#only to end up crying for the whole last book and a half bc of it

[red-dyed-sarumane]

totsukuni no shoujo worked really well for me from every point like the creature designs are very interesting the pacing gives u a reason to care about the charas bonds without getting bored with it it handles its themes well & i love that the strongest bond isnt a romantic type of love and its still undeniably one of the most important aspects that makes the story work. its got its twists & i never saw them coming yet none of it felt like it was only for shock value. definitely recommend.

spoiler time but

man. just. the lengths they went for each other. teacher doing anything to keep her safe when the whole time there was nothing to keep her safe from. he cant save her from herself. but that he wouldve killed for her, the fact he literally gave his soul for her, gave up the last of what he had. man it really hits. and then that shiva came back and cared got him to return to himself. like it goes both ways. and yet. the whole time there was nothing to protect.

but also the whole. shiva and the kuro no ko are the same. that whole underwater scene. idk. im sleepy i cant say it well but. that like. even if shiva isnt actually the real thing, she exists somwhere inside that kuro no ko(i read in jpn im so sorry idk what eng term is used for it & im not using a literal translation) so in a way. shes still there. theyre the same. but also not. the whole idea of there being truth in falsehoods.

bc im going to be honest with u i thought the twist was going to be like. shiva was actually teacher's kid the whole time & when something happened to his wife she ended up with a random lady so the whole thing about her not actually being related wouldnt have been a lie. then idk i was expecting a reveal like yeah since he was such a good doctor it was proof of his relation to the gods they keep mentioning. and then they hit me with the twist they did & im still like What. but in a good way. from a plot perspective it's interesting i like it but as a reader god. pain.

& i think it handles the whole "one cannot exist without the other" theme pretty well. teachers whole existence as a way of saying not everything ur told is bad is actually bad & the fact most of the creatures seem to be pretty neutral. its true they can spread the curse but that in itself doesnt really make them bad. meanwhile the whole kingdom willing to sacrifice a child for a chance at being saved from something they dont really even understand. neither are true good or bad yet portrayed as dark and light. that theres no clear answer so to speak but the two cant truly be separated.

i feel like this is definitely one of those medias thats going to stay on my mind for a while

[atopvisenyashill]

alright things i liked

baela pointing out that jace is not the first bastard to inherit a seat that isn’t his by blood. that was a fun convo and i loved the back and forth and i love that she comes at it like “why are you moping do you think you’re the only bastard in the fucking world” and jace is like barely able to argue his point that LIVING that reality is so much more draining than she realizes, he’s too busy daydreaming about strangling ulf to death over the kitchen table.

everything helaena did. sensing daemon is having a dragon dream and using it to get him back to rhaenyra’s side, the way she really was listening to alicent’s idea about running away to essos together, letting her mother speak her piece in her defense, then going out onto the balcony knowing aemond is going to corner her and giving him the dressing down of his LIFE while he cries, all very good.

abigail thorne. omg. am i mad she’s not sabitha frey? yes. was she still hilarious? also yes.

ESSOSI OUTFITS THAT LOOK GOOD. WE GOT BLUE HAIR FOLKS!!!!

ulf and hugh and addam. trying to find their place, trying to bond with their dragons and each other, unsure of their footing. addam looked ready to turn to goo in his chair. hugh wincing at every “lowborn” quirk ulf has. ulf going ham on acting like ulf bc he’s nervous & telling jokes to cover it. loved it.

alys alys alys. crying at daemon’s bedside at what’s to come, at what she’s going to face next. do you think she saw simon’s death and wept for her silly uncle. does she grieve her cousins before they have even died. does she weep at daemons bedside knowing she’s leading him to his end.

larys and aegon. the whole scene was so good, the way larys is really trying to convince aegon to leave & fight another day and he has like a VERY solid plan but aegon is so completely shaken up bc he just had no idea aemond hated him that much, this is just what love is to him, is this constant push pull of humiliation and abuse that hes still as blind as he was when he was a child to the way his actions affect aemond.

alfred brune just nervously disappearing into the crowd after Daemon gets everyone singing “god save the queen” is so fucking funny. man is like “oh i misread that one HARDCORE i am about to get ate by a fucjing DRAGON while those two watch and fuck nasty” his ass is GRASS lmao

things that were booty, ass even

every single scene helaena had should have come earlier in the season. there’s no reason alicent & helaena couldn’t have had this convo in the last episode instead of alicent fucking off to the godswood for a swim.

i think it’s fine In Theory that alicent goes to rhaenyra and basically surrenders. she’s been shut out of power, she’s lost control of aemond, she’s terrified for helaena’s safety, and otto who was her rock & partner in all things has been gone for a long while. she’s floundering, her shitty boyfriends have abandoned her, she thinks her only shot is to work out a surrender with rhaenyra. COMMA BUT. caving to rhaenyra saying “i’m gonna have to execute aegon” was dumb & ooc. i’m tired of all these little trips between KL and dragonstone. i think that confrontation lacked a lot of punch, alicent was FAR too calm. idek what they’re doing w alicent’s reactions half the time tbh, this feels once again like being unable to let an actress just look ugly for a minute. even during a scene where she should ostensibly be nervous and freaking out, she looks immaculate & prettily distressed. i’m very much over it esp with how often we’ve seen rhaenyra look banged up or windswept or tired or whatever this season.

officially fridging marilda just takes so much intrigue out of the hull boys & alyn specifically. marilda is the only baseborn or lowborn character we get in the book that isn’t shit talked and this is likely due to alyn making SURE his mother is respected. to cut all of that for….what? more manpain? unacceptable.

pls tell me why tyland gets more haha jokey scenes than baela and rhaena get for any scenes at all. baela fights and SURVIVES the last dragon battle in westeros. rhaena is the last dragon rider until dany. they are powerful political forces just as their grandparents and parents. but they just do NOTHING it is so FRUSTRATING.

in theory i’m fine with aegon thinking sunfyre is dead and then finding out he’s alive bc sunfyre has come to rescue him from something. but if sunfyre doesn’t show up WAY EARLIER than the swan dive, if they CUT SOMEHOW THE SWAN DIVE and we don’t get to see aegon snot-crying and screaming as he holds baela’s burnt open face against a headstone and screams that he’s going to kill her for killing sunfyre while she’s glaring and daring him to fucking do it then, you all will never know peace from me. i will literally never stop bitching i will become the most annoying poster on this website i will find condal and hess and i will-

all build up and for WHAT. did they forget that even tho s6 ended with a bunch of shots of people’s armies moving there was an entire fucking battle that happened and then cersei committed religious terrorism??!!!

OH SO WE KEEP YAPPIN ABOUT DAERON ALL FUCKING SEASON JUST THIS RANDOM ASS FOURTH CHILD THAT WE DIDNT HEAR ABOUT ONCE LAST SEASON, AND ALL WE SAW WAS THAT TWO SECOND SCENE OF TESSARION FROM THE TEASER??

AND WE DONT EVEN SEE DREAMFYRE??

[the-bi-space-ace]

I’m running on 4 hours of sleep, caffeine, chicken tenders and spite so this is going to be chaotic and rambling and short let’s goooooo

… screaming crying throwing things losing my mind that was SO GOOD YET SO PAINFUL. I will need ten business days just to recover from that.

Goodness. My heart ACHES for Crosshair. I mean... it always has. I have always felt such deep sorrow when it comes to him. But this just... It took me out.

Crosshair has always craved connection, trust, and loyalty. He needs it so badly and this episode just proves how far he’ll go for that loyalty. He bonds with Mayday, even over that short period of time, and he can’t leave him, not like that. He can still save him. He can keep this connection he’s made. Except. No. No he can’t. The empire won’t save Mayday they won’t save anyone they think is too “weak” or who isn’t “useful”. The absolute devastation and suffering on Crosshair’s face after all that time of half dragging this man through snow and ice. After having to huddle for even a little bit of warmth. After surviving in unbelievable odds. And then to not only have Mayday die but have him be given up on? When his outcome could’ve been different? It destroys Crosshair. You can see it. Written all over his face. In his body language. In his voice. In the resolved way he drops to the ground and finally gives up fighting to stay conscious. This need for connection, to survive through connection to others, really really sticks out to me. Because that’s it right there, right? You can survive. But only if you’ve got people you trust and who care about you to watch your back. Every person Crosshair thinks can do that for him has left or is ‘gone’. The batch is gone. Cody is gone. And now Mayday who he dragged through the snow to save is gone. Crosshair forms bonds with people everywhere he goes and he doesn’t do well without those bonds. I could write a whole book about that but I’ll stop now 😅

I want to touch on that scene at the end. I think the wording is interesting “you might survive”. This idea of survival is so poignant in Crosshair’s story in particular. Mayday calls the two of them survivors at one point too. This idea of surviving and doing what is necessary is so engrained in Crosshair’s story that it’s impossible to ignore. While I am worried and scared about the implications of that last scene - experimentation, taking away his agency and his control, and many possibilities of him dying or being controlled in this season - I am holding out hope that his story will be done justice and he’ll end up surviving, as he has always done, and he’ll get away from the empire. AND he will not die this season bc I say so 😅

I know we are all terrified of the possibility of him dying and I am here to say that I don’t think he will. There are a few reasons why I think he won’t. One is that his story arc would make no sense with a redemption by death storyline. After the suffering and what we’ve seen him go through. Death as the end game? It makes for poor storytelling. Two is that he’s such an integral part of the story as a whole that I just don’t think it would make sense for the writers to kill him off after hyping his storyline this season. Like… I just wouldn’t be able to wrap my head around it if that happens. It would just be a lazy (I guess that’s the right word) ending for him. And I will hold out hope that we aren’t taking the easy way out since we’re making him suffer so badly.

