Both of you knew this, just as both of you knew it wouldn’t be easy for anyone – especially for the brothers.

Eventually, you forced yourself to cut off his half-focused (and eerily energetic) ramble about his newest project – and at the gentle call of his name, Saeyoung fell silent.

“I can tell something’s wrong,” you murmured.

He exhaled, and there was a faint rustling. You pictured him changing positions, or brushing his fingers through his messy hair. “Uhm…” You felt his hesitance, imagined his thoughts: to brush it off, or to give in.

“You don’t have to tell me right now,” you assured him. “Just know that… I’m always here for you, okay?”

A breathy chuckle. “You’re too good to me.”

“Nuh-uh. You deserve everything good.”

He tried to deny it, tried to encourage the playful mood (albeit, not for the sake of lightheartedness), but his voice broke and failed him. Suddenly, he found himself on the edge of tears. He spoke up, words shaking, halting – poorly hiding the heavy emotion beginning to emerge. “I’m— This last week…”

Saeyoung broke down, and your heart broke in turn. He strained against the floodgates at first, but at your encouragement, eventually gave in and allowed himself the cry he had probably needed for a while now.

“It’s up and down all the time,” he told you quietly, once the tears had subsided, leaving his voice raw and his heart exposed. “One moment he seems fine, and I feel like- like there’s hope. But- but then he’ll…” He said nothing more, but you knew what he meant.

“I wish there was more I could do,” you said, and you prayed that he knew you were sincere. “And it’s unrealistic, but I wish I could mend everything between the two of you within just a day.”

He chuckled, and you weren’t sure if it was half-bitter or simply weak. “Yeah, that would be awesome. My precious 606 to the rescue!” He laughed again – and it was short, but it was oh-so sweet.

You smiled, and found yourself giggling. “I’d rescue you from everything if I could.”

“Ah, you rescue me plenty,” Saeyoung murmured (his smile was audible). “Being here, talking with me… Listening to me. It’s- it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“Well, it’s only the least I could do for you,” you countered lightly. “Like I’ve said, you deserve all the best!”

There was silence, but you could somehow picture his smile. Then came a soft exhale; then came a soft promise: “I love you like crazy. I’ll always love you beyond what words can tell…”

For a moment, your head spun, and you couldn’t find your thoughts. But within the minute, you stammered out a timid, “You— I l- love you, too. So much…”

Again, you heard him chuckle quietly. “Can we stay like this? Just… here. Together. I keep missing your voice, your presence… I’m not ready to miss it more.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, heart fluttering. “I’m not ready to miss you, either.”

[gallickingun]

break the glass {in case of emergency} || t.s.

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto needs help, so he hires a nanny. More specifically, he hires you. 

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Shouto x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 21.2k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the definition of a labor of love. big thanks to @k-atsukidayo, @freckledoriya, and @lady-bakuhoe for keeping me sane. and super shoutout to my love @shoutogepi bc she’s been my hype lady! i hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations because wow has it been a wild ride ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Shouto’s feet are trudging through the proverbial thick of life.

His ankles twist the further he tries to advance, and with every step forward, another tragedy breaks the fragility of the glass box he now lives in. The etching begins at the center, spreading out into cracks like lightning, threatening to shatter what remains of the clear cage.

And yet, Shouto must put on the mask, he must pretend that everything is fine when in fact he really would rather crumble to the floor with his hands in his hair. There are nights when he presses his palms into his temples, wishing and praying that someone out there might be listening so they can help him to will away the painful throbbing between his eyes. He can’t whimper, can’t make a sound, because if he does, if he withdraws the curtain and allows the world to know how inundated he truly is, then it will all be for naught.

“Daddy?”

Shouto blinks harshly to bring himself out of the vortex of his trepid thoughts, “Hey, love, what are you doing awake?”

Her teetering body scrambles into the room, pawing at the bedsheets as a broken sob parts her lips and shakes her chest. Shouto leans down to tuck his hands under her armpits, jolting her upward so she’s pressed into his chest. Her small hands grip onto the skin of his pectorals, thin fingernails scraping at his flesh. Shouto winces, but cradles her around the back regardless, the warmth of her heated cheek on his collarbone alarming.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asks, soothing one of his hands through her hair while the other rests splayed against her back, dipping gently to try and ease her crying. She doesn’t answer, hiccupping cries making her whole body shake as she clutches onto him.

“Hey,” Shouto presses his lips to the crown of her head before coaxing her head backward. He tucks his thumb underneath her chin, “Talk to me.”

The little girl’s lower lip is wobbling, eyes doe-like and full of tears, thick white eyelashes dense with the little saltine droplets. She palms at Shouto’s face with one hand, seeming ancient when she whispers, “Why did they take mommy from me?”

And just like that, the glass box shatters.

Shouto feels the explosion, but maintains his composure regardless of the impact. Shards lodge into his throat and lungs, painful twinges jutting into his insides. His voice feels jagged when he speaks next, grating against his esophagus and tongue, “Sometimes the world just isn’t fair, love. I wish I had a better answer for you, but there’s not always a perfect explanation.”

Her bejeweled turquoise eyes behold him, thumbs against his mouth as she stares up at him. Glassy irises are blown wide by frightened pupils, “I miss her.”

She collapses back into him like a star shattering in the galaxy, explosive tears dripping down his chest as she tremors. The implosion of her life plays before him in the form of an empty half of the bed, a bare side of the bathroom, and a nightstand still left unembellished despite having been there for almost two years.

“I miss her too,” Shouto murmurs into the child’s silvery hair.

If he sheds a few silent tears of his own, she does not admonish him for it, instead laying quietly until her tears and shaking sobs have exhausted her tiny body. Her lips part and she begins to drool into the pocket of his collarbone, hands twitching against his chest.

A gentle melody vibrates Shouto’s lungs as he rolls himself to the side, carefully displacing her from his body to the empty half of the bed. The toddler grabs for him as soon as the warmth of his body disappears, and Shouto focuses all of his energy into regulating the warmth of his left side. He brushes his thumb over her cheek, pushing her silken hair from her mouth so it does not stick with her drool.

He chuckles, tucking her locks behind her ear, cupping her cheek with his warm palm, “Good night, Hana.”

The only acknowledgement he receives is a gentle snore that flares her nostrils and expands her chest, small body only looking tinier in the large expanse of the king-sized bed. Shouto lies there in wonder, his heated hand keeping in contact with her body until she halts her shivering.

How did I get so lucky? He thinks to himself, the threat of tears pressing intensely against the backs of his eyelids. He can’t close them, though, because he’s afraid he might miss a moment of his daughter’s sorrow.

Shouto leans forward to press a kiss to her furrowed brow, the familiar weight of his lips on her head giving her the comfort she needs to release the tension in her sleep. Her expression mellows, the crinkles in her forehead smoothing until she looks something akin to peaceful, ethereal.

The last thing Shouto sees before his mind succumbs to the lure of unconsciousness is her silvery hair glistening in the moonlight of the bedroom, her tiny palm wrapped around his index finger, clutching on like he were her lifeline.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I can handle this on my own.”

“This isn’t just another assignment. This is your daughter, Shouto.”

His nostrils flare, “Yeah, and?”

Fuyumi rolls her eyes, containing herself by taking a deep breath through the nose. Shouto’s eyes wander as Hana teeters around the kitchen with a few crayons and a plush rabbit.

“There’s no reason to keep yourself from admitting you need help, Shouto,” Fuyumi grits her teeth and attempts to appear somehow cheerful, even if just for Hana’s sake. She flexes her jaw, “This is an insanely large house, brother. You could use the extra hands.”

Shouto narrows his eyes, the scar over his left side appearing even more intimidating when his expression shifts, “You’re not moving in here, ‘Umi. I’ll figure something else out.”

His sister runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head as she turns her attention to the toddler bobbing her head to an invisible jukebox as she colors another page in her book. Fuyumi licks her lips, “Listen, will you at least call her? She’s great with kids, and she’s between jobs right now. It could at least turn into a short-term benefit for the both of you.”

After a moment of aggressive silence, Shouto nods. He decides, internally, that his agreement is purely out of the recognition that it will force his sister to let the topic rest.

“I’ll call her.”

“Thank you,” Fuyumi’s chest deflates, releasing a pent-up breath she had been holding in unexpectedly. She sifts her fingers through Hana’s hair, thumbing at her ear gingerly, “I know you hate that I loom over you like another mother, but I just want to make sure that you’re both taken care of.”

Shouto’s expression softens, eyes turning from jeweled beads to something more pliable. His chest tightens at her admission, the reality of their situation doing nothing to lighten the burden on his shoulders. He takes a step towards his sister, praying she can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks, “I’ll be okay, ‘Umi. I promise.”

Fuyumi allows herself a moment to take in the sight of Shouto’s twenty-one month old child, watching as she scribbles her crayons onto the coloring book in front of her with as much precision as she can muster. A somber smile tugs on her lips and she sighs, closing her eyes as she readjusts her glasses, “I just worry about you, is all. Taking over a large agency is a lot of work, especially with the added pressure of being a good father.”

“I will be a good father,” Shouto is quick to refute her lofty accusations, the intensity of his voice causing Hana to turn her attention from her book to her father. He narrows his eyes at his sister, “I won’t turn out like dad.”

Holding her hands up in mock-surrender, Fuyumi takes a step back, “I know, Shouto. Trust me, I know.” Her eyes are wide and Shouto feels fear grip his spine like a cold shadow, curling up into him and suffocating his throat. He wants to gasp but he cannot show weakness, not now. Fuyumi inhales a short breath, “You’re the furthest thing from our father. Which is why I think you should seriously consider reaching out, getting another pair of hands on deck.”

Shouto considers her, tilting his head. The implications that his ability at caring for his daughter makes his chest constrict, heart aching in a way he’s never felt before. His eyes dart downward, catching on the silver hair of his child as she sits on the floor, grubby hands gripping at crayons while she smears color all over the pages of her book.

“I’ll call her,” he repeats his words from earlier. “I will.”

Fuyumi reaches out to take her brother into a hug, breathing her peaceful nature onto him like a ghost begging to infiltrate his body. Shouto takes a long drag, lips parted when he wraps his arms around his sister’s smaller frame.

As his sister is leaving, Hana’s eyes focus on the door. Todoroki can’t help himself wonder for a moment if she believes that someone else might come walking back across the threshold, if only she were to look at just the perfect moment. The sun shines on Fuyumi’s figure, forcing a silhouette onto the floorboards of the entryway. If he were to squint the right way, it’s possible he could see her outline there, darkness shaped by the light.

Shouto must bite the inside of his cheek to keep his mind still.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Later that evening, when Shouto has his daughter resting in the crook of his arm, an educational children’s program playing on the television for background noise, he pulls his phone from his pocket to sift through text messages and emails. There are dozens of alerts to sort through, but the one thing his fingers keep returning to is the sight of your contact information in a message forwarded to him by his sister.

If you are every as bit as wonderful and kind as Fuyumi says you are, then Shouto is frightened of what you are capable of, based on your resume and photograph alone.

Not only do you have a stunning personality – caring, gentle, organized – but you have a beautiful outward appearance as well. Shouto notices the curve of your lips, the structure of your jaw and cheeks, and the way your eyes lilt upward at the camera.

The one thing Shouto hates the most about himself, the very being engrained within him to emulate, is that he was brought up worrying about these different kinds of things – the anatomy of a potential candidate.

It’s the Todoroki within him, the lurking presence of his father threatening to stifle his breathing, to suffocate him until Enji is the only glowing ember left in his charred, desolate soul. Shouto sits in the dark, the looming reality that he may very well end up exactly like his father forcing him to press the little green button at the bottom of the screen.

You pick up on the second ring, “Hello?”

“H-Hi there,” Shouto’s voice sticks in his throat.

A gentle laugh from the other end of the line makes his heart stop beating within the confines of his chest, “What can I do for you?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Shouto has never been so worried about the interior design of his house before.

He realizes suddenly that there are no photographs on the walls, no pictures hanging to tell the sad tale of his life story. The recognition of this little detail only further throws him into a darkness he knows he won’t ever be able to fully crawl out of. Every day he must fight this beast, this unseen presence that sits on his shoulders, forcing him to carry the burden. He’s never wanted to tell his life story, not with the way it played out, especially not now.

Abusive father. Hospitalized mother. Deceased wife.

When the doorbell rings, he pulls himself from his stupor to step forward into the foyer. Shouto takes a deep breath and curls his toes into the rug to ground his body as he turns the doorknob. It’s as if the door stands for something much weightier, a distance currently built between you and him, something he can control.

But when the heavy door gives way to the sunshine outside, your body casting an elongated shadow on the hardwood, Shouto’s ankles lock and his fingers still against metal.

“Todoroki Shouto?”

The sound of your voice, completely unadulterated from the natural static of a phone, makes Shouto’s head spin. He nods, swallowing so hard his throat bobs, “Yes, please come in.”

You kick your shoes off as soon as you step across the threshold, tucking them to the side near the other pairs of dress shoes and sneakers accompanied by little ballerina slip-ons and tiny formal shoes. He notices the way your eyes linger on the pink ballerina slippers that aren’t really shoes at all, more like glorified socks, and he has to hold back a chuckle.

Shouto raises his hand in a greeting, kicking the door closed with his ankle as he turns to face you, “Thank you for meeting me.”

“I appreciate you interviewing me,” you answer him, reaching forward to meet his handshake. You’re grinning when he makes eye contact with you, cheeks round with your smile. “I know that your schedule is very hectic.”

Shouto can’t think about it too much or it makes his brain throb within his skull. He grits his teeth, “Yes, my assistant was able to push out a few other unimportant meetings for this. I do apologize, but my daughter is currently with my sister. I thought it may be best for us to meet first and then decide if it will be a good fit before we introduce her into the situation.”

“I can respect that.” You smile, wrapping your arms around your waist as you stand in front of him. The surprising warmth from his hand sits with you, palm tingling even as it’s tucked between your body. A nervous laugh parts your lips as your feet shuffle, “I wouldn’t want to get too attached to her if you didn’t like me.”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes darting to his toes, “Oh, it’s not you I would be afraid of being incompatible. Hana can be very picky.”

Your thumbs dig into your biceps, rolling your lips together as you consider your reply. A soft padding forward of your feet on the dense rug makes little sound, but still breaks Todoroki’s gaze from the floor.

“You’d be surprised,” your left eye dropping in a wink. “I have quite the effect on people. Especially those who stand three feet and shorter.”

He is shocked to find himself grinning at your jesting remark, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he shuffles a step backward from you. You tilt your head, eyes washing over his tall frame, “I’ve been doing this a long time, Mr. Todoroki. Usually children are withdrawn from their caretakers because they fear we’re trying to replace someone more important in their lives.”

You are closer to him now as you stride across the tile. Todoroki feels his chest constrict when you speak, “I’m not here to be anything more than supplemental. You set the boundaries, Mr. Todoroki, and those are what I will abide by without a shadow of a doubt. I’m here to do as much or as little as you need of me.”

It takes him a moment to recuperate, faltering before he replies, “I appreciate that. I-I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t planning on it.”

Shouto notices the way you visibly shrink away from him, understanding the subliminal tones in his words. He holds a hand in the air, palm face-up, “No, that’s not, I just-”

A sigh parts his lips and he looks back down at his feet, but you’re careening forward to save the day before he can dig himself further into a hole he’s already drowning in. You chuckle, “I don’t think many people choose to have children only to set them into the hands of a nanny, Mr. Todoroki. You needed help, that much is clear, and I don’t blame you for reaching out. I think being able to push through your pride and do what is best for your child is not something you should be ashamed of.”

Oh yes, Todoroki thinks to himself with a smirk on his lips, hand outstretched towards you again, He’s going to like you just fine.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

You did not imagine your initial meeting with Todoroki Hana to go like this.

Shouto’s voice is mildly frantic on the other line, which is telling in it of itself. Even upon your first meeting, you knew that he was to be a mild-mannered, easy-going man. He does not seem to be a person who is easily upset by much, so the lilt in his voice is a clear indicator to his mood.

“It’s okay,” you try to remain calm in spite of his fear, praying that your clear head can help him to unwind. “I’m sure she’s fine, Mr. Todoroki. I’m already in the car, on the way to the daycare right now. I’ll go pick her up and call you as soon as I have my eyes on her.”

A breath is exhaled from the other end of the receiver, and you can imagine the way his chest deflates at your words. You smile to yourself, phone pressed to your ear as you drive down the highway, “It will only take me twenty minutes. Until then, try to keep yourself busy, okay?”

The two of you exchange pleasantries before you close your phone, slipping it back underneath your thigh before focusing on the road again. You were thankful that Shouto had already installed a car seat into back row, allowing you to go pick up Hana without having to do too much extra preparation.

Driving to the daycare facility takes eighteen minutes on one stretch of highway. You feel your palms sweat the entire way, recalling Todoroki’s words about Hana’s injuries she sustained on the playground not very long ago. The tremor in his voice sent a jolt down your spine, your bones rattling around in your body as you imagine the dozens of different cuts or gashes she might have on her body.

And then there’s the reality that this will be the first time you ever lay eyes on Todoroki Hana. It will be your reckoning day, the deciding moment of happenstance when she makes the choice of whether or not you are worthy of her acceptance.

You park and walk into the building, your eyes wavering over the entire intricate structure. It’s a formation of pillars and high roofing, accented with filigree of metal curved into beautiful shapes. The price point of this facility does not go over your head, given the marble pillars look genuine, smooth and rounded in all the right places. You run your fingertips over the cool stone as you walk to the thick, mahogany door. The doorknob is sparkling gold, as if someone polished it when they saw you park.

All the details wrapped into a pristine package ease your mind about the salary that Todoroki Shouto is paying you. Originally, you’d wanted to fight him on it, but you acquiesced into silence after taking note of his watch and the name brand of his suit jacket.

Your hand shoves at the front door, weighted and dense, and you step up to the front desk. Resting your forearms on the top of the divider, you smile down at her, “Hi, I’m here to pick up Todoroki Hana.”

It’s clear this woman has never seen you before by the way her eyes gawk over your appearance. You may not be dressed as pristinely as she might like, but you still look rather presentable, given the time restraints you were under to come pick up the young girl.

She tilts her head as if considering you like prey before grabbing up the phone on her desk, muttering a few words into the receiver. As she hangs up, she holds out a clipboard, “We’ll need a copy of your ID. Mr. Todoroki called ahead to let us know you’d be coming, but we’d just like confirmation. For Hana’s safety.”

It all makes sense, and is rather sound policy, but the curl of her lips when she says it forces a vat of acid into your stomach. You swallow your retort that is sitting on your tongue like a knife and gently take the board from her hand.

As you’re filling out the paperwork, the sound of little footsteps starts down the hallway. You tilt your head, pen stilled in your grip, awaiting what feels like your very own doomsday. This little almost two-year-old holds your fate in her tiny, grubby hands.

You stand and replace the clipboard onto the front desk, sliding your ID along with it. Turning your head, you await the arrival of your own two-foot-tall guillotine. You twist your hands together, knuckles wrung out white as you wait for Hana to approach the curve of the hallway and seal your fate. You know you should not be this anxious over a child who has just broken into real sneakers, but the rational part of you never wins out in these kinds of situations.

Todoroki Shouto is paying you something on the upside of expensive, offering you a generous starting bonus in addition to your typical pay so you could start working earlier than expected and still make your rent payments without worry. It would be a shame to lose that thick paycheck just because you could not win over a teetering toddler who probably babbles about princesses and the color purple most of the day.

“Hana, it looks like your-”

“Nanny,” you interject as you hear the voice echoing down the hall, attempting to avoid any confusion if possible. You brush your thighs free of any imaginary dust and crumbs so you can hide the shaking of your joints, “I work for Mr. Todoroki.”

When they finally round the corner, you stop breathing.

The little girl standing in front of you cannot be much over two feet tall, bright blue eyes shining as she drinks you in apprehensively. Her pupils shrink the closer she gets, bejeweled eyes swallowed by the inkiness. Her hands fidget at her sides while she stutter-steps towards you. The long locks of pale, silver hair reach midway down her back, the curled tips giving her an almost doll-like appearance with their perfection. Her full lips are drawn inward, tentative, much like her father.

And there, covering her right eye, a gauze bandage attempting to staunch and protect a wound.

You cannot help the way your eyes widen at the sight of her injured face, your hands ready to snag her up and race her to the nearest emergency room. Todoroki hadn’t told you the extent of her injuries, just that she had an accident on the playground, and someone needed to pick her up immediately.

“Hi Hana,” you squat down so you can appear to her at eye-level, an effort to put her at ease. “Your daddy heard you took a fall outside with your friends and he wanted me to come pick you up. Are you okay?”

She has obviously been crying, cheeks dark red and swollen, her visible eye puffy from tears. Your inner nature is telling you to reach out and comfort her, taking her by the hand and drawing her up into your arms to give her a gentle squeeze. But you know that there is a time and place and threshold for each form of affection, so you withdraw.

“How bad is it?” You turn your gaze upward, calves screaming as you shift your weight. You seek out the eyes of her teacher, trying to gauge your reaction based on her body language, “It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding too much now, and she’s rather calm. Was her eye directly injured?”

“No, it’s just around the orbital,” her teacher runs fingertips through Hana’s hair, “I don’t think she’ll need stitches, but she will definitely need this wound cleaned up by a professional. I know Mr. Todoroki has a nurse he usually calls.”

It’s as if these women are trying to suffocate you with their knowledge of Todoroki, almost like them knowing he has a nurse, or not knowing he’d hired you until today, would win them some sort of award or accolade. You try your best not to let your stomach turn at the sight of them, desperate and petty.

“Hana?”

She tilts her head up at you, another round of tears welling up in her eyelids. You wonder if it is from stress, pain, or a mixture of that and the uncomfortable feeling she can sense from the way you’re interacting with the daycare staff. She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her forearm, careful of her injured eye, “Y-Yes ma’am?”

So Shouto has taught her manners.

You attempt to keep your composure at the sound of her tinny, trepid voice echoing out the words that are normally rare for even full-grown adults to use. In reaching out your hand, you notice she does not shrink away from you, not this time, “I think we ought to go have that nurse of your dad’s check out your eye, what do you think?”

There is silence for a moment, genuine concern evident in her sparkling irises. She blinks quickly, like she is trying to figure you out before she makes her decision in response to your question. You don’t want to clue her in to the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s not really her choice to make – that plight between staying here and going somewhere else has been completely left up to you.

“You know,” you’re whispering now, dramatically hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand, pretending that that others standing around can’t hear you. “I think that I saw this cool ice cream shop on the way here. You think you could help me try a new flavor?”

This makes her eyes widen, pushing herself up on her tiptoes as she fails to contain her excitement at the suggestion of a sugary treat, “Wh-What flavor?”

You grin, warmth seeping into your chest as a giggle bubbles up in her throat, “I was thinking bubblegum, or maybe cotton candy?”

Hana’s nose scrunches at the suggestion, “No way!”

“Well,” you stand to your full height, hands on your hips as you pout, “what would you rather have then?”

She is full-on smiling now, cheeks drawn upward so her dimples can dip into her cheeks on either side, “I like mint w-with choco-chips in it!”

You hold your hand out again, praying that now, after divulging your favorite ice cream flavors, she won’t totally reject you. The last thing you want is for her to force your hand in making a decision to pick her up and take her out of the daycare.

Hana pushes herself up and down on her toes, biting her lip before bursting with a smile, “Y-You really mean it?! Ice cream?”

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug, wriggling your fingers as the other women watch on in amazement as your connection to the child. “I think you deserve it after that nasty fall you took.”

Bouncing towards you, Hana bobs into the air by pushing upward on the balls of her feet. She reaches out and snags your hand into her grip of her own accord, before beginning to tug you to the exit. She is babbling on about all of the ice cream flavors she’s tried, and what they taste like, and the last time she had ice cream was oh so long ago…

“See you later, ladies,” you wave over your shoulder, unable to hide the satisfied smirk making your mouth crooked, “I guess we’re going to get ice cream.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Hana knows how to buckle herself in, so she’s already clambering up into your car as soon as you have the door open. Her injury is completely forgotten as she bustles up into the seat, climbing in awkwardly before turning around to plop her backside into the curve of the cushions. Her fingers are frantic as she desperately tries to get the straps clicked together so you can be on your way to the nearest ice cream shop. You smile at her struggle, allowing her to settle with a pout before offering her your help.

“I-I can do it!” she insists, eyes misted. “I-I’m a big girl!”

“Oh, no doubt,” you shake your head in reassurance, pursing your lips as you hold your hands up in midair, palms facing her. “I’m just trying to help so we can get to our ice cream just a tad faster.”

Your reasoning seems to be sound, because Hana releases the offending buckle and puts her hands on either side of her car seat to give you enough room to maneuver and snap the contraption in place. Your hands make swift work of the buckles and straps, tightening them to the perfect spot on her chest and hips. She smiles up at you when you’re finished, expectant and excited.

It is strange, the intense desire to protect her that immediately washes over you at first sight. You have to stop yourself from rushing into allowing her between the cracks of your heart. You are frantic to seal them so you can let yourself down easy if this job ends up being as short-term as you’re worried of it becoming.

You pull away from her, face blank, and shut the door as Hana begins to fiddle with the remaining length of the straps around her body. Her fingers swirl around the black fabric and plastic, tugging and pulling, but not hard enough to adjust any of your hard work.

On your way to the parlor, you decide to call Shouto.

“Daddy!”

A relieved sigh sounds from the other end of the receiver, and you can’t help the warmth that blooms in your belly when you grin. Shouto coughs thickly, clearing his throat, “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay!” Hana twirls her fingers in midair, watching around like Todoroki may appear out of thin air like his voice echoing in the car. “We’re going to get ice cream!”

“Ice cream?” his voice sounds slightly judgmental, but you try to push it off and pretend it means nothing. You spare a glance over your shoulder, “Tell him what flavor you’re getting, Hana.”

You pull into the drive through window of the ice cream shop, listening as Hana babbles on about the different flavors you two talked about and whether she’ll get a cone or a cup. You put the car in park as the person in front of you orders, swiveling your hips so you can look her in the eye, “I was actually thinking about a milkshake. How does that sound?”

“Ooh,” her eyes grow wider, chubby little hands curling into fists in her lap. She’s practically buzzing at just the thought of it all, “That sounds like fun!”

You chuckle, hand on the gearshift, “Oh, I meant to ask, have you already scheduled the nurse to be at the house? I wasn’t sure if you’d rather it be someone personal to look after her, or if you’d want me to take her to a general hospital.”

“I’ll call Masuyo and have her meet you at the house.” Todoroki’s voice is muffled as he turns to speak with someone else in his office, hand over the receiver. You hear him cough, voice tense, “S-She’s okay, though. Right?”

“I think she’s a strong girl,” you make your voice confident, straightening your spine, “she’ll be fine once we get her cleaned up. Right, Hana?”

You spare one final look at the little girl in the backseat, all bright eyes and buzzing fingertips. She’s already shuddering off of pure energy, and you wonder if sugar was really the best route to go down for her comfort. Either way, she nods her head, enthusiastic about what’s to come next.

“Yes!” She leans forward in her seat, getting closer to his voice, “I can’t wait until you get home, daddy. We’ll play prince and princess, right?”

You can sense the hesitation on Todoroki’s end and your heart turns to granite in your chest. When he speaks, you feel the weight of it settle in your belly, throat tightening.

“I’m not sure, love. I’ll have to see. It’s very busy this afternoon.”

Hana allows her expression to fall for a mere moment. You honestly would not have caught the change in her demeanor if it weren’t for you studying her as Shouto uttered the words. Every bit of enthusiasm that was previously holding her cheeks high is drained. Her face pales and her lips turn downward in a frown, eyes dropped to her hands as she fiddles with her knuckles in her lap.

And yet, almost as soon as she falters, her smile returns, albeit not enough to light up her eyes as it did before. It’s like she is reconstructing a mask that she feels pressured to wear in order to keep her father satiated and undisturbed.

“Oh, that’s okay, daddy,” Hana’s voice is as cheerful as her little strong will can force it to be. She attempts to be dismissive as she waves her hands, despite Shouto unable to see her, “I played princess at school anyway.”

Your heart continues to crack as she says her final line, “I love you, Daddy.”

Shouto exhales, voice breathy when he repeats the sentiment, “I love you more.”

“I love you most.” Hana’s tone lilts then, a crack in her metaphorical armor at his affections despite his absence. She swipes at her face and you wonder if she was crying, because you certainly didn’t see any tears.