I hope that made coherent sense! I loved this episode. This season has really been great and I’m so excited (and terrified) for next week!

[effervescentluminescence]

inspired by i think @ourflagmeansgayrights bc i also have too many WIPs (10 i guess, which is too many) and I kind of want to put them in the atmosphere so I finish some of them.

Starting with the two I might finish:

Not Christmas fic (also inspired by an @ourflagmeansgayrights post?) where post-divorce Stede on his first Christmas alone goes to NYC for the day on impulse bc all the movies make it look festive. It's not, really, but he does meet Ed there! And then they semi-accidentally go on a 24-hour extremely secular date and fall in love and have sex and all that.

Mega long fic where Ed and Stede meet as kids. Ed works at the Bonnet estate--he ended up there after the whole killing his dad thing, becomes bffs with Stede, they do some cute teen romance stuff, and they make plans to run away together after Stede's dad starts floating marriage prospects, but Badmintons intervene and Stede is forced into the British Naval Academy and Ed manages to escape the estate and goes home to his mom. But they tell Stede that Ed is dead! And then Stede finds out that he's not! And that Ed is Blackbeard (who has a slightly different reputation in this universe)! Anyway it's a lot of fic. I've got it pretty much mapped out but I'm intimidated by it.

lol not to mention the one I have mostly published with the last chapter mostly written but haven't finished yet haha

And some that are just sparkles in my eye:

Amnesia!fic where Chauncey does shoot Stede a little bit in the head before offing himself. Stede's marked dead on the logs and the only person who knows who he is is the guard Ed got to lead him into the forest, but admitting he knows who Stede is would be bad for him, so no one knows who he is. Basically Stede doesn't remember anything about his life, becomes a privateer, ends up accidentally unionizing his ship, accidentally on purpose kills his captain who is about to kill Ed. Stede's like, hi nice to meet you, I'm Toby (or something) and then Ed realizes that he doesn't actually know why Stede didn't meet him at the docks? Whoops.

Ed pretends to not be able to read and asks Stede to teach him so they can spend more time together.

Ed's mom is doing great now, actually, and after S1 he runs into his half-sister and meets his stepdad and sees his mom for the first time in 20 years and it's all very angsty and shmoopy

Fic where Ed and Stede are reunited and immediately start arguing/flirting so Izzy stabs Stede in the guts, more angst/shmoop

Jim forgives Ed--They get a letter from Olu via Olivia saying everyone is alright, so Jim's like...how can I fix this, oh hey an opportunity to try killing someone with kindness, been wanting to try that since they heard captain say it. It sounded stupid until they realized the killing was metaphorical. Jim so rarely has the moral high ground so this could be fun.

Sequel/Companion to my Princess Bride fic, missing scenes with Jim, Inigo, and Frenchie in the Fireswamp and the Bermuda Triangle

Post reunion pre-forgiveness, Ed has basically forgiven Stede but he just can't stop being a dick and he's so annoyed at himself about it but that makes him act even more dickish. It's a vicious cycle. (but it's because he hasn't actually talked to Stede yet because he's worried about being too mean and also crying a lot and he knows Stede's going to feel bad, but then he acts like a dick and makes Stede feel just as bad. He is very aware of how ridiculous he's being but can't stop.) Then Ed catches Stede him sneaking into the captains cabin. Turns out there's a secret bookshelf that Ed didn't know about where Stede kept all his favorites. Stede asks if he can take one, Ed just shrugs. Later Stede asks Ed if he can go grab another book and Ed for no real reason tells Stede he threw them all in the ocean. Ed can see the light go out in Stede's eyes, and he's like, no no no fuck that was so mean why did I say that, but then Stede walks away so Ed goes to his cabin to kick the walls. Later that day Lucius is like "heeyyyyy, did you really throw out all Stede's favorite books. Ed's like "...no." L: "yeah, that's what I thought. Could you tell him that? He thinks you hate him now and he's starting to lose all hope, and his will to live has always been tenuous at best--" and Ed's alarmed, now, also fuck it, he doesn't actually want to hurt Stede! Ed finds Stede and drags him into his cabin and then just starts monologuing all his hurts and apologies, and by the end they're both crying but Stede is smiling again and remarks how romantic it all was. The vibe on this is more humor than angst (angst mostly from moping!Stede)

[vibraniumwing]

soft.

a bucky barnes x fem!reader wherein the reader comes home to see the super soldier with a toddler tucked in his lap.

WARNING: none! (all mistakes within the story are mine)

A/N: soft and domestic (and clingy) bucky, anyone? i’ve written this with tfaws bucky in mind after episode five where he was on the couch and smiled after seeing sam’s nephews. so yes now i present to you bucky with a child bcs we need that content, ,, good bYe for i shall be drowning in my own feels.

---

“Do you really have to go, doll?” Bucky asked, watching you by the frame of your shared bedroom door with his hands crossed against his chest. A heavy sigh heaving from his lips as his eyes observed you pick out a shirt to wear, hands grasping on his black shirt and opted to wear that; a small smile formed on his lips as you slipped into the clothing piece, adoring how big it looks on you.

You turned to him with your hand on your waist, an eyebrow raised, “Unless you want to starve for a whole month then fine I won’t go to the grocery” you say teasingly, checking yourself out in the mirror before walking up to him, arms linking around his neck loosely; his hands circling around your waist in a protective manner as he pulls you into him. “I won’t be gone for the whole day, James.”

He groaned softly, wanting nothing more than to accompany you but seeing that you were going with your mother, he opted out. “You always say that then be gone for the whole afternoon.” he grumbles in between the kisses he gives you. “You and your mom take so much time at the grocery store.”

You threw your head back and laughed, finding his small whiny state adorable. You retract your arms from behind his neck and cupped the sides of his face, squishing his cheeks gently. “You sound like a child, Buck. I promise I won’t be long. Besides, you have Alpine to keep you company.” you motion your head to the sleeping cat on the bed.

“Now please let me go so I can leave now and be back sooner.” you tell him, pressing one final kiss to his lips before ducking out of his embrace, making your way to the front door and grabbing your car keys before turning back to see him standing behind you with a small pout on his lips (albeit he would never admit to doing such an act),

You grinned and walked up to him, reaching up to press a small kiss on his lips. “Sometimes it's hard to believe you’re this big scary dude that can take twenty men down in a course of ten minutes when all I see is this big baby.” you tease, a hand snaking up to the back of his head to play with the ends of his hair softly.

“Doll wait before you go” Bucky starts off, holding onto you, cheeks lightly flushed as he hesitated with his words, clearing his throat lightly before looking away, “Can you set up that damn Netflix thing on the TV before you leave?”

Your gaze on him softened even more and nodded, leading him to the living room and set the whole thing up for him, handing him the remote right after. “I’m guessing you can manage now?” he smiled shyly, the area around his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Yeah, I will. Thanks, doll.”

“I’ll be back later, I love you, Buck!” You bid him a goodbye, looking back at him from the door and gave him a small wave, the male waving back before focusing on the TV, searching for that one movie you suggested he watch.

“What was that movie called again? RIght, The Breakfast Club”

---

Not even half-way through the movie, Bucky had somehow fallen asleep on the couch, not finding the first few minutes of the film entertaining. He somehow fell deep into slumber that he didn’t even notice the front door of the house opening until he felt something being placed on his stomach.

He stirred awake and the first thing his blurry vision could make out is the outline of a toddler sitting on him. “Hey James, I’m leaving Hugo with you and Y/N for the weekend. Our babysitter cancelled out last minute and I’ve been trying to call my sister but she hasn’t picked up any calls.” Damian, your younger brother said in a rush, putting down your nephew’s baby bag on the coffee table. “Thanks James, we owe you one.”

But before Bucky could get a say in any of this, Damian was already out the door and the sound of a car pulling away was followed. Barely half-awake, he stared at the tyke who was staring right back at him with his innocent E/C doe eyes. “What do I do with you?”

He takes Hugo in his arms as he sits up, placing him on his lap, his metal arm reaching over to pause television. “Y/N’s better at this than I am.” he mumbles, watching the child look around the room before he started to fidget on the larger male’s lap, wanting to roam around.

Bucky sighs, “Now why won’t Y/N answer her calls?” he asks the tiny human who was still staring up at him. He reaches over to grab his phone and dials your number, only to hear it ring from the other side of the house, inside your room. He dropped the call and placed his phone inside his pocket, now wondering what he could do to keep the small person alive.

“Usually Y/N deals with you.” He says, watching the small child struggle on his lap, clearly wanting to get down. Bucky finally gets what Hugo wanted to do and sets him down on the carpeted floor, watching the toddler (wobbly) walk around the space freely.

Seeing that the child was doing alright after finding a small fixation with Alpine who was now resting near the couch, he returned his attention back to the TV to resume watching the movie. His attention split in half as he continued to glance back at the kid who was now playing with the toys you had brought him and kept at in a basket in the corner of the living room where you deemed it “Hugo’s Area”

Bucky was finally getting into the film, entertainment written all over his face at the sight of the students dancing around the library until it morphed into one of concern when a small bonk followed by a loud cry resonated the room making him look over at Hugo who was already flushed from crying.