Your throat grows thick with emotion, making it difficult for you to tell him goodbye. You roll down your window and rattle off your order, trying to keep a close watch out of the corner of your eye to monitor Hana’s mood and expressions as the moments progress. You feel horrible for intruding on their very personal, private moment, and it only makes your heart wrench more when you see Hana’s glazed eyes unable to focus on one thing in particular. She’s docile, void of emotion as she stares out of the window, watching clouds pass as the world grows darker with the threat of a sunset on the horizon.

You settle the milkshakes into the front seat, finishing up at the drive through window before rolling forward into a vacant parking space. With your foot still on the break, you reach back to hand Hana the small milkshake cup with the straw already pushed through the opening on the lid, “There you go.”

She takes it from you gingerly, small palms wrapping around as much of the cup circumference as she possibly can. Her lips are pouted just enough that you wonder if she’ll take a sip at all. You busy yourself, pretending to clean up trash in the front seat and maneuver things around on the floorboards, waiting on her first drag from the ice cream cup.

But it never comes.

After five minutes of waiting, you press your hand to the passenger’s side headrest and look her in the eye – as much of her pupils that you can catch in spite of her hooded lids. Hana is still dazed, looking into her milkshake cup as if it might have the answers to all of her life’s confusing questions.

“Hana?” Your voice calls her from whatever lull she was in, eyes blinking slow as she connects back to this version of reality. A vague, “Yes?” is uttered from her lips, but she isn’t focused, not just yet. You brush your hand against the top of her knee, quick and gentle, and it does the trick. She blinks one final time before her pupils dilate back to their usual size, gaze settled clearly on your face.

“Did something upset you?” you ask, your hand wrung around the headrest again. “Or do you just not want your milkshake?”

“I dunno,” Hana admits quickly, eyes downturned once she realizes she’s let the emotion slip from her voice. It makes the edges of her words raw and ragged, “I guess I just don’ wan’ it anymore.”

You are persistent; your job is to make her happy and keep her safe, and right now with a milkshake melting in her lap, part of you feels like you’re failing.

“Was it what your dad said?” Your question is asked in a low tone, something you’re trying to use to convey that you are being patient and kind. You take a chance and rest your palm against the car seat armrest, close enough to make contact but not adjacent enough to infringe upon her personal space. You swallow thickly, taking a short breath, “About not being home to play?”

Hana is pinching the straw between her fingers, looking into the little opening as it closes with the squeeze of her fingers. You wonder if she does this often, with tangible objects. Does she ache to control something so much so that she becomes lost in the euphoria of it all?

She sighs, kicking her feet, “Daddy is just always working. It makes me sad sometimes.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, not really. If you had known her for longer, or met Todoroki some other way, you could likely refute her statement. However, there’s truth in what she’s saying, a vulnerability that you weren’t sure you would see from the child so soon.

When she speaks next, Hana reminds you of a full-grown woman, attempting to redirect the conversation from something personal to something vague, “What’id you get?”

Her voice sounds like an echo of her true self, nothing like the way her tone lilted when she first spoke with her father. There is a seemingly eerie mask she has perfected, something both audible and emotional. And it would appear she knows just how to slip it on and off when the time is right, despite her young age.

Then and there you choose to burden yourself with the purpose of breaking her out of her glass box of entrapment.

“I got cookie dough,” you say as you take an over-dramatic sip, crossing your eyes at the sensation of cool ice cream flowing down your throat, “What did you get?”

Her face scrunches inward, nose wrinkling at the bridge, “Y-You know what I got, don’ you? You ordered it for me!”

You make an exaggerated face of confusion, tilting your head backward and tapping your fingertip against your chin. “Hmm,” you nod, agreeing with her accusation, “I guess you’re right, huh?”

“You’re silly,” Hana giggles before going in for her first sip of her milkshake. Her eyes are narrowed downward at the cup, hands cradling it carefully as if it were the most important thing in the world and she might be in danger of spilling it at any moment. Her eyes are wide, doe-like in nature, as she comes up for air, “This is good!”

“Great,” you answer her, switching the gearshift back into drive so you can pull out of the parking lot and out onto the highway to head back to their house.

The remainder of the drive back to the Todoroki residence is spent in moderate silence, gentle music playing on the radio as Hana preoccupies herself with licking every last drop of her milkshake from the straw. She sucks the mint chocolate chip ice cream from her thumb and looks up at you when you park the car in the driveway, “We’re home?”

You unbuckle yourself from your seat and answer her, hopping down from the car to open her door. She’s already working at her buckles, undone the top half, but still struggling with the bottom. By the time you’ve gotten her undone from the chair, she trusts you enough to reach out her arms and ask for you to help her down to the ground so she does not have to clamber down and risk falling onto the concrete.

When the soles of her shoes hit the concrete, she’s reaching up for you, grabbing you around your fingertips to hold on as she walks. You squeeze her hand gently, fishing the keys out with one hand to unlock the door.

The nurse is already inside, set up on the couch. Hana runs straight to her, plopping herself unceremoniously down on the furniture, hand hovering over the patch as she talks with Masuyo about her ice cream experience from just moments ago.

You busy yourself with dinner, prepping meat and vegetables, as Masuyo starts to clean and treat Hana’s wound. It’s another thirty minutes before you start to sear meat on the stovetop when you hear the garage door rattle open unexpectedly. Todoroki shouldn’t be home until later this evening, he texted you after you’d been in line for ice cream to tell you as such.

And yet, when the door opens to reveal his familiar frame, you can’t help the way your jaw unhinges.

“You’re home early,” you mention, flipping the steak pieces in the pan to sear the other side. “Everything okay?”

Todoroki is stunned by how grossly domestic the sight of you in his kitchen is and he’s jarred back into his prior lifetime where he had the full family package. He blinks and takes a short breath, forcing himself away from the swirling blackhole of the past to smile at you, “Yes, well. I decided that my daughter’s health was more important than some paperwork. I had a few of the first-years handle it.”

That is how it starts. Your first day as the new nanny of the Todoroki household.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Are you sure you got the right color plates?”

“Yes.”

“And what about the cake?”

“Ordered it three weeks ago.”

“How about the-”

“Shouto.”

He turns to look you in the eyes, breath frantic, “What?”

You can’t help but laugh at the wide-eyed expression he wears, all of his emotions blatantly displayed on his face. You take a step toward him, reaching out to cup his elbow, “I’ve got it all handled, okay? Her birthday party isn’t for another week, Shouto. Are you ready for the zoo?”

Todoroki hesitates, gritting his teeth together so harshly that you can see the muscles in his jaw quiver. He turns his palm to press flat against your forearm, heterochromatic gaze seeking you out for some sort of comfort, “Did you need me to pack the bag?”

“No,” you chuckle, forcing yourself to remove your body from his grasp by walking back to the sink to finish up the load of dirty dishes you wanted to get into the wash before you left. You tilt your head to look across the bar at him, “We’re leaving in half an hour.”

Hana comes careening down the hallway, a doll in either hand, her pajamas still crooked on her body. She giggles, bouncing on the balls of her feet before launching herself forward to latch around Todoroki’s calf like an animal, “Daddy!”

Shouto bends at the waist to pluck her up, hands careful under her armpits when he tucks her into his side, “Yes, love, I’m going to the zoo. But it looks like you need a change of clothes.”

“I already laid some out on her dresser,” you pipe up from behind the sink, “but you’ll need to spray her down with sunscreen first, it’s not very cloudy outside today.”

As Shouto turns to walk Hana back to her room, you allow your gaze to linger a moment longer than the ordinary. Ever since you first took this job, you could note Todoroki’s beautifully carved body and stellar facial features. He is built perfectly for the type of Pro Hero that he is – thick muscles wrapped around dense bones, and yet still a relatively lean frame to hold it all into place. Shouto’s face is cut sharp at the jawline, cheekbones stark against his skin. You are sure to admire him whenever you can.

When you hear him and his daughter talking, sharing words and laughs, it only adds to the flame that burns in your belly at the thought of Todoroki Shouto.

There is no doubt in your mind that it is improper to feel the way you do about a client. They should be nothing more than a paycheck and a steppingstone, and yet somehow you have found a way to allow Shouto to wind his pristine claws into you. He’s got you by the heart and it has only been a few months.

You force your hands to work at the dishes, cleaning what remains so you can start the dishwasher. After you’re done, you make your way upstairs towards Hana’s room, where you hear various grunting noises.

A laugh threatens to part your lips and give away your spying secret when you notice Shouto frantically trying to pull the shirt you picked out over the top of Hana’s head. Her arms are stuck in the wrong spots and you can already tell that it’s somehow inside out, but none of that pushes you to step forward and take over.

It’s only when Hana spots you spying in the doorway that you’re coerced into treading into her bedroom. She pouts and Todoroki doesn’t look much happier. He chuckles, “I swear I’m better at this than I look.”

“Oh, I know you’re helpless,” you smirk across at him, squatting in front of Hana to help untangle her from the clothes and put her back in right side up. Her little hands grab for your face, squeezing your cheeks as she surges forward to kiss your nose, “Daddy is helpless, isn’t he?”

You are too busy fussing over Hana’s hair to notice the way that Todoroki drinks you in like he has been parched for years. He cannot stop himself from memorizing the color of your irises, the slope of your nose, the bow of your lips.

The reality that he could even be attracted to you is lost on him – he swore after his wife died that he would never find another woman to replace her. You have only been here a few short weeks and he’s already begun to question his earlier statement.

It’s just the way she is with Hana, he tries to convince himself. I am kidding myself into believing she’s here for us, not just because it’s a job.

And yet, when his gaze connects to yours, Hana babbling about lions and tigers as you slather her down with sunscreen, Todoroki swears that he feels something different.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The day of Hana’s party comes quicker than expected.

You’re frantically spinning around, making sure there is enough food and drink for everyone in addition to trying to keep an eye on the children as they play around on the various structures setup outside.

A group of moms gather at the bar, one of them urging the others to look at you with a sinister lilt in their gaze. You continue to serve everyone at the party, filling drinks, bringing new plates of food, and yet their eyes never waver from you.

When you are cleaning up some stray garbage in the kitchen, the blonde woman near the end of the bar perks up, “Excuse me, nanny, would you mind filling my glass?”

It is like the floodgates have opened, and now they are all asking you for favors. You swallow your pride and do as they say whether that’s food or drink or a new napkin or even cleaning up their garbage. They are all gossiping behind their hands, palms raised to their mouths as if that will do anything to staunch the flow of the conversation, or even make it more difficult for you to hear the way they speak of you.

Your pride takes each hit in stride, attempting to roll the insults off your shoulders while you tend to them kindly. It takes Shouto stepping into the kitchen for your face to falter.

You gaze across the room at him and your strong façade falls away, hands shaking by your sides as you look at the floor in shame. You swallow your self-importance and build your walls back to their full height before looking up at him once more.

Todoroki is fuming, to put it nicely.

His hands are curled into fists, knuckles white and cheeks hot at the sight of your unease. He takes a few strides forward, features softening as he reaches out to press his fingertips into the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His breath is warm, spilling down your spine like molten lava, pooling the heat in your belly and turning your insides to mush. The expanse of his palm splays against your back, the plane of his chest flush with your arm when he stands too close.

You take a short breath, unable to get enough oxygen with him crowding your space like this. It is like he’s thinning the air within a few feet of his body, making it difficult to breathe.

“I’m fine,” your voice is high and thick, nostrils flaring when you make eye contact with one of the women at the bar. She is smirking proudly, head tilted so she can look down her nose at you. You swallow the shards of emotion sticking in your throat and look up at Todoroki, confused at the fury held in his irises, darkening them both so they look almost the same color as his pupils.

He turns and you watch in slow motion as his jaw hinges open, anxiety gripping your throat tightly. Your body moves before your mind can catch up; you shift your feet, so your hips are in front of him, hands palming against his pectorals to bring his attention down to you.

You tug on the fabric of his shirt, breathlessly calling to him, “Shouto.”

Todoroki turns his eyes downward, jawline quivering just enough for you to see at this close of an angle. He is intoxicating, the combination of his cologne and his body heat sending your mind spinning. You lick your lips and his eyes track the motion, turning butterflies over in your belly, their gentle wings brushing the insides of your body delicately, enough to tickle.

“Shouto,” you mumble his name again. “S’okay, alright?”

The sound of barstools scraping the floor signifies the judgmental women taking their leave, and your chest deflates at the change in atmosphere. Your hands go slack against Shouto’s chest, head falling forward to rest against his collarbone.

When his hands brush your hips, you snap your eyes upward, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze. Shouto grinds his teeth together before speaking, “I’m sorry they were bossing you around. You’re not here to take care of them.”

“It’s okay, really,” you pat your hand on his chest as if solidifying your statement, smiling enough to sell it.  

His thumb grazes the hem of your shirt, fingertip slipping beneath the fabric to brush against your skin. Your breath hitches and every instinct within you tells you to push yourself up on your toes and grab his shirt in your tight fists, but when you’re eye-to-eye with him, you wish you wouldn’t have listened.

You can feel his stuttering breath on the bow of your lip, and it makes your shoulders quiver. Your name is whispered between his teeth and suddenly he is too close, so close that you’re intoxicated, and every inhibition of yours has been forgotten like dust in the wind.

“Daddy!”

The sound of her voice breaks you apart, stumbling like teenagers caught underneath the bleachers. Todoroki turns to Hana, tending to her face with a napkin and listening to her sugar-driven babbling. You take the moment to slip past them and back to the outdoor area where everyone is gathered.

For the remainder of the night, you feel Todoroki’s eyes on you, following your movements as you maneuver throughout the guests, offering them refills and to take their garbage. He cannot help but feel the heat incinerating his body from all sides, not just his left. The sensation is strange, the ice on his right side usually taking over any and all feeling he might have.

It feels foreign, but not unpleasant. Todoroki’s neck prickles at the impending awareness that he might be in for a crude awakening soon.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The next few months are a breeze.

Until they are not.

Todoroki has begun to spend more time at work and less at home with each passing day. The threat of his job creeping over him like a looming dark shadow, slowly engulfing him inch by inch until he is surrounded entirely. He spends his days fighting crime, and nights doing paperwork.