He paused the movie again and rushed over to Hugo’s side, taking the small boy in his arms, cradling him on his lap as he tried to calm him down. “Now kid, don’t cry on me. C’mon” he mumbled, raising him up lightly to look at his forehead as he searched for any wounds, relieved to find none.

“C’mon James, what would Y/N do…” He said to himself, standing up as he moved around and cradled the crying child, trying to remember what you would do whenever he has meltdowns like this.

“Oh god, right!” Bucky exclaimed as he remembered, quickly going to the couch and sat down, placing Hugo on his lap as he gently placed his vibranium hand on the back of his head and his flesh one cupping the smaller one’s cheek, wiping the tears that glistened on his smooth skin.

Seeing how the toddler was starting to calm down, he carefully spoke, “Now you gotta work with me, little one.” Bucky then proceeded to blow softly on his face, remembering how you would do that when Hugo was having a fit. “Now can you do that for me as well?” He asked, encouraging the child with a small smile.

Once he felt the kid do the same thing, he repeated the steps a few more times until he was completely calm, letting the child snuggle up against his chest, feeling how he would occasionally let out a small shuddering sob from time to time, making Bucky laugh at the adorable action. “Now what do you want to do?” he gently asked, the cold surface of his metal hand that caressed the child’s back making small bubbles of laughter elicit from the baby.

“Bucky wead [ read ] pwease?” was all that left the two-year old’s mouth, causing a small surprise from the older. Hugo then pushed himself off from Bucky’s chest and turned to his small corner of the room, raising his small arm and pointing his even smaller finger towards the bookshelf that was filled to the brim with story books.

A chuckle left the soldier’s lips, “Alright then, little dude. Go take your pick.” he then proceeded to let him down and watch as the toddler walked his way towards the array of books and picked out one, running back towards him with a big smile.

“Alright big guy, what do you have for me?” Bucky asked, taking the tyke in his arms once again, taking the book from Hugo’s hands. He let out a (very) fake gasp of excitement which made the toddler laugh out loud as his reaction, making small little wiggles of his own eagerness for the book.

Bucky shifted in his seat a little to be more comfortable, letting Hugo snuggle up to him as he opened the book and started to read, “Llama Llama, red pajama, reads a story with his mama.”

---

You were elated to finally come back home and fall into your lover’s arms from a long day of errands with your mom. After the Target trip with your mom, you had to drive her back home and help her with her own groceries and pack up everything with her over at your childhood home一 with an addition of having a few serious talks with her about your future.

“Seriously, Y/N. When are you going to give me a grandchild?” Your mother poked your sides as you helped her bring in the bags filled with her stuff. Ever since Damian introduced Hugo to the family, she’d been on your heels about when you and Bucky would bring one to them as well; admittedly you and him had been in a much longer relationship than Damian and his wife which surprises everyone even more.

You shrugged, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. “I don’t know, mom. I think I’m content being with Bucky for now.” you answered truthfully, setting the items on the kitchen island and turned to her, “Besides, we have Alpine! Our cat!”

This made your mother sigh, laughing softly at your antics. “I know my sweet girl, but I’m just so excited to see a little you or James run around with Hugo.” Her answer causes your heart to swell at the thought of starting a family with him some day; conversations like this with him are normal but are always caught in a fleeting moment so you were never certain about his opinions on the matter.

“Well you just have to wait and see, ma.”

Taking the bags in your hand, you walked over to the door and opened it with ease, expecting to see Bucky waiting for you on the other side only to be greeted by none. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you carefully stepped inside, assuming he had fallen asleep as he waited for you until you heard his quiet voice resonating through the living room. “Little llama, don’t you know? Mama llama loves you so”

You peeked at the source of the sound and what you saw made you just melt on the spot. Bucky had Hugo on his lap, your nephew playing with the thumb of his artificial arm as he listened to the story that he was barely paying attention to as he was already falling asleep.

Not wanting to interrupt the moment, you graced on over to the kitchen in silence and arranged everything as quiet as you can. The smile on your face growing bigger at the thought of how much of a good father Bucky could be; the sight of him with your nephew caused a thousand butterflies to dance around in your stomach freely.

“You’re back, doll?” Bucky’s quiet voice made you jump, head whipping to his direction where he stood with Hugo fast asleep in his arms.

You nod and walk towards him, offering to take him from his arms and Bucky disagreed, pulling away from your attempts. “Hugo’s with me, I’ll take him to bed and I’ll help you finish out here, alright?”

Chuckling softly, you agree and reach up to place a quick kiss on your nephew’s forehead, moving aside so Bucky can place him down inside your room.

You were folding up the plastic bags when you felt a pair of arms sneak up and circle your waist, capturing you in a back hug. Your back was flat against his chest, the warmth from his body making you relax in his arms. Turning around, you let your arms snake up around his neck, your hands playing with the ends of his hair, his physique visibly loosening up. “So your brother came here earlier and said you weren’t picking up your calls.”

“I forgot my phone, i know.” you told him, throwing your head back slightly to let out a soft groan of annoyance at yourself before looking back at him. You met his gaze and his eyes were filled with adoration and love with a spark of something you can’t seem to pinpoint. “What’s going through that head of yours, James?”

He hummed softly, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “I was just thinking of how I want to have a family of my own with you.” he answered truthfully, not finding anything shameful in admitting his thoughts. “The afternoon I spent with Hugo made me realize I want that for us as well.” his words were soft and dripping with enthusiasm at the thought of being with you for the rest of your days.

This made your cheeks flush lightly, a happy smile resting on your lips as you were already in agreement of his words, “I’ve been thinking the exact same thing, Bucky. I can’t wait to have our own little minion running around the house.” you admitted, this time making Bucky smile even wider than yours, happy that you had the same thought.

“Also, not to brag but I think I’m his favourite now.” Bucky said out of nowhere, grabbing the small carton of chocolate milk from behind you and letting you go, opening the drink and chugging it down in one go.

You rolled your eyes at his words, playfully flipping him off as you sauntered into the pantry where you were arranging your stock of goods. “I highly doubt that, he loves me way more.”

“That’s what you think but Hugo made me read his favourite book to him so now I’m his favourite. He even said it himself.”

“Oh no he didn’t!”

---

TAGLIST: @lunalovecroft @anchoeritic @harrysweasleys @https-bvcky @luana @weasleytwins-41 @angelsgrxzer

for those whose usernames are in bold, it means i cannot tag you for some reason. join my taglist! it's linked in the masterlist <3

[mercurygguk]

bleeding for you | jjk

genre; angst, fluff

pairing; EMT!jungkook x female reader

✎ summary; In which it’s just another quiet night at the fire station until there’s an alarmingly serious car accident not far away. Jungkook is the first on the scene along with his partner, Namjoon. What meets Jungkook at the scene of the accident is worse than anything he could ever imagine.

word count; 3,367

based on a request by anon; It's a Jungkook au, where he's a EMT & they get a call for a very serious accident. When he arrives on scene he sees a very familiar car. A hand dangles from the shattered window, the engagement ring he'd slipped on your finger not two months ago mocking him. I envision a happy ending, but if you want, do with it what you will.

warnings; Descriptions of car accidents, mentions of bruises and blood, jungkook’s crying a whole lot, i’m sorry if this is tough on your heart bc it definitely was on mine, phew

a/n; I LOVED THIS IDEA FROM ANON, SO THANK YOU ANON and let’s be honest here, paramedic/EMT!jungkook is lowkey hotttt. Also, I took some inspiration from the tv-show Chicago Fire and some from Grey’s Anatomy because those are the only shows I’ve actually watched with things related to this kind of scenario, lol. I hope you like it, enjoy!

ps. it’s heavily unedited and i wrote this rather quickly, so please ignore if you spot anything hehe

The clock ticks on the wall and there are sounds of cars passing by once in a while outside on the street. Jungkook is staring silently at the TV in the staff room, his eyes focused on the ball that moves around between the football players. He’s bored, sighing deeply to himself as he drops his head back against the back of the couch he’s currently slouching on. Namjoon, Jungkook’s partner, plops down beside him, a sandwich on a plate for him to eat for dinner. He looks happily at his sandwich, more than excited to bite into it and finally getting a chance to continue reading his book for once.

Jungkook hates quiet nights at the firestation. He despises them. It makes him think of all the other things he could be doing instead – an example being at home, in bed with you; his fiancé. A title you recently had gained after Jungkook finally got the courage to get down on one knee for you, asking you to be his for the rest of his life. Just the thought of the happiness he felt that night made butterflies erupt in his stomach, suddenly daydreaming about your smile and the way you always manage to make him feel like he’s floating on a pink cloud. He’s totally whipped, but only for you.

His daydream is quickly interrupted by the sound of Namjoon chewing his sandwich loudly, making Jungkook glare at him with disgust. Namjoon, the charming person that he is, looks back at Jungkook in confusion.

“What?” Namjoon blurts with his mouth filled with a bite of his disgusting sandwich. Jungkook shakes his head at him, turning back to the boring game that’s unfolding on the TV. He really hates quiet nights. 

After half an hour and still nothing, Jungkook groans and gets up from the couch to wander around, causing Namjoon to look at him again with tired eyes. “What’s going on, Jeon?” He asks, flipping a page in his psychology novel.

“Nothing’s going on,” Jungkook grumbles, tired of just sitting around, “absolutely nothing.” 