You are slowly starting to spend more and more time at the Todoroki house – you are now expected to arrive around five in the morning, and sometimes you do not leave until nine in the evening. It is exhausting, given your drive back to your apartment is a half-hour on a good day with little traffic.

Somehow, you have been able to keep Hana satiated, even without her father around. There are fleeting moments where her cheery expression falters and she sheds a few tears, but you are there to wrap her up in your arms and let her cry until she has nothing left. And then, after she’s dried her face on your shirt, she looks up at you with those beautiful blue eyes and begs you to play princess.

One night, when you are half asleep on the couch with Hana curled into your arms, you feel a palm press to your shoulder, “I’m home.”

You blink blearily, a short jolt of breath stinging your lungs. You swallow and look to the right of you where Todoroki is squatted beside you. He is smiling; you can tell, even in the darkness.

“Hey,” you whisper, careful to cradle Hana’s head as you sit up. “Sorry, it’s been an eventful day.”

Shouto shakes his head and helps you to your feet, palms finding any juncture of you that he can use to support your body. His hand is against your elbow when he speaks next, “No, I’m sorry. I should have been home hours ago. I know you were making dinner.”

“I make dinner every night,” a laugh parts your lips and you run your fingers through Hana’s hair to try and keep her asleep despite the noise. “So, it’s nothing new, Todoroki. Let me go put her down and I’ll head out.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but his jaw snaps shut before he can let out whatever secret he is harboring. You disregard it, walking upstairs to tuck Hana in for bed. She stirs but does not wake entirely and you are thankful. The day has already been tumultuous enough without having to sing her back to sleep or stay up any longer.

As you are walking down the steps, you’re surprised to find Shouto pacing in the hallway, his thumb pinching his chin and his brow furrowed harshly. He looks rather intensely conflicted, and there is a moment where you’re worried, he may decide to fire you. Could you have done something wrong with Hana? Did she not like you? Was he upset that you let her have chocolate before noon the other day?

“Shouto?” you call, padding forward, toes sifting through the carpet. “Is everything okay?”

Another yawn splits your lips and you cover it with your palm, apologizing through your teeth. He shakes his head and steps toward you with a palm outstretched, “Yes, everything is fine. I just have something I’d like to ask you.”

You tilt your head and it reminds him of a curious animal, sniffing him out for food in the form of information. Your hand rests on his bicep and it is dizzying to be this close to you, even after several months of working alongside you. His head still spins when you are too close.

“I was wondering if you might consider moving in.”

You blink dumbly, mouth parted so he can see the pad of your tongue and the tips of your canine teeth. Your fingertips graze against his arm and you feel like lightning is sparking at the cusp of your touch.

The reality is this is not far from normal – most full-time nannies do end up living with their families. It makes everything easier and cheaper. If you live there, he does not have to pay you for drive time, and your boarding costs can be directly deducted from your standard paycheck. This option is what makes the most sense, but you are not focused on sense right now.

All you can see is his bare torso.

You are imagining accidentally walking in on him after he’s taken a shower, or him stumbling in after his morning runs with his tiny running shorts and shirtless upper half. Your tongue goes dry at the thought of it all, but you force yourself to push words past your lips, so you won’t look like a dead fish.

“That’s a pretty permanent decision, Shouto.” Your words hold weight and he knows it, he’s thought this through a dozen different ways to Sunday. You swallow and when your hands brush over his skin, he swears sparks light beneath your fingertips; it makes his arm numb. “I don’t mind, but I just want to make sure that you’ve really thought this through.”

He nods, stepping closer so he’s almost flush with you now, “I feel awful having you drive so early and so late. Your hours would not change, your responsibilities wouldn’t change. You would have your own room and privacy, and I don’t expect to lessen your pay just because you live here. It’s just-”

“Shouto,” you’re laughing now, shaking your head as you look down at your toes, “I don’t expect everything to stay the same if I move in. I’m prepared, are you?”

Truly, he’s thought about that question far too much in the passing days when he sees you around the house or speaks with you on the phone during the day. The idea that you will be here every hour of every day is suffocating, but in a way that makes him want to drown. As time moves faster, Shouto realizes that you have become a second nature in his house. He is thinking of you during his office meetings and the late nights on patrol.

He cannot be honest with the true reason he is asking you to move in, because then he would have to face his emotions and he’s not ready for that yet. And yet, his body betrays his mind as he reaches forward to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I think I can handle it.”

Emotion swells like a blooming heat between the two of you, your bodies almost entirely pressed up against one another as your voices grow softer. You are not sure if it’s the sleep-muddled brain you’re working off of, but you swear that you see his eyes drop to your lips. There is some part of you that wants to fall into him, to let him take you and burn you and leave you for dead, but the rest of you is working off of sense and logic and you know that would never work.

“Well,” your voice shatters the fragile moment, “I guess I better get home and start packing.”

Shouto releases you and something shifts in his irises, but it is gone as soon as it appears, and you don’t have enough time to discern the emotion. You pluck up your bag and slip on your shoes, turning to wave at him over your shoulder as you step past the threshold and back to the garage.

As you start your car, you rest your forehead on the steering wheel before you pull out, and murmur to yourself in utter chagrin, “What have I just agreed to?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I’m telling you - Red Riot is going to give you a run for your money.”

“That blockhead?” Shouto chuckles, swirling his glass, “I doubt it.”

You tilt your head, “And what about Ground Zero? He’s got his own agency now, doesn’t he?”

Shouto rolls his eyes, “God, can we please leave Bakugou out of this conversation?”

Another swig of the rum and coke slides down your throat, burning in the best way. Your head feels hazy, but you don’t mind, taking advantage of Hana’s early bedtime for the first time in a few weeks. You push your mostly empty glass towards him, “Bartender?”

Todoroki smiles, tipping the bottle downward to refill your glass. You grab the soda off the countertop and fill it to the brim, swirling the mixture with your straw. Another gulp of the liquid has you asking, “You and the other big players all went to Yuuei together, right? Ground Zero, Deku, Red Riot?”

Shouto nods, “Yes, we did.”

“Wow, to have gone to Yuuei,” you whisper in wonder, eyes heavy as you look down into the dark liquid fizzing in your glass.

He leans forward on the counter, body close to you as he asks his obvious question, “You don’t have a quirk, do you?”

“No,” your answer is quick, curt. You swallow thickly, shards of shame sticking in your throat. “I was born without one. You’ve seen my shoes.”

You are referring to the wider shoes that those with no quirk have to wear thanks to the extra joint in their pinkie toes. You lift your foot up in the air for good measure, painted toenails catching the light just right as you wriggle your toes around dramatically. You sigh, “I didn’t fully know who you were when I took this job. It’s kind of embarrassing that I don’t have a quirk, and you’re some superhero saving people with ice and fire.”

Shouto holds out his left palm, face up, and ignites a small flame, “I hated this side of my body for so long. It comes with a burden I’m glad you do not have to bear.”

The weight in his voice entices your eyes upward, connecting with his gaze as the heat blossoms, sucking the oxygen out of the air. Shouto curls his fingers inward and cuts the flame short, a gentle wisp of smoke floating from his palm.

“What does it feel like?” you find yourself asking, the alcohol creating a dull buzz behind your eyes that latches onto all of your inhibitions and immediately tosses them away.

His breath hitches audibly, pupils dilating as he attempts to focus on something other than the way your lips bow when you speak. Shouto steps forward, hands gentle as he cups your cheeks, a bravery he did not know he could muster bolstering his movements. His fingertips tickle your skin and it’s difficult for you to keep your eyes open when he is holding you so tenderly.

Shouto closes his eyes in concentration, taking a deep breath before narrowing his concentration onto the pores of his hands. His palms are flush with your skin and you let your mind wander while he is working up his quirk.

How would his touch compare to different parts of your body?

Your eyes slip shut at the thought, biting your lip as your mind runs rampant. The heat curling in your belly reminds you of his quirk – burning and licking at your belly like a raging flame. You only wish you had his right side to cool you down from the inside out.

Slowly but surely, you feel the right side of your face grow warm while the left side has started to chill. Your eyes go wide, and you circle your fingers around his wrists, voice breathy when you speak, “Wow, Shouto, that’s amazing!”

Your voice goes quiet and it is like the world stops spinning when he opens his eyelids to look down at you. You feel frozen in your spot, but you know it isn’t his quirk affecting you. Your grip tightens but he doesn’t seem to notice, his eyesight directed to your lips, zeroed in on the way that you gnaw at them when you’re nervous.

The tension is like a rubber band begging to snap. You feel the coil twirl around your spine, bunching you together and screaming at you to run away. There are a thousand different reasons why getting too close is dangerous, but your wanton body cannot be bothered to list them. Instead you are pushing yourself up in your seat, so your back is arched toward him, chest brushing his pectorals.

Shouto reminds you of something innocent when his mouth parts and irises glimmer beneath half-hooded lids. You feel distinctly profligate for envisaging his mouth on other parts of your body, the pink of his tongue peeking from behind pearly teeth doing little to quell your thoughts. You swallow thickly and shudder as his hand that produces cold shifts into your hair, rustling through the tresses at the nape of your neck.

Your hands are suddenly wrapped up in the fabric of his shirt, fisting the soft material, and you are pulling him towards you. Even so, it is Shouto who tilts your head upward, heels of his palms gently angling you by the cheeks.

The two of you take a breath before devouring one another whole.

His mouth tastes like whiskey, sharp and biting, but his tongue is in stark contrast to the flavor. He is gentle while still taking over your every sense. His tongue maps out the curves of your teeth and the pad of your tongue while his chilled palm keeps your skin from searing with blush.

The tenderness with which he holds onto you makes your heart rattle around within the cage you have built just for him. You knew this entire time that if he were to wriggle his way in, to touch your heart in just the right spot, you would crumble beneath his ministrations. This entire time you’ve been beholden to him, despite the utter denial you’ve been bathing in to hide the confession.

“Todoroki, I-”

Your voice is cut off by a blazing hand drifting beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dipping against your spine, “I hate it when you call me that.”

Your eyes go wide but he’s enraptured you with another kiss square on the lips. Your words fall into the confines of his throat, never to be heard again as he swallows them into silence.

Hands are everywhere, so much so that you can’t tell where you begin and he ends.

Shouto nips your lip and you gasp, your hips canting forward of their own accord. Your mouth is gaping, begging for air, and he gives in to your silent request, drifting his lips downward to your jawline. He mutters a string of curse words as your hands finally make their way to his hair and shoulders, digging into him like he might float away.

He hums against your collarbone, teeth bared as he licks and nips at your skin. The alcohol in your bloodstream mixed with his essence in your veins only spins your mind into overdrive, dizzying you to the point that your eyes cross. You whine as he bites kisses into your skin, fingernails dug sharply into the skin of his back through his shirt. There will most likely be little crescent moon imprints when you release.

The trail of his kisses loops back up the column of your throat, teeth grazing your jaw as he works his way to your mouth again. You whine into his lips when his frozen fingers stroke your bare skin beneath your top, “Shouto, please-”

Todoroki’s confidence grows when he hears you moan his name into the air, begging him with only a few syllables. He disconnects his mouth from yours to look you in the eyes, “God, you’re so damn pretty, y’know?”

Your mouth hangs open and Todoroki must hold himself back from slipping his thumb between your parted, full lips. A shuddering breath passes between the two of you, time frozen as the moment sits still. It allows the both of you to agonize over one another, taking in each and every wanton feature as you beg quietly.

“So pretty,” he whispers before digging his hands into your backside and tugging you forward so you wrap yourself around him. His mouth is on you in a flash, all teeth and tongue pulling and prodding at you in a divine way you’re sure only he has mastered.

You are enraptured by him, fully captivated with his dual-ended quirk sending your body into a haze. Your mind is bewildered, thrown into a twirl of rum and Todoroki. If he were to give you a moment to catch your breath, you might be able to find it within your resolve to push him off you, to tell him how wrong this is. And yet, with his tongue tangled in your teeth, you can’t force the word no out of your throat.

Instead it is just his name.

Todoroki picks you up to deposit you on the countertop, thumbs digging into your hips to help you settle. His fingers make quick work of your top, slipping beneath them hem to graze over the swell of your breast on the underside. You whimper at the ghost of his touch, trying to angle your arms so you can tug at the band of his sweats.

When he realizes what you are fumbling with, he uses the bottoms of his feet to tug his pants down to his ankles. He steps out of them, but you can’t focus on anything other than the prominent bulge strained against his dark briefs. You have to swallow the drool accumulating in the center of your mouth, threatening to pool over the corners of your lips if you were to speak.

Before he tugs your shirt over your head, he looks into your eyes, sincerity cutting through the lust clouding his irises, “Last chance.”

He is giving you an out. One last clear path to purity.

You hesitate for a moment and his hands curl tighter around the hem of your top, restraining himself from ripping it away like an animal. His jaw is quivering as he waits on your response, nostrils flaring when you do not answer right away.

Whether it is the alcohol or the need talking, you are the conduit for the words spoken next, “Fuck me, Shouto. Now.”

Your shirt is yanked over your head unceremoniously, but you don’t care. Your eyes are wandering, begging for him to be nearly as naked as you. You don’t have to ask, because he’s already stepping away from you to remove the offensive piece of clothing, baring his body to you.

You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, especially upon moving into the Todoroki residence. He goes on shirtless jogs and sometimes does not wear anything on his torso for a while after he’s showered. There are days he has hardly anything remaining of his costume, after a particularly rough villain or training session.

And yet, this time it feels different.

He is baring himself for you. The intimacy of the moment does little to dull the ache in your mind, the strain of your heart in your ribs. You know that if he were to show you much more openness, you may have bruises beneath your skin from the way your heart threatens to beat at such a quick, tumultuous pace.

Shouto wastes little time in lurching forward to palm at your breasts, mouth too busy with your lips to pay attention to much else. You hitch your thigh between his hips, the curve of your leg brushing into his clothed cock. He grunts into the trap of your teeth, brow tugged with focus as he ruts his hips upward into you. You’re sure to put pressure back against him, the tip of his cock bulging on your thigh.

“Sho’,” you whimper when his mouth drifts from your lips to your neck. Your hands find his hair and his shoulder, eyelids fluttering halfway closed while he licks and nips at your thin, sensitive skin. Your throat burns, flesh aching as he starts to bite into you, rolling the skin between his teeth slowly, agonizing your very core.