Namjoon is about to tell Jungkook to sit down and relax for once but the alarm beats him to it, sounding loudly throughout the entire fire station. “Squad 3, truck 81 and 82, ambo 65, 78 and 32 – bigger car crash on the 5th highway, multiple victims,” Taehyung from the alarm center's voice booms throughout the fire station’s rooms. Jungkook’s eyes widen and so do Namjoon’s. They’re quick to move, book, sandwich and football match long forgotten as they run to their unit. Jungkook jumps in the driver’s seat, buckling up faster than ever. His partner is fast to join him and buckling up as Jungkook speeds out of the garage at the fire station and onto the road. Jungkook’s focused, eyebrow knitted together in concentration and the urge to do what he does the best – save some lives.

The highway is chaotic once Jungkook and Namjoon arrive as the first ones at the scene, multiple cars lying around – on the hood, on the side and some crushed to the point of where it’s not even a car anymore. It looks worse than anything they have ever experienced and it’s slightly terrifying but they’re headstrong as they grab their medical bags and run off to a random car each. Squad 3 and the firetrucks pull up not long after Jungkook and Namjoon’s arrival, all of them getting out quickly and getting to work, trying to see if they can save all victims or just the majority of them.

The first car Jungkook reaches is empty, the driver of it luckily managed to get himself out before any sort of rescue arrived. He seems fine, his car almost not even scratched. “Sir, are you alright?” Jungkook asks, doing his job in making sure the man is alright before continuing to another car. The man nods, waving a hand at Jungkook.

“Please go see some of the others, I’m fine!” He almost sobs, clearly traumatized by the car accident.

Jungkook nods at that, giving him one last look all over before heading on to the next car. He looks around in his haste to get to the next one, stopping abruptly in his tracks as he spots a familiar looking car. It can’t be, he thinks to himself as he turns to look at the car properly. His chest tightens at the thought, feeling himself hastily moving closer to the car as tears begin to form in his eyes. It doesn’t occur to him until a hand dangling from the window catches his attention as he gets closer, the diamond ring confirming his worst fear.

“No, no, no!” Jungkook shouts in a mix of terror, anger and his heart breaking into a million pieces, tears already falling from his eyes as he runs up to the car, his hands trembling. Pain shoots through him at the sight of you, body limp and unconscious, face battered in bruises and wounds and there’s blood on your beautiful, white shirt and he prays to God that isn’t yours but who is he even trying to fool? Of course, it’s yours. “No, please, no!”

From the other side of the highway, Namjoon spots Jungkook scrambling towards the car that he, too, finds awfully familiar. His eyes widen at the sight as realisation hits him. 

“Shit!” He hisses, making sure the victim he’s treating is okay before running towards Jungkook, heart beating a hundred miles per hour. All he can think about is getting his partner away from the car which is lying on its side. “Kook!”

Namjoon has to pull harder than he expected as he reaches Jungkook. He isn’t willing to let go of the car, hands reaching for your unconscious body that is still, thankfully, buckled up in the driver’s seat. You hear nothing of Jungkook’s cries as he’s pulled away by his partner and best friend. “____! Baby, please wake up, please!”

The sight in front of them is nothing but a real life nightmare, the scene only a fear of Jungkook’s until tonight. Namjoon has no idea how to calm his partner down as he pulls him away. His heart is breaking at the sound of Jungkook’s sobs, his chest heaving for air as he looks at the broken car, which was nicely parked in the parking lot of his and yours apartment building when he left for work this morning. He watches it being pulled apart to reach you, the EMTs of Ambo 78 tending to your wounds and body, trying their best to support you until they get you to the hospital.

They lift you into the ambulance, Jungkook’s body working automatically as he tries to jump into the back of the ambulance and ride with you to make sure that they’re taking care of you the right way. This isn’t just another victim, it’s you, Jeon Jungkook’s fiancé. Namjoon holds him back, using all his strength because a sad, terrified Jungkook is stronger than he ever could’ve imagined.

“Hyung, please, I need to go with her!” Jungkook cries, glancing quickly at the man holding him back, before looking back at the ambulance you’re now in. They close the doors, hurriedly getting in the front and speed off. “For fuck’s sake, Namjoon, let me go!”

Namjoon shakes his head, “I need you to calm down first, Kook. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Jungkook thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit he’s ever heard. He whirls around, not in the mood for his best friend’s psychology shit. “I swear, I will punch you,” he sneers, eyes watery and cheeks stricken with tears. Namjoon stares back at him, lips in a tight line and eyes wide because he has never seen Jungkook so out of it before. “How am I supposed to calm down when my fucking fiancé is a victim of one of the biggest car crashes we’ve ever witnessed, huh? She’s hurt and unconscious in the back of one of OUR ambulances right now, Joon. Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.”

Despite his harsh words, Namjoon feels sorry for Jungkook. He nods, putting his hands up in surrender. Jungkook breathes out, chest heavy with a feeling he can’t quite describe. He just knows that he doesn’t want to waste another second here, the only place he wants to be is by your side until you wake up and tell him you’re okay.

“At least let me drive you to the hospital?” Namjoon offers, voice hesitant and cautious as he gestures to their ambulance. 

Jungkook sniffs, nodding, “please.”

The ride to the hospital is quiet, tense too. Jungkook is staring straight ahead and not moving, just letting the tears in his eyes fall until he has none left. He’s pretty sure the drive to the hospital usually isn't this long. He feels like he’s been on this ride with Namjoon for hours when really, it has only been at least 15 minutes. 15 minutes too long, he thinks to himself. He could’ve been with you right now, holding your hand while you get sutured up and stitched back to perfection – at least what Jungkook thinks is perfection. However, you’d never agree on that.

Namjoon doesn’t get to say anything before Jungkook’s out of the passenger seat of the ambulance, his body moving almost before Namjoon had parked it. He doesn’t notice anything around him, heading straight for the front desk to ask about your status. The nurse there looks at him with a face that says she’s sorry without even saying the words. Jungkook doesn’t need those words, there’s nothing to be sorry for. People only say they’re sorry when something really bad happens, and as far as Jungkook knows, you’re still alive. You have to be. He hasn’t married you yet.

“My fiancé was brought here not long ago, her name is ____,” Jungkook hurriedly asks, the nurse working quickly to type into her computer. Jungkook taps his foot against the floor in impatience.

“She’s in surgery at the moment,” the nurse says softly, watching as Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat at the news. Namjoon comes up beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “The doctors will find you once they’re done.”

Namjoon nods in appreciation to the nurse, Jungkook stares at nothing in particular, scared he’ll break down in the middle of the entrance of the hospital he so often visits because of his job. “We’ll wait over there,” he tells the nurse, tugging Jungkook along. “Let’s go, Kook.”

Jungkook follows along, sitting down in a seat with Namjoon beside him. He feels like he should be calling his family and yours, yet he can’t think straight and his head is empty for words right now. The only thing on his mind is you and the fact that you’re at risk of dying. He has no idea how serious your injuries are but they’re serious enough to land you on the surgery table. His breathing is short, eyes staring at the floor and ears focusing on the sound of the opening and closing of the doors to the surgery halls. He feels alone even though Namjoon is sitting right beside him, he feels helpless, he feels like he’s been left in the dark. He knows nothing about what’s happening to you and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. The thought of losing you brings a new round of tears to his eyes, lips trembling as he fights to keep his sobs inside and not break down in the middle of other people. It’s like Namjoon senses as he gets up, pulling his phone from his pocket. He moves a bit away from Jungkook, speed dialling the only person he knows will be able to comfort his best friend in the slightest. 

Jungkook’s wandering the waiting area, hands tightly intertwined in front of his lips and eyes closed as he walks back and forth in front of Namjoon. It has been at least three hours and his nerves aren’t exactly becoming less the longer it takes for the surgeons to give him some kind of news – any kind would be appreciated by now. He stills as a hand comes to rest against his back, gentle touch that can only belong to one person on this planet. He turns around to face her, her eyes softening at the sight of his red eyes and wet eyelashes.

“Mom,” he croaks out, a sob raking through his body as he crumbles into her embrace.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos, wrapping her arms around his tall frame, hugging her sweet, heartbroken son to her chest in the hopes of comforting him just the tiniest bit. They stay like that for a few minutes until Jungkook’s mother breaks the embrace, holding him at arm's length. “I’m sure she will be fine, Jungkook. She’s a strong woman.”

He sniffles, feeling slightly better at his mother’s words. He offers a small, the tiniest, smile. She smiles softly and comfortingly at him, reaching up to wipe his tears away. “You have to be strong too, sweetheart. She needs you to be strong for her.”

Jungkook nods and whispers lowly: “I know, mom.”

“Mr. Jeon?” A voice calls. Jungkook, his mother, and Namjoon whips around to face the doctor who called Jungkook’s name. “Miss ____ is out of surgery. We were able to fix her injuries and she is up for recovery now.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, feeling a heavy weight disappearing from his shoulders. The doctor offers him a warm smile. “She will be in the ICU for at least a couple of days until we see some progress. You can go see her, she is in room 248.”

“Thank you so much,” Jungkook says with the utmost gratitude and a smile as he shakes the doctor’s hand before grabbing his things and heading in the direction of the ICU. 

He finds the room without any problems, pausing just outside of the door. His mother and Namjoon both stand behind him, watching him in silence. They’re not pushing him, letting him do this on his own, letting him prepare for whatever he’s about to meet behind this door. He inhales and holds his breath before pushing the door open and heading inside. The sound of the monitor beeping is the first thing that meets him, what meets him next causes him to gasp softly in horror. This must be what it feels like to live out your nightmare and biggest fears, he thinks to himself as he moves closer to your body that’s lying unconsciously on the bed. It seems his tears are never-ending today as he pulls a seat to the side of the bed, sitting down with his eyes trained on you.

He looks you over, wincing lightly at the sight of tubes and IVs attached to you. There are scratches and wounds on your body, your skin beaten up from the harsh car crash you so unluckily ended up in earlier. He’s hesitant as he reaches for your hand, being more than careful as he intertwines his hand with yours. You don’t squeeze his hand like you always do and it makes him realize that you are in fact unconscious and probably not aware of the entire situation right now.

Jungkook scans your face, lips trembling and fingers shaking as he reaches up to move your hair out of your face. There’s scratches on your pretty face too, a big patch on the right side of your forehead where they stitched you up. He’s hurting, not quite as much as you, as he looks at you. You’re still gorgeous, even like this. 

“I love you so much, ____,” Jungkook whispers, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your ring-clad hand. “Please be okay.”

Days have passed since the accident, and you still haven’t opened your eyes. Jungkook is becoming impatient, sitting here and waiting is killing him slowly. His mother had left in the morning after being with him throughout the first night. Jungkook had called your family while his mother held his hand. He will never forget the way a sob raked through your mother’s body as he told her what had happened. They were here now; your mother, your father and your brother, Yoongi. Your parents sit on either side of you, Jungkook’s resting against the wall at the end of the bed, Yoongi sitting in the chair beside him. The silence is almost unbearable but no one dares speaking, afraid of nothing in particular – perhaps the chances of you crashing right in front of all of them.

Jungkook’s done crying. He doesn’t think he has any tears left in him, only this heavy feeling of regret even though he has nothing to regret. No matter what, he couldn’t have stopped this from happening. Why you were out driving that late is still a mystery to him, but he’s not sure he wants to know. He has a feeling it will tear him apart knowing the reason.

Your dad jerks up from his resting posture causing everyone to widen their eyes at him. “S-she squeezed my hand,” he almost whispers. Jungkook’s breathing quickens, eyes staring at your closed ones. He waits, anticipating the worst. Your eyes flutter, a small crease forming in your forehead as you try to adjust to the lights in the room. He sighs in relief for what feels like the hundredth time, feeling the tears coming back. Okay, he isn’t quite done yet.

“Jungkook?!” You croak out, trying to sit up. Jungkook feels his heart breaking at the tone in your voice. You sound confused, slightly shaken up and sad. He’s quick to be at your side, taking over from your father. His hand grabs yours, fingers intertwining automatically. “Kook,” you whimper, clearly not fully awake from your deep days long slumber.

“I’m here, baby” he softly calls, searching your eyes with his own, “I’m right here.”

You look at him, eyes locking and you feel yourself calm down already. Jungkook notices the unshed tears in your hazy eyes. “Where am I?” You ask, voice small.

“The hospital,” he explains, keeping his voice low and soft for you as you just woke up from a long, long nap. “You were in an accident, ____. Do you remember what happened?”

You shake your head, wincing at the movement. Your entire body is sore, hurting everywhere and you want to cry. You just want to cry and hug Jungkook tightly because that’s the only place you feel safe and happy, in his arms. 

“How long?” You speak a bit louder now, still not registering your entire family standing around the two of you. You’re in your own little world, your focus only aimed at the curly-haired man in front of you. Your mom is watching you closely, letting a small tear slip down her cheek as she takes in the moment of you and Jungkook. Your father is right beside her, rubbing her arms in comfort. Yoongi is watching too, smiling to himself because he doesn’t think his younger sister could’ve found anyone more fit for her than Jeon Jungkook.

“Only a few days,” Jungkook answers, bringing your intertwined hands to his chest. His heart is beating hard and fast causing you to gasp. He smiles at you as you look up at him, eyes wide.

You move to press your other hand to his chest, resting it above his heart. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. Even when you’re the one hurting, you ask him if he’s okay just because his heart is beating a bit faster than it usually does. He nods, smiling softly at you, eyes twinkling with fresh tears once again. 

“I’m fine,” he whispers, leaning closer to press his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “Just really relieved.”

You smile at his words, only imagining how worried he must’ve been the past few days if you’ve been in this bed and unconscious. “I love you, Kook.”

Jungkook chokes out a laugh, “I love you too baby, more than anything.”

[dracowars]

I was wondering if you can write one with harry for me? Where harry and reader are dating around when sirius died in order of the phoenix and harry is very depressed about the stiuation and slowly disassociates from the reader and when he/she wanted to talk about it and lighten the weight on his shoulders harry says sth to reader along the lines "you are not my family and you are not my home" and a big fight eventually harry realises what he has done and gets very upset bc he loves her/him so much. They eventually make up but i want drama and tears you know lol i will be very happy if you can write this!!

don't shut me out | harry potter

pairing: harry x gryffindor!reader

word count: 2,5k

summary: where harry shuts y/n out after sirius' death

a/n: my first harry one shot, yayy! thank you for sending in this request <3

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

"Please write an essay about the effects of the Anti-Paralysis Potion until next week", Professor Snape grimly finishes his lesson and immediately chaotic murmur breaks out in the classroom when all the other students pack up their things and leave for their well deserved break.

You on the other hand calmly close your book and slowly slide it into your bag before getting up from your seat with a sigh, but not without taking another look at the empty seat in front of you first.

Harry did not show up for class again today. This is the third time this week and even when he is in one of his courses, his mind is not there with him.

A week ago he returned to the common room, devastated, and Ron and Hermione even had to support him so he would not fall over. The only thing you knew at that time was that they were on a secret mission at the Ministry of Magic, but you did not know what a terrible disaster happened.

Harry did not exchange a word with you and went straight to bed that evening, leaving you behind confused and ignorantly until Hermione told you about the recent events. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and last living relative, was killed right in front of his eyes through his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. While Hermione told you what happened, tears were already uncontrollaby streaming down your face.

You knew exactly how much he meant to Harry.

Now that Harry has also lost the last remaining member of his family, he has shut himself off completely, hiding from the world, from his friend and also from you. Any attempts to talk to him have failed, but you keep a close eye on him everyday.

If he does not shown up at dinner again, you bring him a plate full of his favorite food to his room, even if it is without his consent, just to find it barely touched in the morning. If he misses another of his lessons again, you always take even more detailed notes than usual that you later give him so he is able to catch up on what he has missed so far, just to watch the pile grow bigger and bigger.

Every time you enter his room, it breaks your heart when you have to see how your boyfriend, whose face has lost all color by now, looks at you with such sad eyes and cannot even utter a different word at you than a simple 'thank you'. It pains you to see him like this, but he won't let you get to him anymore, he won't let you or his best friends help him.

He shuts himself off the world completely.

"Ms. Y/L/N", Snape suddenly approaches you as you are about to make your way out of the classroom. You look up at your grouchy professor, full of expectation and also a little scared.

"Tell Potter if he does not show up for my class one more time, he will fail", he explains seriously and you can only nod while his cold stare is fixed on you. "Very good."

Turning around, you quickly run out of the door and meet Ron and Hermione in the hallway in front of it, waiting for you.

"What took you so long? I am starving", Ron asks you oblivious as you make your way through the crowd of students in the direction of the Great Hall.

"Snape held me from going. If Harry does not show up for class soon, he will fail in all of his courses", you mutter and your thoughts immediately wander back to him and how he is doing right now.

"Snape can't do that! Dumbledore will not allow it anyway. Everyone knows what happened and no one is this cruel", Hermione breathes out in shock.

"We are still talking about Snape, you know that, right?", Ron replies, only catching an annoyed look from her at his words.

"I will talk to Harry again. Well, at least I will try", you sigh exhaustedly and just before reaching the Great Hall, you leave your friends alone and run up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, entering it after saying the correct password.

Waisting no time, you walk up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and timidly knock on the door. Nothing, not a single sound comes from the inside when you knock a second time.

"Harry? It's me, Y/N. May I come in-"

"Get out!", his voice angrily shouts at you through the door and you back away in shock. There is so much sorrow in his voice, so much pain, so much fear.

So much hate.

"I am not going anywhere", you answer firmly and stand your ground before carelessly opening the door.

The sight that greets you when you enter lets your eyes widen to the maximum. The entire room has been demolished, your carefully written notes scattered in snippets on the floor, his books torn apart next to it and the whole furniture turned over.

And in the middle of it all there is Harry, breathing heavily, as emaciated as you have never seen him before, his hands clenched into fists, his fingernails already painfully digging into his palms. The expression on his face blank when his gaze meets yours.

Without saying a word, you slowly and carefully walk towards him, trying not to stumble over anything on the floor until you stand in front of him. And then you wait.

Wait for him to finally open up to you, wait for him to finally let everything out.

But he turns away.

"Harry", you breathe out barely audible and reach for his hand, which he pulls away in the last second, his eyes on the ground and his back to you.

"Go", he orders, now without any emotion in his voice.

Refusing to listen to his words and let him push you away another time, you circle him to stand right in front of him again.

"I said go!", he aggressively yells at you, but you are quick to catch his face between your hands and lift it up so he has to look at you, taking a good look at him while softly pressing your palms to his cheeks.

His cheeks are still damped from the numerous tears that have flowed over them, and his eyes are glassy, almost fragile.