A fresh wave of arousal coats the inside of your walls, and you know it is stained your panties, but you don’t have enough dignity to care. All that is on your mind is how he can take you on the countertop, and if you’ll be able to keep quiet enough not to wake the sleeping girl up the flight of stairs.

“Shit,” he’s cursing when your hand finds his bulge, “sweetheart, I-”

His breath is stuttered over your collarbone as you begin to palm him through his briefs. The nickname tumbling from his lips in a moan turns your stomach, effervescent champagne bubbles drifting up from your belly until they are suffocating your lungs. You gasp to relieve yourself of the pent-up anticipation as his left hand reaches the button of your shorts.

Shouto is careful as he unbuttons your pants, slipping the coarse fabric of your jeans down your thighs. As he squats down to help you out of them, all you can think of is what might happen if you were to grab him by the hair and force his mouth to your cunt.

Almost like he was reading your mind, he leans forward after he’s tossed your jeans to the other side of the kitchen floor and his mouth ghosts over your core. Your lower lip wobbles and you must bite your tongue to keep your mewling cries from tumbling out in excess. Todoroki kisses the top of your thigh, nose nudging over the edge of your lace underwear, his eyes closed so you cannot make out the expression settled in his ordinarily stoic irises.

“If you smell this good, I can only imagine how wonderful you taste,” Todoroki smirks against your skin, tilting his head so he can look up at you from his crouched position.

Your hips cant forward at the sentence, pussy already dripping just from the timbre of his deep voice. The vibrations of his word are like shockwaves straight to your core and you want to beg him to give you something, even a teasing lick over the center of your underwear.

Shouto kisses the little bow at the center of your panties, smiling as he snags the accent between the bite of his teeth and uses it to tug your underwear down your thighs. Your muscles tense, his ministrations slow and tantalizing. He chuckles and the sound shoots through your bones as if they were hollow like a feather, the warm honey of his laughter seeping slowly into your every pore and breaking down what remains of your resolve.

You have to cover your mouth with your hands when you yelp at the pad of his thumb brushing back the hood of your clit. His cool palm finds your thigh, just below the curve of your ass, and he stabilizes you with a firm grip, “Sit still, Princess.”

The authoritative tone of his voice turns your spine rigid, eyes facing the wall as he butterflies your pussy so he can see the silvery strands of slick built up between your layers of skin. He licks his lips and you feel the threatening heat of his tongue near your clit and you’re squirming. You are white knuckling the countertop, jaw under immense pressure as you clamp your teeth harshly.

He does not give you warning before delving his tongue between your folds, licking up your accumulated slick with one slow movement. His glittering grey iris tries to find your face, but the only thing he can make out is the line of your jaw and chin as your head is thrown back. Shouto chuckles before starting to explore the glutenous walls of your cunt with his tongue, his one hand still pressed into your thigh, fingers digging so hard that you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow morning.

Your body responds to him quickly, hips canting forward to buck against his mouth, begging for something more than just the quick slithering of his tongue in and out of you. In retaliation, Shouto presses his tongue flat, creating the illusion that it is thicker than before. You keen when he turns the pad of his thumb near your clit, close but not near enough.

“Sho’, please,” you pant, sweat beginning to bead up on your temples from the anticipation alone.

His cocky smirk is something you can sense when he speaks, but even further, you can feel it as he continues to lavish your pussy with his tongue. He huffs before standing to his feet, your slick mixed with his saliva giving his mouth a dangerous glint in the lowlight of the kitchen.

Shouto licks his lips as he steps closer to you again, bodies flush with one another. The hand that you know could burn you in an instant drifts down your side towards your pussy and you feel every muscle in your body clench at the thought of what kind of damage he could do to you if he tried.

Oh, and you’d let him.

You are about to beg him again, wanton moans vibrating your throat, but he intercepts you before you can lower your inhibitions any further. Shouto’s elongated middle finger slips just between your folds, using his saliva and your slick to lubricate his digit as he begins to pump up into you.

Todoroki Shouto is by no means a small man.

However, he is not so muscular that it looks like he is uncomfortable whenever he is walking. He is lean but built, which means that even though his hands are thick with muscle, they are not painful when pressed into your tight heat. Rather, they are snug and comfortable, his knuckle providing a pleasure you’ve not experienced before.

The tip of his finger brushes the spongy spot at the base of your core, and you swear you feel him in your spine. Shouto leans forward kiss you and you receive him quickly, desperate for some sort of tactile relief. He’s grinning into your lips, but you do not care so long as you find some reprieve from the coil beginning to twist within your stomach.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Todoroki whispers into your teeth as his tongue licks against your gums.

At his comment, you clench your cunt around his fingers, tightening your hold only to see how he will react. His hand stills for a moment, but then he is pushing another finger to accompany the first, splitting your cunt open despite the vice-like grip you have on his knuckle. He pumps until the base of his digits are finding the heat of your pussy, his fingerprints searing into your walls as you attempt to stay clamped around him.

Your legs begin to shake from the way you are holding yourself up on your toes, knees bent so you can be closer to his body. Todoroki feels the tremors in your thighs as his hand roams the dense muscle, whispering, “C’mere, love,” and then he’s picking you up gingerly.

Shouto hooks one of your legs around his waist at the knee, arching your back so your cunt is still butterflied open for him. Your other leg dangles from the countertop as he balances you on the edge.

The way his fingers work into you is nothing short of sinful, that white-hot flash of pleasure sinking into your eyelids slowly but surely. You begin to lose your peripheral vision as the impending ecstasy begins to settle in. The crest of the wave is close, his knuckles dragging salaciously against the innermost part of you.

Your jaw hangs open the closer you are to coming undone, panting breaths prying your lips apart. You feel utterly exposed in front of him like this, lewdly strewn against the counter that you were sipping rum and whiskey against not even a half hour ago. And yet, somehow, Shouto’s hand cradled against your shoulders is all you need to bring your self-consciousness down to a manageable level.

From this angle, you can reach down and pull Shouto’s briefs down so his cock can spring free. You’re palming at him as soon as you see the dark red of his cockhead. He stutter-steps forward when you pump him the first time, eyes close to bulging from their sockets at the sensation.

You twist his cock in your palm, running your thumb against the pearlescent bead of pre-come collected at the curve of his slit. Using what you can of the liquid, you drag your damp thumb down the length of his cock for slight lubrication. Shouto bucks into your hand when you bob your palm up and down to connect with the base of his pubic bone.

Now that you’re secure on the countertop, Shouto allows his free hand to wander around the curvatures of your body, mapping out the dips and contours of your frame. His hand is on your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, when your mouth drops open from a particularly pleasurable swipe of his fingers. Your cunt is dripping, and you’re honestly not sure if it even matters if you come, he should be able to slip right between your tight heat with ease.

“S’pretty,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek as his thumb brushes the bow of your bottom lip.

On instinct, your tongue laps towards the digit, silently begging for him to do more.

Shouto listens, dipping his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad of his finger into the thick muscle of your tongue. You lick and suck at him, rolling your mouth to match the pace of your hand as you work his hard cock towards release. Shouto fixes the rhythm of his fingers so every part of your bodies are going at the same speed.

The collective sensations of his hands and mouth are too much and you cry out, digging your free hand into his shoulder to attempt and ground yourself. You pant, looking up at him with bejeweled irises, tears sitting dormant on your lashes as a whine sits pretty on your lips.

“What is it?” he asks, borderline patronizing. “Are you gonna come on my fingers?”

Your lower lip trembles and you feel yourself slipping into some subservient headspace at the tone in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips to meet him as he slows his hand, “P-Please, Shouto, I-”

“I want you to come,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning forward so his breath is hot on your skin. The hand he has buried in your cunt begins to heat and the searing sensation sends your mind reeling. Shouto nudges his nose along your jawline, warmth creeping along the base of his palm, “C’mon, love, I want to see you come. Make a pretty little face for me, yeah?”

His words do little to quell the growing ache between your thighs, the pent-up need begging to be released. You clench around him again, not forgetting his cock between your hand. You continue to twist your wrist, flicking your fingers along the length of his dick, dragging with just enough pressure to make his eyes cross. Teasing the head, you drag the pad of your thumb over it, catching another swell of pre-come and trailing the liquid down the thick shaft.

You whimper his name, squeezing your eyes closed so harshly that the corners of your lids crinkle. Your sounds only grow louder when his mouth begins to suck at your nipple, massaging your breast in his chilled hand. The crystallization of ice draws your attention, a frozen cold so intense that it almost feels hot in its own unique way.

There is a stinging excitement at the duality of the temperatures that grow further apart the longer he activates his quirk. Your nipples pebble while your pussy floods from the heat, copious amounts of slick trickling down his fingers to pool in the creases of his palm. Shouto murmurs obscenities against your earlobe but you’re in such a realm of fevered phrenzy that you can’t make out he’s even speaking English.

“Sh-Shouto, I-I’m close,” you manage, feeling the way his cock throbs beneath your touch helping to bring you back to the cusp of reality. You dive deep again when his fingertips brush against your cervix, allowing his passion to force you beneath the surface.

His thumb is circling your clit as he murmurs, “C’mon, darling, I know you can do it. Come for me, yeah?”

It’s as if his words united with his caress are enough to shove you head-first into the pool of desire. You are whimpering, cunt fluttering around his fingers as your come drips down the crevices of his palm. Your release reaches his wrist, milky liquid tickling his skin.

“Atta girl,” he kisses your cheek, fingers stilling for a moment to allow you to collect yourself. You continue to ride out your high by bucking your hips over his knuckles, slippery fingers easily providing you the rest of the comfort you need to come down from your high.

“Your turn.”

You’re pushing your way off the countertop when the creaking of the stairs makes your heart still within your chest.

Shouto’s stare flickers from you to the staircase, jaw hung open as he analyzes the sound. When another step echoes in the hallway, he’s quick to yank his briefs and sweats back over his hips. He helps you into your shorts, the silvery strands of your release forgotten as he tugs the fabric up your hips.

You’ve just gotten your pants buttoned when Hana’s teetering figure creates a shadow on the kitchen floor.

“Daddy?” she whimpers, fists digging into her tear-filled eyes.

Shouto swipes his hands against his sweats before crouching in front of her. His palms find her sides quickly, thumbs grazing her rib cage in an attempt at comfort, “Hey, love,” the sound of the nickname makes something stir within your belly, “what’re you doing awake?”

Hana swallows a hiccup, “I-I had a bad dream.”

You step forward, pressing your hand to Shouto’s shoulder, offering a gentle nudge of comfort. Hana blinks up at you, jeweled irises focused on your face, “M-Momma?”

The title holds a weight you had not prepared to carry.

She’s all but forgotten Todoroki, pushing past him to barrel into your shin, wrapping her stubby arms around your knee. She wipes her face against the skin of your thigh, sniffling louder as a fresh wave of tears takes over her body. Her shoulders shudder and you don’t have time to wonder whether she’s cognizant enough to realize that she’s just called you her mother.

You scoop her up in your arms, holding her gingerly by the back and head, and she wraps her legs around your midsection to anchor her little body to your torso like a frightened animal. Hana buries her head into your neck, tears sticking to your skin and creating an unbearable heat.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Hana whimpers, “I-I had a dream that you left.”

In an effort to comfort her, you run your fingers through her hair, gently separating the strands so your nails can scratch her scalp. You kiss her temple, “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

She retracts from your neck and a rush of cool air washes over you. Her irises are swallowed by her pupils, thick droplets of tears wetting her cheeks. You smile, forcing yourself to forget the way you were just about to jump her father’s bones, and brush your nose against hers in an eskimo kiss.

“It was just a dream, babe,” you comfort her, making sure you are looking at her directly when you say it so she feels much more solid in the reality that you are here to stay. A soothing hand reaches forward to couple with yours, thumb tracing the bump of her shoulder.

Todoroki kisses the back of her head, “Hana, there’s no need to worry, love.”

“I already lost one mommy,” Hana sounds ancient when she speaks, voice far away and intelligent beyond her young years, “I don’t wanna lose another one.”

Your voice is lodged in your throat now, tears of your own pressing threateningly against the back of your eyes. You try to swallow but the shards of your heart are blocking your windpipe, cutting off your oxygen. Todoroki slips his hands beneath Hana’s armpits, separating her from you so he can cradle her body against his chest, “You’re not losing anyone, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You take this as your cue to leave, grabbing your things as Todoroki takes Hana back up the stairs to her bedroom.

A sense akin to despair settles in your chest, restraining your heart in such a way that makes it difficult to breathe. The world seems to settle atop your shoulders and in the next moments you have turned into Atlas, forced to hold the earth up by your careless grip. Tears settle in your lids as you pull away from the Todoroki residence.

Something tells you that things will never be the same.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

As much as you hate it, that little voice eating away at the back of your mind was right.

The looming reality that Todoroki is avoiding you does little to satisfy the curiosity settled in your bones, affecting you down to the marrow.

Ever since that night, he hardly looks you in the eye.

In fact, he’s barely even around to see you at all.

Todoroki leaves for work before you can emerge from the bathroom with Hana in tow, fresh from a bubble bath and ready for breakfast. He slips back through the doors late at night, normally after eight, so Hana is either passed out with you on the couch or curled up beneath her covers in her bedroom. There is not another time where he touches you gingerly on the shoulder and guides you back to bed, not anymore.

You have wondered many times if you should approach him, beg him for some sort of explanation. Not only is his distance affecting you, but it’s turning Hana into a child you hardly recognize. She is still cheerful a majority of the time, begging you to play princesses and watch Bubble Guppies. But there are times when she turns angry, ripping the heads off her dolls and trying to sabotage Todoroki’s work clothes by drawing on his shoes or dropping her glass of morning milk on his suit jacket.

You start to cook his meals the day before, packaging them up in a Tupperware container that’s always gone when you check at breakfast the next morning. You are not a blind woman, and you normally choose to indulge his silly game of hide and seek instead of confronting him about what happened that night.

However, tonight, you’ve had enough.

Even though he’s decided to spend the weekend at home for the first time in a few weeks, you’ve never felt more on edge. Hana is extremely irritable, nightmares plaguing her mind during the time she’s supposed to be sleeping, and it would seem there is nothing you can ever do to satiate her throughout the day.

Playing princess is boring, coloring is stressful, blowing bubbles is stupid.