"I am here for you", you claim in a low voice to not scare him away while you look deep into his eyes, in which you discover nothing but emptiness. "I can help you if you would just let me, Harry. Please don't shut me out."

For a brief moment there is silence, somehow pleasant and safe as it has always been between the two of you. In the next moment, however, your hopes are destroyed.

"I don't need your damn help!", he yells at you again and pulls away from you, running his hands through his hair desperately while you stay frozen in place.

You almost had him.

"You do need me! You can't just lock yourself up here for weeks, Harry!", you raise your voice as well, desperation evident in it.

"You can't tell me what to do!", he loudly shouts and the look he throws at you is again full of nothing but hatred.

"What happened to Sirius is horrible, but you have to move on some day and you can't do that if you do not talk to someone about it. I am your girlfriend and-"

"Exactly. You are just my girlfriend and not my family!", Harry angrily spits out all of a sudden, his words catching you off guard and you could swear how your heart has split into half right at this second. "You are not and never will be my home, get that into your head! I am sick of you, Y/N! How you pamper me like I am a fucking child and never know when to stop!"

"A-Are you serious r-right now?", you let out a trembling sob, the strength to scream at him gone when a tear rolls down your cheek. You look at him with complete disappointment, at the boy whom you love so much, who just hurt you so deep as you would have never imagined him to.

"Get the hell out of here!"

"Do you even hear what you are saying? You do not really mean that. Tell me that you do not mean that, Harry!"

"It is the only thing that I want", he grinds his teeth and you nod understandingly while wiping away your tears.

"Fine. If I can never be your home anyway, then I guess this is where it ends", you sniff and walk past him, your gaze lowered as you go out of the room and let the door slam shut behind you.

And he does not even follow you.

Deeply hurt and with a broke heart, you barely make it to your dorm room, where you slide down the closed door with your back and pull your knees close to your shaking body, weeping bitterly.

You do not know how long you sat there and just cried your eyes out, but when you hear Hermione's worried voice behind you, it is already dark outside and you missed all of your classes.

Exhausted, you let yourself fall into your soft mattress, hiding your tear stained face from your roommates, but of course Hermione immediately senses that something is wrong.

She approaches you carefully as to not frighten you and sits down next to you on your bed, stroking your back up and down soothingly, which in return only makes you cry harder into your pillow. After several minutes you finally manage to calm down and sit up.

Hermione looks at you speechless, does not urge you to tell her about what happened at all, but you do it anyway as it almost gushes out of you. And so you spend the whole night in your bed talking.

The next morning you are sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast, completely exhausted. While Ron allows himself another joke with Hermione, you stare down at your empty plate, your stomach not wanting to be filled.

"Did you finally got Harry back to his senses, Y/N?", Ron asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your deep thoughts, and you interpret a teasing tone in his voice.

Your eyes filling with tears in a matter of seconds, you abruptly get up and leave the hall, leaving a confused Ron and an angry Hermione behind as you run back into the common room and into your own room.

Again you let yourself fall to the floor behind the closed door, your arms crossed over your drawn up knees, your forehead resting on top. Without meaning to, your sobs get stronger by every second, shaking through your body while your breath speeds up to an unhealthy pace.

Your head and your heart just do not want to understand that what you and Harry once had is over, once and for all. That you will never wake up in his cozy, warm arms again. That you will never feel his tender touch again. And above all, that you can never look at him the same way you did before.

You lost him for good this time.

The sudden knock on the wooden door behind you causes your head to jerk up in surprise. Not sure if you just imagined it, you stay silent for a moment and hold back your crying.

Another gentle knock.

"Please leave me alone, Hermione", you sniff and lower your head again.

"Y/N", his voice sounds muffled from the other side unexpectedly and your heart leaps painfully.

You always loved the way he pronounced your name, how easily it slides off his tongue. Since your first meeting, back then on platform 9¾ where you immediately fell in love with him head over heels.

Speechless, you are unable to move or say anything, just blinking away your tears.

"I know that you are in there. I can hear you crying", he softly speaks to you through the door and finally causes you to get up from the ground and open the door with a swing.

"What do you want?", you calmly ask him, trying not to show the emotions going through your head right now, and avoid eye contact while playing with the hem of your sweater. It takes a moment for Harry to contain himself, the sight of your fragile figure like pure horror in his eyes.

A sight for which he is guilty. He alone did this to you.

After clearing his throat, he searchs for the right words to make everything alright again, to fix everything he said, anything just so he does not have to see you this devastated. However, there is not a single sound coming out of his mouth.

"If you have nothing to say, get out", you order with all your might and try to sound as serious and emotionless as possible, trying to hold back your rising tears.

At least until you suddenly end up in his warm, safe arms after he pulls you into a bone crushing hug before you could close the door on him. A hug you both needed more than necessary.

"I am such a stupid idiot", Harry whispers in your ear, also having trouble to hide his sadness. "You just wanted to be there for me and I pushed you away even though you could have given me exactly what I needed."

His words only make you more emotional and turn you into a crying mess, your face hiding in his chest. His hand slowly rubs over your back to calm you down. Your legs begin to tremble harder and Harry has to hold you upright with all his strength to not let you fall.

"I-I just could not accept that I was alone", Harry sighs as he listens to your sobs until you finally push yourself weakly away and stand in front of him, an arm's length apart.

"You are not alone", you choke out and Harry gives you a small, tender smile before closing the gap between you and gently placing his hand on your cheek. With his fingers he strokes the strands of hair out of your face that are already stuck to your skin due to the tears.

"I realized that too, sweetheart", he confirms and tilts your head towards him to leave a soft kiss on your forehead. "I can't erase what terrible things I said to and threw at you, but please believe me when I tell you that that I did not mean a single word. I just did not know how to move on and you were there to receive all of my anger.. Do you forgive me?"

"Only if you never shut me out like that again. I will always be here for you and take care of you, Harry. No matter what, I will stay", you answer, also with a tiny smile on your lips and when he returns it before connecting your lips you, the world around you suddenly becomes more colorful and bright again.

"I promise."

[lovesanmotion]

Light - Jeong Yunho

summary: cool uncle by day but mafia boss at night, jeong yunho is ready for anything; except for falling in love.

tags: @couchpotatoaniki (yes i am tagging you bcs you blossomed this idea to me hihi)

A deep sigh left Yunho's lips, lighting up his cigarette and sticking it between his lips before releasing pearly white smoke. His once neat suit was now covered in sweat, dust and a trickle of blood from earlier events, singlehandedly killing a mafia group from the neighboring city. He lifted his wrist watch and checked the time - 10:01pm. Sandwiched between his middle and index finger, Yunho raises his cigearette stick onto his lips and puffed out a smoke.

His once cool composure broke when around the corner, the slim but curvy figure of his neighbor - y/n y/l/n came into view. She had her head hung low, shoulders drooping down and walking gloomily home. But Yunho stared at her. Around y/n, he felt like a high school boy who has a crush on her. He didn't also missed the fact that it was too late for y/n to go home. Work hours ends at 5-6pm, but 10? Yunho wondered if you took an overtime.

As y/n passed him by, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Feeling his face heating up. Getting up from the bench, he dropped his stick and stepped on it before following you home. With his hands tucked inside his pockets, Yunho wondered why you ever chose to live in a dangerous city like this. Was it because the rent's cheaper? Or to live close to your office?

He stopped his tracks and hid behind a pole, watching you get inside your home building safely. Watching you get home safely is what Yunho's been doing ever since you moved into the area and with a smile on his face, Yunho walks back home.

As the sun sets into the blue sky, Yunho packs up a lot of candies in his pocket before leaving his home and strolling to the neighborhood park. Clad in a bright red and white striped shirt and pants a bright smile on his face, Yunho would never be mistaken as someone who killed a group of guys last night. The cool breeze swept past him, causing his bangs to fly away.

As he found the children playing merrily and happily in the park, his heart swelled with an overwhelming feeling. How he wished these children would grow up into kind and humble adults. When the children saw him coming up to them, a chorus of "uncle Yunho!" greeted him, followed by all of them running up to him for a hug, some even hugging his legs.

Sitting down on the wooden bench, he gave each child a piece of candy and chocolate. Their little smiles upon tasting the fruity and sweet treats brought a smile on his lips too. However, Yunho mentally did a head count on the children.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. One was missing, and the one missing happened to be his favorite. He was about to open his mouth and ask them where y/s/n when a small but cheerful "uncle Yunho!" greeted him from behind. Turning around, his eye's widened.

His neighborhood crush, holding an ice cream cone with one hand and the other holding hands with his favorite child from the playground.

"Mommy this is uncle Yunho! He's the one who always watches us and gives us candy when we play here!" A deep shade of red plastered on Yunho's cheeks. Slowly he turned away and sunk a bit lower on his seat, feeling himself getting shy. But he was a little surprised to know that y/n has a son.

Yunho watched as y/s/n joined the other kids in the slide and on his left side became occupied by you.

"Doesn't it get a little sad when you watch them slowly grow up? One day they are only crying for attention and the next thing you know you walk with them to preschool." Y/N spoke, taking a lick on the vanilla cone.

"Do you have kids at home?" Yunho shook his head. But he would very much like to have one with y/n.

"I'm y/n by the way!" He looked at the hand extended out for him to shake before looking at your smile. Yunho's heart beated loudly inside his chest, not missing the sight of the ice cream on the corner of your lip. He slowly leaned in and raised his hand, wiping the cream away with his thumb.

"Nice to meet you, y/n. I'm Yunho." He smiled at you, seeing that pink tint across your cheeks. Yunho thanked the gods that this might be the chance for him to properly talk to y/n. He turned to his side and striked up a conversation with you, slightly getting distracted with the way how you lick your ice cream.

"Uh..hello? Earth to Yunho?" Yunho snapped out of his trance and shook his head, batting his eyelashes. Yunho stared at you. "What was that again?"

"I was asking you earlier if you wanted to have lunch with me and y/s/n. Think of it as a thank you for watching over my son." Turning his head, he saw the children leave one by one until it was your son left sitting in the swing.

"I-I would love to!" He blurted out, maybe a little too loud. Yunho suddenly backed away, suddenly feeling shy but he only found y/n chuckling at him.

"That was cute. Anyways, let's me show you where I live." As Y/N got up, so did he. He took the pleasure of carrying y/s/n in his arms as he followed you to your place, he had to pretend he didn't know where you lived. How was he going to explain that he has been following you for months already?

"Welcome to our place!" Spoke Y/N in a cheerful tone. The place didn't look half bad. As he sets y/s/n down and removes his shoes by the doorway, he took in the appearance of your place. It isn't big nor small, perfect for two people living, light wooden floors, cream colored walls, yellow and green cupboards and a mini bookshelf thats occupied by books about numbers, letters, alphabets and story books.

"This is a nice place you've got" Yunho says, sitting down on the couch only to be sunk lower as he didn't noticed how the couch was small.

"I guess I was lucky to find this one. More greenery in the province than just seeing buildings in the city." Y/N spoke, Yunho watched her enter the kitchen. He got up and excitedly followed her like a high school boy following his crush around school.

"What are you going to make there?" He asks as he stood behind Y/N making her jump a little. Yunho didn't realized how close he has gotten to her, but he felt like his heart would burst at how small she is close to him.

"Does pasta sound nice?" Y/N tilted her head to the side. If only his mornings were spent this close to y/n, Yunho would be in heaven already.

As Yunho was about to say something, in came little y/s/n holding his school bag.

"Mommy, can you help me with my homework?"

Two heads snapped to look at y/s/n who stood by the doorway of the kitchen.

"Your mom would love to!" Yunho smiled at y/s/n, held y/n by her shoulders and pushed her out of the kitchen despite her many protests against it. Yunho opened the fridge to check what ingredients were available, he grabbed whatever he needed and placed them on the counter and started cooking.

It was only like last night, he was using the very same knife to slice throats and now he's slicing meat with the same knife. But Yunho was only occupied by the merry thought of cooking for his crush.

After half an hour passed, Yunho beautifully plated three pasta bowls on the table. He gave himself a pat in the back for doing an excellent job and was about to call y/n and y/s/n to eat when he heard some talking.

"Mommy do you like uncle Yunho?" A small voice, y/s/n, as Yunho thought. His heart raced upon hearing this kind of conversation. There was a moment of silence, Yunho was fidgeting to know your answer.

"Mommy can uncle Yunho be my dad?" Yunho clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. But there it was again, that silence.

"Let's see, y/s/n. Want to see uncle Yunho if he's done?"

Yunho started to get up from his spot but hit his knee in the process, an inaudible sound came out of his mouth and suddenly the door swung open. Y/N and Y/S/N stared at him with a blank yet confused looks on their faces.

"Uh..lunch is ready!" Yunho smiled and instantly stood up from the ground. As he lead them to the kitchen, he was proud to see their expressions and sat down, paying attention to y/n's reaction before eating.

"So what do you do, Yunho?" Y/N asked while twirling pasta with her fork.

Yunho racked up his brain to think of what should he say. But he choked up in between.

"I'm unemployed at the moment" He says. There was no way he is ever going to tell that he kills people, raids warehouses and factories and regulates drug deals within in and out of the country. "What about you? What do you do for a living?" Yunho gulped the food down his throat before facing you.

"I, uh...I just work at, at a very boring corporate office. They don't pay much."

"Is that why you do overtime and get home late at night?"

"What?"

"What?"

Yunho stared at y/n wide eyed. That was wrong of him suddenly mentioning it to you. He shook his head and carried on the conversation by changing the topic.

For the whole afternoon, Yunho stayed with Y/N and Y/S/N, watching kids movies while having a snack. Y/S/N falling asleep in the middle of the movie. Yunho took the pleasure of letting y/s/n sleep on his chest, he could get used to being a househusband. With the sun setting, Yunho thought it was best for him to go home. But was stopped by y/n to join them for dinner. On the outside, Yunho thanked you. But on the inside, Yunho was giggling.

He cooked once more in the kitchen, clogging out y/n's protests. Dinner became a happy meal as all three of them became full. While y/n was cleaning up in the kitchen, Yunho asked permission if he could take y/s/n out for a walk, promising he'd be home by 8pm.

Yunho took y/s/n to the convenient store, handing him a whole bar of chocolate in his small hands. But the little boy stared at him.

"But mommy says I can't have too much sweets" the small boy pouted.

"But your mom isn't here right? This'll be our little secret. You and me." Yunho grinned at the small boy who flashed a toothy smile in front of him.

"Uncle Yunho do you like my mommy?"

"Very much." Yunho suddenly stopped as he looked back at the child with him, now grinning at him.

"Okay, that's another secret between us. Don't tell your mommy about that too okay?" The small boy nodded his head quickly, Yunho held his hand and walked back home with him. Unaware of two eyes following them as they head back.

(gif is not mine! credits to the rightful owner!)

[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​

[tintinwrites]

i have loved you too much | Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Fem!Reader | Part One

A/N: You guys liked this idea I think so here you are with part one!! Please remember that Reader ends up pregnant from this one night stand and that’s the focus of this series.

Rating: 18+

Warning: This fic is going to deal with pregnancy in the future, please be aware! Naughty words. P in V sex. One-sided Frankie x Reader. Reader yells Frankie’s name I’m warning you bc I was embarrassed just writing it lol. Pining. Meaningless sex wrap it before you tap it please even if you won’t get pregnant protection is IMPORTANT.

Word count: 3,413, apparently!!

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and it’s the day of his wedding to a woman who is not you. You and a lonely Santiago find solace in each other.

GIF credit: damerondjarin

Tags: Since this is a series, the taglist is OPEN for those who want to read more rather than me tagging everyone from my general taglist. I don’t want to tag people in a bunch of parts who might not be interested, so let me know if you are!

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Frankie always made your heart flutter.

When you were fifteen and it was your first day of high school in a new town, and your first impression of dropping a bunch of papers in the hallway was not so embarrassing when a young boy in a backwards cap rushed to help you pick them up.

When you were seventeen and your prom date walked out with the girl he really wanted to take who happened to be your best friend of two years’ date, and he awkwardly asked if you wanted to dance to stop you from crying.

When you were eighteen and you were clinging onto him as he was about to go off to join the military, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek and promised to send you letters.

When you read every letter as you sat in your dorm, even as you entered your twenties and the letters became few and far between.

And then, when he came home when you were just shy of twenty-eight, you found out that Frankie could make your heart sink, too.

Like when you ran to hug him and he told you he wanted you to meet someone, and he introduced you to his fiancee.

Or when he announced the wedding date would be in a year and a half from that date.

There was also when you were twenty-nine and he asked you to be his ‘best man’, and asked you to help him pick a few things out.

And now here you were, a few days from thirty years old, and seeing Frankie all dressed up in a tux without a hat on his head made your heart flutter and sink at the same time.

How did he do that?

You were sitting on the arm of a chair that Benny was sitting in, your dress matching the ties and pocket squares that he, Frankie, and the other boys were wearing, as you watched a slightly nervous groom who wasn’t used to big celebrations look at himself in the mirror. You’d been introduced to the other men when they came into town to see Frankie and became fast friends with all of them.

“Why’d she have to choose bow ties? I can barely tie a normal tie,” he joked, trying for the third time to figure out how to tie the fabric.

Will seemed to be the only one who knew how to tie it and he gestured for Benny — who’d been fiddling with his for quite a bit now — to walk over so he could help him.

You stood after watching Frankie for a moment longer and stepped between him and the mirror, taking hold of the bowtie so you could do it up for him. “Can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

He chuckled, leaning over a bit as you tied the bow so he could glance at himself in the mirror again.

“I look like a dork, but you know...she’s worth it. Fuck, I love her.” He didn’t notice the way you looked down, fixing a piece of errant hair that fell from the style his wife-to-be wanted most.

“There you go, sweet Frankie.” It was a name you’d called him since you met him because you’d never met anyone as sweet and gentlemanly as him.

Still hadn’t.

And you’d never met anyone as handsome or as funny or…

“I’ve never worn one of these fuckin’ things,” Santiago grumbled, and you turned your attention to where he’d tied his bowtie into a knot.

“Where would you guys be without me and Will?” You bumped your hip into the man in question as you walked by him to go to Santi. “Come on, let me see it now.” You batted his hands away and grimaced at the tight knot, starting to pull at it delicately.

He watched you closely as you fixed the bowtie and, though your eyes were downcast to focus on the work at hand, he’d seen the tears in them. “You doing okay?”

You looked at him in bemusement for a moment and then you realized that he was rather blurry, and you quickly looked back down as his question made your tears threaten to spill.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just, uh...you know, weddings...so emotional…” You tried to laugh it off with a teary chuckle, hurrying to finish up with the tie so you could step away from him.

He stopped you before you could by pulling his pocket square out and holding it to you.