You are reaching the end of your rope and Shouto’s evasive presence does little to satiate your temperamental moods. You clutch at the cusp of sanity, praying that it will not leave you just yet; the only thing holding your tongue back from lashing out is the sliver of discretion that you’ve managed to sustain in spite of the day’s events.

“Hey, uh-” Todoroki’s voice is strained as he stands in the archway of the kitchen, “Would you mind making us a couple of sandwiches? I think Hana is getting hungry.”

The warmth from the dishwater gives you something other than his irises to focus on, your eyesight directed downward, “Sure. What would you like?”

“Let’s just do peanut butter and jelly,” Shouto shrugs nonchalantly. “Grape, if we have it.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of a specific flavor. You are certain that if you were to look into the refrigerator that you would not find grape jelly, but it’s obvious that Shouto is otherwise unknowing.

“Grape?” you echo, pulling your hands from the dishwater to wipe them on your hand towel. “You think that’s a smart choice?”

Shouto scoffs and it stings so much that you turn your head away from him, eyes now focused on the floor beneath your feet, “Yes, I’m sure. Why does it matter anyway?”

“Oh, no reason.” You pluck a jar of strawberry jelly from the refrigerator and begin to prepare the countertop for your sandwich making.

He takes a step forward to protest, but you’re waving the knife in his direction before he can stride across the tile, “You listen to me, Todoroki. And you listen good.”

Shouto pauses, throat bobbing as his line of sight zeroes in on your lips. His eyes widen, pupils swallowing his irises in fear. The knife wavering in your grasp holds much more weight than any other butter knife he’s come into contact with.

“We don’t have any grape jelly because your daughter is allergic to grapes.”

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the butter knife in your hand, “And if you were ever here you might notice a thing or two, such as an allergy to something that could, I dunno, kill her?!”

The sound of your voice raising an octave or two reverberates off of the walls and thrums at Shouto’s heartstrings. He swallows thickly, but you’re not done tearing into him just yet.

“This little charade you’ve got going on has got to end.” Your voice is desperate, unhinged, and you feel the honesty scrape against the front of your throat, “Your daughter is turning into someone you can barely recognize, and you’re not far behind her.”

Silence envelopes the room, and the only thing you’re able to hear is your heart beating frantically in your own ears. As your pulse thuds rapidly, rushing like a river of thick emotion throughout your body, you feel your palms begin to sweat. The longer you keep quiet, the louder the sound grows.

Finally, after giving him a few minutes to respond, you press the tops of your fists into your hips, glaring down your nose at him, “If you want me gone, all you had to do was ask. I thought we respected one another enough for that.”

You slap together two sandwiches quickly, tossing the plates onto the counter for him to pick up on his own before you turn and walk from the room. You’re unable to look at him any longer, not sure if it’s the loitering reality that you may have to move on from this chapter of your life or the loss of a generous paycheck and living situation that wraps your heart like the talons of a bird, squeezing until you can’t breathe.

The tumultuous roll of emotions scrapes away at your chest, and you’re surprised that there isn’t blood gushing from your ribs. You lean back against your closed door, head tilted backward to stave off the tears, saltine droplets coating your lashes as they sit in your ducts, pending the gentle sway of your neck to drip down your cheeks.

You aren’t sure how long you stay this way, crumbled against your door with the heat of disappointment building smoke in your lungs. It’s difficult to breathe, a dizziness taking over your mind that you’ve never felt quite so acutely before. You cradle your head in your hands, massaging your temples with your thumbs to try and mitigate the oncoming migraine.

A knock sounds at your door and you jump, hand pressed over your frantic heart, “Y-Yes?”

“Can-Can I come in?”

Shouto.

The sound of his voice does little to staunch the metaphorical puncture wound in your chest. You flex your hands before standing to your feet and opening the door, allowing him to step over the threshold into your room.

“Listen, I think there’s just-”

“No,” you interrupt, a short breath filling your lungs, “I’m going first.”

Todoroki’s eyes dilate, his feet stuttering backward as he takes in your assertive sentence. He grits his teeth, jaw quivering under the stress, but keeps his lips sealed in spite of desperately wanting to speak out.

“If you don’t want me here, you could have just said so.” You wring your hands together, knuckles knocking against one another as you twist your fingers. You close your eyelids and inhale a deep breath, “What happened, u-us kissing, wasn’t professional, and I apologize. But what you’re doing to Hana?”

You flare your nostrils as your hands turn to fists at your side. Todoroki watches you closely, eyes never wavering from your frame as he takes in your quivering, quiet fury. Your jaw muscles tense and you force your eyes to meet his, despite the glossiness settled in them, “You’re never here, Shouto. You missed her ballet recital last week, then you forgot she was allergic to grapes, and now you’re not seeing what’s directly in front of you!”

The more you speak, the louder you become. You can feel your cheeks heating, the tears building up in your eyelids with every syllable. Your fists clench at your sides, and your fingernails dig irately into your palms, so harshly that you swear you might draw blood. Each word draws out an anger in you that you didn’t realize you were harboring, like a fugitive sitting in the cage of your chest, tugging on the bars of your heart as they beg to be broken free.

“Hana deserves better than this, and you know it, Todoroki. So if you don’t get your head out of your ass,” your lower lip wobbles and you reach forward to poke him directly in the chest, index finger dug into the space between his pectorals, “you’re going to lose your daughter.”

You’re shaking your head and your fist as the next sentence comes tumbling from your lips, heart strings fully wound as you speak, “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, but if it’s me, then I’ll leave.”

Shouto’s brow furrows as he looks down his nose at you, “Are you finished?”

The deadpan of his voice stirs something in your belly, something like an acrid fire that plumes in your chest, the smoke of it all curling around your throat and begging to be spewed like acid from your tongue. Your teeth grind into each other, a creaking sound echoing in your own ears. The way your heart twists in your chest makes it difficult to breathe, but you manage.

“Fuck you, Todoroki.”

You go to turn away from him, your hand falling from his chest, when he snatches you by the wrist, repeating his question, “Are you finished?”

A small remaining sliver of your patience sits heavy on your chest, forcing you to nod your head. Regardless of how you feel about him, Todoroki Shouto is an important man, and you need to leave here a dignified woman. If you make a scene, if you flash your fists and bare your teeth, it’s possible you won’t have another job ever again.

“I don’t want you to quit,” his voice is breathless, an octave higher than normal; he almost sounds sick, “but there is a problem.”

The anticipation of what he might say next brings back that acidic wash in your belly, throat squeezed shut by the clamped hands of insecurity and doubt. Shouto takes a careful step forward, mindful of your personal space as he does so. His fingers never leave your wrist, circled around your arm even as it’s pulled away from his body.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

To say that the world stopped spinning was an understatement.

You feel the whole planet turn on its axis, your body undergoing vertigo as the metaphorical rug is yanked out from beneath your feet. Your stomach flips, the acid molting into lava, hot and sticky as it licks up against your skin, pooling just below your navel. His grip is too restrictive, and you can tell your body is beginning to shift into panic mode.

“You’re right,” he barges in on your internal monologue of self-hatred, eyes boring into your soul, “I’ve been a shitty father, which is painful for me to admit. But it’s the truth.”

The conviction in his voice is solid, and you know that he is being authentic. Todoroki has a clouded past when it comes to his father, Enji. You are aware of the influence his estranged parents have on his relationship with his child, which is one of the reasons his distance has troubled you. Every time he has had enough vulnerability to allow you to peek into the glass panes of his soul, he’s shown you the scars that Endeavor has left on him.

Todoroki uses his free hand to cup your cheek, thumb under your chin to pull your attention back to him, “I tried to distance myself from you to get a better grasp on the way I was feeling.”

His palm grazes down the column of your throat, his eyes careful not to stray to close to your lips or else he’ll get distracted. Your mouth bobs open but you have nothing to say, and the bewildered expression on your face makes him laugh. The sound of his baritone chuckle does little to quell the storm raging beneath your skin, lighting striking with every single touch of his fingers and thunder booming in your chest at the sound of his voice.

“For the longest time, I believed I would never love anyone again after my wife passed away.” The feel of his knuckles slipping between yours, palm searing into you despite it being his right side. At the mention of his wife, your whole being begins to shudder, the weight of expectations and self-doubt pressing into your chest like a mass you cannot remove.

Todoroki swallows the lump in his throat, neck bobbing, “I was content with it just being Hana and I for the rest of our lives, us against the world, until you came along. You fit so perfectly into our family, sliding in seamlessly as if you’d been here the whole time. You managed to win Hana over in a day and now she can’t stop talking about you. And then, when Hana called you mom, it threw me.”

Shouto’s eyes are intense as they stare into you, narrowed and attentive. The odd combination of one blue, one grey, is hard to grasp, unsure of where you should look specifically. His fingers against your neck card through your hair, keeping you anchored to him and this world.

“It was easier for me to dive into work because I knew I’d have you here to pick up the pieces,” Shouto admits, his gaze finally breaking away from your face to narrow focus to his sock-clad feet. “I was so weak for you that I couldn’t bear it. And then you and Hana both suffered for my cowardice.”

A wave of destiny washes over you, looming like a shadow, begging you to make a decision.

“Todoroki, this is-”

“I told you,” his thumb grazes your cheekbone, “not to call me that.”

Your jaw hangs open and tears cloud your vision, and you want to smile no matter how hard your body fights against you. Your lower lip quivers and you shake your head, saltine droplets lingering on your cheeks, “I-I can’t, Shouto. I’m not right for you and Hana, I’m not-oh.”

His mouth slots against yours, angled perfectly to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. Shouto’s hands are on your face, holding you in place so you can’t run from him, despite how every cell under your skin is screaming to bolt from your place.

As he parts from you, you’re left in a daze of euphoria, eyes half-lidded, mouth still pursed as you chase after him, pleading for more.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip before retreating to trace your jawline.

And you know that you can’t; your body has already betrayed your words with the simple action of a kiss. Your hands follow suit, wrapped around the fabric of his shirt to keep him close, frightened he might leave you all over again.

Shouto’s hands drift down your abdomen, slow against your rib cage as if he were counting each bone to make sure they were all there, safe and sound. He kisses your forehead and then your nose, mouth hovering over the bow of your lips, eyes begging you even though his voice is caught in his lungs.

You say a stupid thing then, just something meant to break up the quiet, but with the floaty tone of your voice it breeds for much more wicked thoughts.

“Your lips are really warm.”

Shouto laughs before devouring you at the seam of your mouth, leaning forward to scoop you up in his arms, hands dug in at your thighs. You squeal against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist, your fingers dipping into the muscle of his shoulders for an anchor.

He’s got you back against the bed before you can breathe again, leaning back on his thighs so he can pull his shirt over his head with ease. Your palms are like magnets to his abdomen, fingerprints finding each curve and dip of his muscle, praying you can map it out so you might memorize it for the times when he’s not able to be this close.

As his fingertips graze beneath the hem of your shirt, your eyes go wide, stuttering breath accompanied by panicked words, “H-Hana? Is she-”

Shouto chuckles, “She’s laid down for her nap. We have about two hours.”

The devilish glint in his eyes does little to quell the rampant thoughts running in your mind. You suddenly want to feel his hands and mouth everywhere on your body, insatiable in your lust for his touch.

“Sh-Shouto, please,” you’re panting and he hasn’t even undressed you yet, “need you.”

A devout confession such as that one, something so primal in its nature, shifts his demeanor from playful to sinful. Now his fingertips are dancing beneath your shirt, palming over your skin like he might find a hidden treasure in your bones.

He shakes his head, nose grazing your cheek as he starts towards your collarbone, “Tell me what you need, darling.”

“Need you.”

You are quick in your answer, eyes screwed shut at the tantalizing ministrations of his fingers on your flesh. He is teasing you, just close enough to your breast that it hitches your breathing, but not too close to where you can feel pleasure. A hot wash of arousal rolls into your body, slick beginning to gather between your thighs.

“More specific,” the words are muttered around the skin of your chest, one of his hands tugging on your collar to bare more of your body to him.

You whine, bucking your hips upward, knowing exactly the shape his cock will be in beneath the underwear that has him caged from you. You reach forward and tug at the waistline of his briefs, “Please, Shouto, I want to feel you.”

At the mention of feel, he takes you by surprise as he slips two fingers between your folds, curling into you quickly. You muffle your whine into the pillow, turning your face so your cheek is smushed against the downy cushion. Shouto’s palm that isn’t occupied with your tight heat tugs your shirt up over the tops of your breasts, baring your chest to the cool air of the bedroom.

“You are feeling me, sweetheart,” he teasingly licks over your nipple, thankful for the lack of a bra separating you from his wanton tongue.

Another moan drags salaciously from your lips, vibrating your throat and making his cock twitch, “Sho’, wan’ your cock. Please.”

You’re able to drag his pants and briefs down at once, his cock springing free from the restricting fabric. When it bobs against his abdomen, enflamed red cockhead leaking pre-come, you feel saliva build up in the back of your throat. You start to pump him as best you can, watching as his weighty balls swing under your touch.

Everything about him is enticing, from his dual-toned hair to his heterochromatic eyes to his chiseled body. You’d use your tongue on every part of him if he’d let you, but right now you’re focused on only one thing.

Once Shouto has coaxed enough of your arousal to coat his hand, he curls his fingers into you one last time, collecting the silvery fluid on his fingers, and then stands to step out of his clothes. You keen at the loss of contact, eyes wide open so you don’t miss a second.

“C’mon, baby, take your clothes off for me.”

At his command, you’re stripping down until you’re bare in front of him, clothes in a pool of fabric on the floor right next to his. Even the simple intimacy of his clothing overlapped with yours does things to your heart, a pinpricking sensation making your skin heat.

“Hi,” he whispers, fingers framing your face as you get lost in his touch. His voice is gentle, and his touch is probing in the best of ways, a genuine smile tugging his lips upward as you echo the word back to him.

You can feel your arousal tumbling within the confines of your body, begging to be put to use as you feel his cock against your thigh. Todoroki guides you back into the mattress, shoulders pressing into the cool sheets, your body given some sort of contrast to the molten heat circulating under your skin. Your blushed skin draws Shouto’s attention, eyes dragging over each inch of your body, mesmerized by your beauty.

Todoroki shakes his head, “You’re beautiful, you know?”

And at the end of his sentence, acting like punctuation, his cock slides between your heat.

Your eyelids flutter shut and your hands are on him in an instant, nails dug into his flesh to try and dispel some of the energy already built up within your fragile body. Shouto feels lightning spark up into his spine, the trails of it striking his hidden heart, licking at the edges of the glass box keeping him imprisoned from the world.

As your cunt clenches around him and your mouth utters his name like a prayer, Shouto can tell that his chest is constricting, tightening around his heart in an attempt to break himself free from the confines of his past.

“Sho’,” you’re mewling for him now as the veins of his cock drag salaciously against your tight, glutenous walls. Silvery slick coats his dick and he moans as your pussy clamps again.

He begins to build up the speed of his thrusts, his thumb brushing over your clit slowly, the very beginning of a pleasurable end building up within your belly. His mouth is attached to anything on you he can find – breast, collarbone, jaw, throat, cheek. Teeth and tongue lash out at you, parting his mouth so his heated breath can wash over your body.

Shouto focuses as best he can on forcing heat down the length of his arm, pinpointing the warmest point onto the tip of his thumb. You preen, eyes bulging out of your sockets well enough that he can translate your pleasure. On the opposing hand, the one currently preoccupied with your nipple, begins to freeze. Gooseflesh trembles on his arm but he does not mind, not when he gets to hear your panting whines of his name mixed with the begging sounds of please, please, please.

“Such a good girl,” Shouto murmurs into the thin skin of your throat, tongue delving from between his lips to lavish your jugular. “So pretty, laid out just for me.”

You nod your head as best you can, eyes wide as you drink in his praise. Your mouth bobs open but you can’t form words, not anything intelligent anyway. Shouto reaches his icy thumb towards your lips, brushing his cool touch over the heated skin, steam wafting between the two of you.

“Have you been thinking about this as long as I have?” he asks rhetorically, not expecting you to answer based on the fucked out look in your eyes, the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as his body makes quick work of you. Shouto grunts, “I’ve wanted to take you against every damn surface in this house for months.”

His left hand peels from your clit, running up over the curve of your thigh to press beneath your knee, pushing your leg upward so he can thrust into you from a better angle. Your hands are stuck on the sheets now, his body just out of reach thanks to the twisting of your hips. Shouto slams into you, balls slapping your ass as he ruts forward.

You feel his cock harden even further from within the confines of your cunt, the tip of him brushing against the spongy corner of your insides. After another deep thrust he’s bottomed out within you, hips absolutely flush with your thighs as he presses into you.

Shouto leans forward, not daring to pull himself away from you just yet, enjoying the way you envelope him fully, “You think you can come for me, love? I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

“Y-Yes, Shouto, I-I’m getting there, almost,” you promise him, eyes fucked out to the point you can barely make sense of his frame loitering above you. Your lower lip wobbles as you pout, “A-Are you gonna-fuck-want you to come in me.”

It’s a simple sentence, but the weight of it makes Todoroki’s heart stop. He knows you’re on preventatives, he’s had to stay home with Hana to cover during the day for your doctor’s visits. But something stirs at the base of his cock, weighing in the thick of his body, and for some reason he wishes you were his for the taking in every sense of the word.

As you whimper beneath him, his eyes trail over your body, landing on your belly. His fiery touch grazes the swell of your stomach where he knows his cock is pressed deep within you. His balls throb at the thought of coating every inch of you in his spend, you begging for more as it leaks out of you and onto the sheets; him drawing you into another round just to make sure that you’re stuffed full.

Suddenly, a fracture within his chest allows him to breathe deeper. As you buck your hips into him, begging him for more, telling him how good he’s making you feel, Shouto recognizes the fragile box surrounding his heart, guarding it from the world, has begun to shatter.

“Shouto, please,” you are begging him now, glassy eyes and pitched tone designed just for him, “Need to feel you, everywhere.”

Your plea is the final rock thrown at the glass box, cracking it in every direction. Shards of emotion lodge in his throat, tearing into him so he cannot breathe. As he gasps for breath, fingers digging into your skin, he knows he’s bruising you but he can’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than finally marking you down at his.

And then, when your breathy voice curls in the air, settling on his chest like a balm, he feels the glass melt away, turning to liquid fire in his gut. The words you utter tear open his heart, leaving a gaping, belligerent wound that he knows only you can mend.

“I love you, Shouto, I love you too.”

His eyes find yours, wide and wanting. You nod as if that will solidify his place in the universe, tears blurring your vision, repeating the sentiment over and over again, uncaring to the way your face looks glassy beneath the lowlight of the bedroom. You just need him to know, need him to understand.

“Shit,” he pushes the heel of his palm into the bottom of your stomach, itching to feel the way his cock pulses in and out of you as he thrusts into your body. His thoughts are even more permanent now, the idea of filling you up, pouring his body into you in the most primal way possible, is the only thing he can see. Your hand makes its way into his hair, tugging at the crown of his head as you lean forward.

A mix of crimson and white is bunched between your fists, matching the little tufts of hair that tickle your pelvis every time he bottoms out within you. You scrape your nails against his scalp, but that only spurs him on faster, panting moans busting his throat open and begging you for more.

Your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, mouth parted so he can see the pink of your tongue, “Sh-Sho’, I’m close.”

He makes it his mission to twitch his cock within your walls, providing an extra layer of stimulation as his channels himself into you mercilessly. Somehow, he does it with such a finesse that it does not feel rushed or sloppy. Shouto is very careful, precise, in everything he does, and you are not surprised it works its way into the mannerisms he exhibits between the sheets as well.

“C’mon, darling,” he coos into your ear, folding your thighs upward so you’re fully pressed into the mattress, “I want you to come for me, yeah? I want you to coat my cock. You can do it, you’re close, I can feel it.”

His praise intertwined with the thickness of his cock bulging within you breaks the crest of the wave, allowing pleasure to flow through your body and onto his cock, coating him in your thick, sweet release.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Shouto continues to thrust upward into you, eyes focused on your face as he uses your cunt to bring his own euphoria down from the clouds. He’s looking down at you, jaw hung wide as he buries his cock into your tight heat, enjoying the way your slick lubricates his length.

You buck up into him and he drops his head to your collarbone, thrusts becoming sloppier the longer he tries to hang on to the edge of the cliff. Your hand in his hair tugs on the strands, mouth by his ear as you whisper, “Please, Shouto, want to feel you come in me. I want you to pump me full of your hot load, stuff me-ah.”

His hips stutters as he releases his seed into you, tongue lapping at your throat carelessly to try and force his body not to start up again. The need to feel you coming around him, begging for his cock and come, is something he has been denying for too long.

“I love you,” he whispers into the curve of your earlobe, nipping at the skin as his hips still. “Fuck, I love you.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to the curve of his scalp, “I love you too.”

As he reaches the extent of his high, he presses his body flat into you, cock twitching within your core. Your palms find his shoulders, grazing gently with your fingernails until he’s moaning into your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin.

“Unless you want to go again, I suggest you put an end to that,” he warns, but there is no intent behind it.

You laugh, rubbing your ankle against his calf, “We’ve got a little one about to wake from her nap. Maybe later.”

And that is a promise you fully intend to keep.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Momma?”

You turn your head, pancakes on the griddle in front of you, “Yes, honey?”

Hana bounces towards you, white chiffon dress bubbling out at her knees, “When is breakfast ready?”

“When daddy gets back from his run,” you answer her, squatting in front of her to smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of her dress. “I made yours with choco-chips.”

Her eyes go wide and you feel a little sunbeam shining directly on your heart, warming your chest. She grabs you by the cheeks, palms squishing your lips together, “You can’t tell daddy!”

“Oh, I won’t,” you promise, voice distorted from the way she has you in her grasp. You brush a hand through her silver curls, tucking the strands away from her face. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Don’t tell daddy what?”

Hana squeals, turning on her heels to sprint towards the garage door. She’s on Shouto’s leg in an instant, clutching him like her life depends on it. You stand back to your feet, brushing your thighs clean before turning back to the griddle to start another round of pancakes.

“We can’t tell you or else it won’t be a secret, duh!” Hana sticks her tongue out as she pokes Shouto’s leg, rolling her eyes like it should be obvious. “Look, Momma’s making pancakes!”

Todoroki looks across the room at you, eyes reminding you of colorful gems as they behold you. Every time you catch him staring at you, you swear it’s even more infatuated than the last, his love for you only growing as time passes.

“Is she?” He peels her from his leg to shift her into his arms, holding her securely against his side. Todoroki walks over to you, leaning into the counter so he’s close enough that you can reach him but far enough that he can’t burn Hana on the griddle.

“You’re back quicker than I expected,” you admit, pouring batter out onto the stovetop. You grab the spatula, prepared to flip once they look done enough, “Did you pull something?”

Shouto shakes his head, leaning forward to intercept you with a kiss to the lips, “I just missed you.”

“Ew, gross! Kissing means cooties!” Hana pushes your faces apart, a hand on your mouths as she dramatically lolls her tongue out of her mouth to prove her disgust.

You chuckle, leaning forward to brush her hair from her eyes again, tucking it behind her ear even though you know it will spring forward not long after. Your eyes flash from her to her father, watching the pride settle into his irises, solidifying them even more. A gentle touch of your hand to his bicep brings him back to you, gaze unwavering as he maps out the features of your face yet again, each time finding something new to behold.

“Well, that means you have time to shower before we eat,” you squeeze his arm and return to your station at the griddle, flipping the next set of pancakes. “I’ve still got to make eggs and bacon, and some hash browns for the princess.”

Hana is beaming, bright smile tugging on the strings of your heart, “Momma makes the best hash browns.”

Todoroki places her back down on the ground, patting her backside as a silent gesture to tell her to go play. She takes his hint, sprinting back into the living room to resume her tea party with a stuffed elephant and a Ken barbie doll.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You never-ooh.”

He’s got you by the neck with one hand, the other anchoring to your hip to hold you close. Todoroki melds your mouths together, the heat of his body quickening your pulse. He steps closer, knee between your thighs so you can feel the hard bulge pressing into the fabric of his running shorts.

You hum as he parts from you, pancakes momentarily forgotten in the wake of his affections. You pat your hands on his chest, gnawing on your lower lip, “Smooth one, Todoroki.”

Shouto pinches your hip, growing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You. Me. Nap time.”

“Oh?” you ask as he unwinds himself from you, nudging your body back towards the griddle.

“And I’m not talking about sleeping.”

Todoroki disappears from around the corner, slipping up the stairs to your now shared bedroom.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips. When you go to turn this set of pancakes, the diamond sitting on your left hand catches the luminescent lights of the kitchen and you marvel at it. You roll your ring around on your finger, trying to find a different angle to appreciate it from, but you’ve already memorized the shape of it after three years of marriage.

Your palm finds the gentle swell of your navel beneath the baggy t-shirt you’re wearing, one of Shouto’s early proofs for a new merchandise design. You bite your lip and look down, speaking to the rustling new life currently blooming in your belly, “Here’s to tomorrow, little one. May it always be just a little better than today.”

The pancakes are done and the bacon is sizzling when Shouto returns with damp hair and a pair of sweats on the lower half of his body. He curls an arm around you from behind, kissing your shoulder, “Smells good, love.”

You turn to offer him a kiss, which he takes with fervor. Hana voices her disgust from her seat at the table, but Shouto hushes her quickly with a playful rise of his eyebrow, pointed finger making her giggle.

The three of you are sat down to breakfast, just like any other Saturday, but this one feels special for some reason. You can’t quite make it out; maybe it’s the sun shining outside or the crisp breeze blowing through the open windows, but your soul is settled in a way that can only be achieved by utter bliss.

“Hey,” Shouto calls you from your stupor, “your choco-chip pancakes are going cold.”

You blink slowly, returning your gaze to him, a gentle smile on your face.

At least you’ll get to spend the rest of your life with someone as mindful and kind as Todoroki Shouto.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

taglist: @bakugous-forehead @kamehamethot @burnedbyshoto @rivendell101 @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki​ @todorki-shoto​ @bakuoushoe​ @1-800-callmekatsuki​ @tenyaingenium​ @lxvely-mha​ @myherorambles​ @ramen-rambles​ @honeytama​ @sleepysuneater​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @whats-her-quirk​ @riotfuckery​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @aizawamirite​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @suckersuki​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @kingtamakimurder​

[milkbread420]

do you think you could write something(hc, drabble, etc 😂 take your pick) where one of the boys(kuroo or suna(idk if you write for suna) where the reader is “heather”. like the boys have girl best friend that likes them but the boys have a crush on the reader...yk? let’s flip the switch 👀 but only if you want to, no pressure.

Pairings: Kuroo x f!reader, Suna x f!reader

I kinda got carried away and just did all of the above bc I couldn’t pick but I hope this is what you were looking for! :)

(Also sorry this took a while, I’m a little busy, I hope you didn’t think I was ignoring you hwbxjowsgoih)

Warnings: Swearing, angst??

Kuroo

Kuroo talks about you all the time

Like so much, that she’s told him to shut up more than a few times.

When she does, he teases her about being jealous.

Little does he know

He has her talk to you, and makes her tell him everything just so he can find out little things about you here and there.

That’s how he’s learned your favorite color, your favorite food, and some of your hobbies.

He would smile and blush as she talked about her conversations with you

Every time she’d die a little inside.

He asks her for advice almost every chance he gets

Definitely cancels his plans with her just to spend more time with you

She wants to hate you so bad

Like so bad

But you’re just so perfect and kind, he absolutely adores you, and she swears that you were made for him.

You even laugh at all of his terrible chemistry jokes.

She used to be the only one.

He always takes her out to buy little gifts for you because he needs “a girl’s input” on what would be a good gift.

“Maybe buy me a gift,”

Girly really hoped you were a passing fad

Secretly hoped you’d reject him and he’d realize that she was the one for him

Life is not ‘You Belong With Me’ by Taylor Swift :

All her hopes are crushed when she sees him kissing you after a game in front of all his teammates

Kenma: Yikes

“Did you see how pretty she looked today?” Kuroo sighed, letting his body collapse onto his bed. The girl sitting upright beside him nodded stiffly, “She’s like an angel or something,” his lips curved upward into a smile, “I can’t believe someone like her even looks in my direction,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “She’s fucking perfect,” “Shut up for a second,” the girl snapped. Kuroo’s eyes shot open and he dragged himself up into a sitting position, “Sorry, it’s just, she’s all you ever talk about anymore, I want to talk about other things to ya’ know,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. 

Kuroo quirked a brow, sending her a devilish smirk, “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” he joked, a boisterous laugh escaping him; she frowned, “Aw come on, I’m just messing with ya’,” She knew that, but without even realizing, he’d struck a chord that shouldn’t have been played, “You think you could do me a solid?”

“Not a liquid or a gas?” She giggled. 

Kuroo laughed for just a second, “I’m serious,” he said. She swore he could have heard the shattering of her heart, the Kuroo she knew would never brush off a good science pun; he really did like you. 

She swallowed hard, “Yeah what’s up?”

“Well I was thinking you could talk to her for me, you know? Girl to girl or some shit?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s just I get all stupid around her, so I was hoping you could help me out,”

“Sure,” The girl replied before he could even really think about it. How pathetic. She thought. 

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Kuroo sighed, “How about I set you up with one of the first years on my team?” he smirked, standing up and walking out of his room; she followed close behind, “Have your pick, I’ll put in a good word,” by the time he finished talking, they were standing right next his front door. The girl shot him an inquisitive look, “I told her I’d call her around this time,” he said.

“Oh!” she understood, “Got it! Well, have fun!” he wanted her to leave.  “I most certainly will,” he smiled, waving her off as she opened the door for herself.

“See you tomorrow then,”

“Yep,”

-

“Excuse me, y/n?” the girl tapped your shoulder and you stopped in your tracks, turning to face her, “I’m sorry to bother you on your walk home, it’s just, I was wondering if we could talk? Like get to know each other,” you recognized her from how much time she spent with Kuroo. They were friends, and you knew that, so you jumped at the opportunity to get acquainted with one of his friends.

“Of course!” You said with a kind smile that she was certain you couldn’t have faked, “It would be an honor actually!” you continued, making her want to rip your throat out, but also thank you profusely; she opted for neither, “You’re so cool and collected around Kuroo, I’m a little jealous,” she admitted. If only you knew, she thought to herself. “I wish I could be that way too, but i just get all flustered and red whenever he’s around me,” 

She forced a smile onto her face, “Well I’ve known him long enough not to be flustered anymore,” her eyes fell and she recalled all the times he’d made the butterflies in her stomach flutter like nobody’s business.

You giggled and nodded, “You’re so pretty, too!” 

The girl almost stopped dead in her tracks, “Thank you,” but you’re perfect.

You smiled and nodded.

-

“Hey,” Kuroo said, turning around in his desk to look at the girl, “Do you wanna go to the mall with me after school?” She stared blankly for a moment, thinking this might be everything that she’d been waiting for, “It’s y/n’s birthday next week, and I wanna get her something nice,” he said with a lovestruck smile that wasn’t for her. 

“Oh!” she nodded, “Yeah, sure!” 

“Cool,” Kuroo gave her a thumbs up, “I could use some advice, I don’t really know what girls like,” he shrugged, “Meet me in the schoolyard after our last class,” the girl nodded and he turned back around. She cursed herself for even thinking it could be about her.

After the last bell rang, she stood and waited for him in the schoolyard, more than a little disgruntled by the fact that he was nowhere in sight. She checked the time. It had already been ten minutes since the last class. 

“Sorry!” she heard a him holler as he ran towards her, “y/n didn’t have enough for a water at the vending machine, so I went to buy her one from the cafeteria,” he said, panting as he caught his breath. 

“It’s fine,” she said, looking down.

Kuroo hesitated, “You okay?” 

She smiled, “Yeah,”

“Look, I’ll make it up you okay?” he sighed. Her heart beat faster for just a moment, “I’ll bring you a piece of the cake you like from that bakery,” a smile graced her features, I’m going with y/n tomorrow,” she should have known better. 

“You don’t have to,” she shook her head, hoping he’d tell her that he wanted to.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged and started walking. 

She stood there for a moment, collecting the pieces of her heart.

-

“You did great, Kuroo!” the girl said, smiling as the boy chuckled, just barely turning his head to look at her. 

“We all did great,” he said, brushing some hair out of his face and turning back to high five his teammates. She smiled and stood there idly as he chattered and messed around with his team. 

“Kuroo!” she heard a voice that had become all too familiar, and she immediately noticed the way his ears perked up at the sound of it, his whole body jerking around in the direction it came from; he smiled when he saw you, “You were amazing!” you said, grinning from ear to ear, “You’re so talented!” 

He took one of your hands in his, “Thank you,” he smiled, his other hand brushing over your cheek, “I’m glad you could make it,” 

The girl watched, fighting back a scorn. 

She made it to every single game what the hell was just one in comparison? 

The difference, she concluded, was that she simply was not you. 

“Hey, who’s the hottie and why have you been hiding her from us?” Yamamoto complained, wiping sweat from his forehead as he shot you a charming smile.

“This is my-” Kuroo coughed, and the girl was almost sick right then and there. Even if just by mistake, he was about to call you his girlfriend, “This is y/n,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist, “And don’t get any ideas,” he huffed. You giggled and flung your arms around him. For a moment he looked taken aback and the girl silently prayed he’d shove you away, but instead, his slender fingers made their way beneath your chin, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly. Your face was red and his was just a few centimeters away from it. 

The girl turned away as he kissed you. 

It was soft and innocent and filled with so much love she could be sick. His eyes were closed gently, so were yours, and you both looked like you’d found water in the middle of a desert. She wondered how long he’d been waiting to do that, how long he’d wanted to kiss you instead of her. 

Kenma blinked, “y/n what is he bribing you with?”

“Nothing,” you laughed, “I really like him, that’s all,”

Kuroo smirked, “I really like you too miss y/n,”

“Gross,” 

Kenma took the words right out of her mouth. 

___

Suna

When Suna first started talking about you, he didn’t use a name so she thought he was talking about her.

Then he was like “yeah y/n is really something.” 

Girl became hella toxic after that

He kinda stops talking about you, because when he does, she’s really mean 

Has the AUDACITY to call you toxic

Knows deep down that you’re everything he’s ever wanted and genuinely feels happy for him, but will never say it.

She hates you and she wants you to know it 

B word

He always defends you whenever she’s rude which totally pisses her off even more

At one point, mans gets sick and tired of her shit and tells her she can either act like a decent human being or find a new best friend

Girly shut up after that

Reluctantly

He definitely knows that she likes him and he highkey uses it to his advantage because he knows she’d do pretty much anything for him

Including driving you down to one of his away games when you’re out of money for the train.

It’s a very awkward ride. 

She’s listening to some shit music

Will not hand you the AUX

He’s really touchy with you after that particular game and she just knows he’s about to do something that’s gonna tick her off 

Atsumu also knows she likes him and he’s just like “Lmao, sucks,” cause he also knows the man is about to ask you to be his girlfriend.  

When you hold Suna’s hand and he smiles she loses her marbles. 

She knows he’s not one for PDA, so when he doesn’t brush you off, it makes her absolutely furious.

He drags you away to a more secluded place

Girl almost screams when she realizes he’s kissing you.

ATSUMU SAYS SOME DUMB SHIT TO HER I JUST KNOW IT 

“She’s really a great person,” Suna said, writing in the answers to his homework as he sat with his friend in the school’s library, “She’s smart, and nice, and she’s really pretty,” he continued to move his pen and the girl next to him blushed.

“Really?” she asked, smiling as she got her hopes up, almost certain that he was about to confess his love for her.

“Yeah,” he said simply, “Her name’s y/n, she’s in our english class,” 

Her face fell and she swore her heart stopped, “y/n, huh?” she sighed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, “Never heard of her,”

“That’s too bad,” he said, his eyes not leaving the paper, “She’s really amazing,” 

You must have been something if you had Suna praising you so highly. The thought in and of itself made her blood boil with jealousy.

“So do you like, have a crush on her?” she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know, but her curiosity prevailed. 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding softly, finally looking up from his homework. 

She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek.

God did she wish she knew who you were, just so she could make your life a living hell. 

-

“Your mascara smudged,” the girl said, rather loud as she tapped your shoulder from the desk behind you, “You should fix it,” 

“Oh!”you turned around, face red from embarrassment, “Um, thanks,” Her voice had alerted some of your other classmates as well, making their heads turn towards you. 

Suna scowled at his friend as she smiled fakely at you, “It’s okay, y/n, you look fine,” he said, his eyes not moving from the girl. She shrugged and looked down at the assignment on her desk. She heard Suna whisper something to you, but she couldn’t make out what it was, but you giggled. Her fist balled up and she almost snapped the pencil in her hand. 

After class he left the room without her, walking with you by his side instead. She frowned and jogged to catch up to the two of you, forcing her way in between you and Suna. He sighed to himself.

“Suna!” she said with a pout, “You didn’t wait for me after class!” 

He nodded, “I was gonna walk y/n to her next class,” the girl frowned and then looked over at you, “She’s a big girl, she can walk by herself!” you tilted your head, unable to tell whether or not she was joking. 

“You can go Suna, I’m sorry if you felt like you had to or something,” you said, nervously fiddling with your fingers. 

“No,” he said waving a hand in front of him, “It’s okay, I enjoy our time together,” the girl grimaced as you smiled at him and he smiled back. 

-

“So how’s y/n?” the girl asked in a venomous tone, looking over at Suna from the other side of her living room sofa. 

He shrugged, “She’s good,” the boy visibly tried to retain a smile as he answered. 

“Oh what? All of a sudden you don’t wanna talk about her?” she asked, irritated by the shortness of his reply. She should have been happy, glad even that he had finally shut up about you, but she couldn’t help herself from being just a little disappointed that she couldn’t hear any more of his voice. You were all he wanted to talk about after all. 

“I don’t feel like listening to you complain about her,” he said, glancing down at his phone and smiling. You must have been messaging him.  

The girl folded her arms, “Not my fault she’s ruining our friendship,” she mumbled and looked away. 

Suna looked up with confused expression, “She’s ruining our friendship?” he asked with a raised brow, “You’re the one sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,”

She scoffed, “See! She’s got you wrapped around your finger, right where she. wants you! Wake up Rintaro! She’s a manipulative bitch! How many times did you willingly go out to the movies or to the mall before you met her?” 

“It’s Suna,” he said in no particular manor, “And join the hurdling team if you’re gonna jump to conclusions,” he grumbled, grabbing his jacket before heading towards her front door, 

“Wait!” she hollered.

“What?” he replied, looking bored as ever. 

“Look, I’ll stop being so mean to her, okay?” she rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest.

“Okay.” he said simply, letting himself out. The girl wanted to beg him to stay, or even better, she wanted him to want to stay, all on his own with no encouragement from her; but as long as she wasn’t you, it would never be that way. 

-

The girl’s phone rang, just as she was about to leave her house and head to the gym across town where Suna would be playing that afternoon. She let out a disgruntled sigh as she reached for her back pocket, clicking the ‘answer’ button.

“Hey,” it was his voice on the other end, “You’re coming to the game right?” A smile spread across her lips and she silently cheered; that must mean he wanted her there, “Hello?” 

“Sorry!” she said, “Yeah, I’m just about to leave, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes,” 

“Oh good,” he mumbled, she nodded as if he could see her, “you haven’t left yet,” 

A horrible feeling brewed in the pit of her chest, “No,” she really didn’t want to ask, “why?”

She could hear his smile through the phone, “y/n’s out of money for the train I was calling to ask if you could bring her,” 

Of course.

“Of course,” she said through her teeth, feigning a cheerful tone, “Send me her address,” 

“I just did,” he said.

“Great!” she replied.

“Thanks,” he sighed, “I really want her here,” 

“Of course,” 

Of course.

It wasn’t her he was looking forward to having cheer him on, it wasn’t her hand he wanted to hold, and it wasn’t her who has stolen his heart, like some thief in the night. 

It was you. 

The girl arrived at your house around five minutes after the call, she honked a few times to get your attention; she couldn’t have been bothered to go knock, step into the house where you’d probably made out with her best friend a million times. 

You tapped lightly on her window to get her attention. She shook herself and unlocked the door, “Thank you so much!” you said as soon as you sat down, “I’m so sorry, I feel so bad making you go out of your way, but thank you, really,”

In truth, her house was actually on the way to the stadium, “Yeah, just don’t expect it to be a routine thing,” 

You nodded, “Of course not!” she flashed you a forced smile then turned on the radio. It was some music by an artist you absolutely hated, and she was quick to notice the momentary flash of disdain on your face. 

“Do you not like this?” she asked though the answer was quite obvious.

You shook your head politely, “No, it’s alright!” she grinned almost evilly and turned up the volume. 

After the game, you and the girl stood together awkwardly, both of you waiting for the same boy to come out of the gym.  The doors opened a few moments later and the first person to appear was not Suna, but Atsumu Miya, “Suna, your fanclub’s here,” he chuckled as he continued walking, discreetly tugging the girl’s arm as he brushed past her.

“Hey-!” “Shut up for a second wouldja’?” he said lowly, looking back as Suna approached you, “I know yer’ gonna try some dumb shit, and this is important to Suna, so I needja’ to lay off,” he said. 

She frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“He’s gonna make it official with y/n,” he rolled his eyes at how oblivious she was, “jeez are ya’ stupid?” 

“He didn’t tell me,” she said with a scowl, “Let me go Atsumu I need to-”

The girl struggled in his grip, but his strength prevailed, “I don’t think so,” he said with a raised brow, “you’ve been causin’ nothin’ but trouble for them,” the setter explained, “so I ain’t lettin’ ‘ya go ‘till he’s done what he wants to do,” 

She peeked over the setter’s shoulder and watched as  your face turned a dark crimson, one of your shaky hands reaching for his. He didn’t jerk away, hell he didn’t even tense, his entire body just relaxed when your hand made contact with his and it was unlike anything she’d ever seen him do. In all the years she’d known him, all the times she’d touched him, he never once looked the way he did now. 

He pulled you away, behind a wall near the bathrooms. Atsumu had finally let go and she quickly followed the path you and Suna had taken. The setter clicked his tongue and followed her to make sure she wouldn’t do anything stupid.

She would have too. Done something stupid that is, if she hadn’t seen the look on his face just before he kissed you; absolute content. It was like you’d made all his other thoughts and feelings just disappear, and she knew that even if she managed to tear them apart and get him to be with her, Suna would always wish she were you. 

“I think I’m gonna go now,” she squeaked. 

“See ‘ya at the wedding,” Atsumu said snidely. 

She silently wondered if he was joking. 

=

Ahh those were so fun to write ;-;