“Santi, that was perfectly folded!” You’d spent hours with Frankie’s almost wife, helping her with last minute decorations, and the pocket squares needed to be folded in the right design.

She was so nice and you couldn’t blame Frankie for falling for her.

“Sorry, fuck!” Santi hurriedly shoved it back into his breast pocket and did his best to make it look like it did before, but there was no time as the bride’s father knocked on the door to let you all know it was time to head down.

The wedding was being held entirely in a hotel so you left the room you’d booked for changing and headed down to where the ceremony was being held, hooking your arm through Santi’s despite being the best man as there were only two bridesmaids and Frankie requested that his two best friends walk in together.

A hand gently squeezed your side and you looked to see Frankie smiling at you nervously, before he walked down the aisle.

You didn’t think you would be crying again just from walking down the aisle, but all you could think as you looked at the man you loved was that his eyes were looking past you, waiting for the woman he loved.

That woman would never be you.

                                          -----------------------------

You were always able to tell when Frankie was embarrassed.

And, yes, he was a really sweet guy, but slow dancing in front of all the wedding guests was very clearly embarrassing him.

Though his eyes would flutter to his new wife’s face and he’d look all dreamy, a big, dopey smile forming on his lips at the mere sight of her.

She was beautiful and very kind, and she deserved someone as wonderful as Frankie.

You knew that.

You knew you were being ridiculous with your jealousy over this.

Yet there you sat, your chair turned away from the table so you could watch them, half-smiling and half-crying because they were beautiful and Frankie was officially never going to look at you like that.

A hand holding a glass of champagne blocked your vision and you sat up a little straighter, looking up to see Santi standing there with a gentle smile. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Oh, yeah, weddings always make me emotional…” It was the same excuse as before as you took the glass from him and forced yourself not to down the whole drink in one sip.

“Mm,” he hummed like he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t press as he grabbed the vacant chair next to you and turned it around to sit.

The song ended and the couple kissed each other sweetly, and you were so occupied with staring at Frankie longingly that you didn’t notice Santi watching them with a bit of sadness in his eyes too.

Frankie smiled at you with more giddiness than you’d ever seen as he walked past, and you quickly reached up to swipe away the tear that fell down your cheek.

Not fast enough; Santi regarded you with realization and then sympathy.

He thought for a long moment, then drank the rest of his own glass of champagne and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Listen, I, uh...I don’t dance, but you’re really pretty tonight and someone should dance with you.”

“Santi…” The song that was playing was slow and you knew he wasn’t the type, but then he was extending his hand to you and you reluctantly took hold of it.

“No complaining if I step on your toes.” He yanked you towards the dance floor and you laughed as you stumbled into him, letting him guide your hand to his shoulder as his moved to your waist.

There was something about swaying with him that was only working up your emotions more and you were breathing deeply, doing your best not to cry, but a few tears started to fall and Santi quickly pressed your head into him to hide it.

Why did it have to hurt so much? Why couldn’t you just not love him?

You really hoped Santi thought you were just sobbing against him because weddings made you cry.

You forced yourself to calm down so he wouldn’t read much into it, just closing your eyes and letting him lead you in a way that was surprisingly decent considering he didn’t seem like the type to dance.

“You okay? You need to step out of the room for a minute?”

“I’m fine. It’s just—”

“Weddings make you emotional?”

“—yep. Yeah.”

You swayed with him silently for a couple moments, your emotional mind with its unrequited love taking the time to really think of how kind it was for him to dance with you, of what he said when he asked you…

You pulled back to look at him. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“That I’m pretty tonight.”

“I mean, yeah, but you’re pretty every night.”

You stared at him for a moment and then you leaned forward to press your lips to his. He stayed still in shock for maybe two seconds before he was eagerly kissing you back, his hands lowering from your waist to your hips.

You blinked at him slowly when you pulled apart, tilting your head slightly. “Would you like to go up to the hotel room with me?”

“I would love that.” He let you take his hand, noticing that you look around as if to make sure no one was watching before you pulled him out of the reception hall.

The walk to the elevator was quiet, but you were on Santi the moment the doors closed, seeking comfort from your broken heart in his lips.

He could make you forget about this.

Even if it was just for ten minutes or so, you wouldn’t think about Frankie for those ten minutes.

You weren’t thinking of Frankie now.

Or how sweet he looked in his tux.

Or how you would never be his, never know what it was to make love to him or come home to him or have a family with him.

Fuck, you were thinking about him, so you quickly reached between Santi’s legs and cupped him through his pants.

“Shit, baby! We’re almost to the right floor and I’m not gonna be scolded again for using the emergency stop for this.” He smirked at your raised eyebrow, but pushed you into the hallway as the doors opened.

The hotel was the first door to the right of the elevator and you had the keycard on you since you were the ‘best man’, sliding it through before pushing open the door as the man behind you hurried you in.

He barely kicked the door shut and then you were kissing again, hands roaming all over each other in search of buttons and zippers to undress each other as fast as possible.

Your dress loosened and was falling off your shoulders when Santi pulled the zipper down, and he sneaked his hands under the fabric both to push it down and to grope your breasts.

You stepped out of your dress, only in panties now since the style didn’t really allow for a bra, and you pulled away with a teasing smile as Santi reached for your breasts with a groan, making your way towards the bed.

The clothes Frankie had worn to the hotel before changing into his tux were on the bed and you paused when your eyes landed on them, thinking of how it wasn’t him you were going to bed with and now it never would be.

Santi opened his mouth to ask you why you stopped, only to see the clothes and know immediately that this had something to do with the way you were staring at Frankie and crying at the reception; he was no idiot, and the more pieces he put together, the more he realized that you thought of him as more than a friend.

He could tell you would probably cry again if you looked at the clothes for too long, so he reached over and shoved them right off the bed.

You blinked, looked over at him, and then let out a laugh before wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his.

He wrapped one arm around you and let his fingers roam over your bare back as he guided you closer to the bed, watching you flop down when the mattress touched the back of your knees.

His bowtie was undone and his tux jacket was unbuttoned by you when you were entering the room, and he quickly took them both off and then started on unbuttoning his shirt. “Your tits are probably the nicest I’ve ever seen.”

“I can tell by just looking at your stupid, beautiful face that I’m going to enjoy the rest.” Your eyes followed his movements until he was letting his shirt fall off his shoulders, showing off a torso that was decently toned from his work.

“Wait until you meet Santiago Jr.” He was sexy enough that naming his penis didn’t make you want to run, laying there with lust in your eyes as you watched him open up his pants.

“Oh,” you gasped out when you saw him spring free, barely acknowledging his lack of underwear as you sat up to admire him.

You’d been with a few men, but you could admit that you’d never seen a dick quite as pleasing as Santi’s; dicks were not pretty and his was...well, it was nice, and you might’ve wanted it in your mouth if you weren’t just trying to forget somebody else.

“I showed you mine…” He cocked an eyebrow, stepping forward at the invitation of your opening legs and slowly running his hands up your thighs, teasing along the hem of your underwear before he started to tug it down.

He groaned at the sight of your pussy and immediately moved between your legs so he could kiss along your inner thighs, but you quickly grabbed onto his hair to pull his head up.

You just shook your head slightly because you wanted to be fucked even though the idea of Santi eating you out was tempting, and you gently guided him up until his hips were nestled between your legs.

Maybe you weren’t letting him use his mouth on you, but he still moved his hand so he could stroke over your clit, wanting to be certain you were wet enough to take him before he tried to put his cock inside you.

You were decently wet just from kissing and thinking about having sex with him, so he merely stroked you until you were squirming and moaning underneath him before he took hold of his cock.

He pressed his tip against your entrance and looked at you for your consent, slowly pushing forward when you nodded and letting his head drop with a moan at the way your cunt stretched to accommodate him. You took every fucking inch like you were made for him and he was able to enter you almost to the hilt, his hips jerking as he let out a low moan.

His cock filled you so well that you were moaning along with him, one of your hands moving to play with and tug at the hair at the nape of his neck which only turned him on more.

“Fuck,” he panted, laughing softly and leaning down to kiss you.

“I know.” You pressed a few kisses to his lips as you enjoyed being full and he enjoyed something so tight hugging around him, then you bucked your hips. “Move for me. Please, Santi.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” He pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again, doing that a few times as you moaned your approval before he found a rhythm that allowed him to rock into you smoothly.

Your legs tightened around his hips as he fucked into you, and you moved your hands so your fingers ran through his curls, ruffling them up a bit when you tugged on them.

This only made him groan and move even faster into you, the springs in the bed started to creak a bit the harder he fucked you.

He was grunting and panting and you were practically mewling each time he’d fuck against your G spot, but one of your hands slid down between your legs to touch yourself.

“Hell no.” He growled, shoving your hand away to replace it with his own so you wouldn’t have to pleasure yourself, rubbing circles on your clit.

Now as Santi was practically pounding into you and offering your clit the stimulation that you needed, your moans were growing into loud cries of ecstasy, your hands moving to press your nails into his shoulders.

Santi only moved his hips harder and faster as he sought out his own orgasm, grunting and groaning with every thrust back into your wet, tight pussy.

You knew that you were going to come by the way your clit tingled and your cunt fluttered around his cock and you could tell that he knew too as he moaned, his fingers keeping their movements on your clit consistent so he could push you into your climax.

You clenched down tight around him before your walls started pulsating on his cock and you screamed out, “Frankie!”

His hips stuttered and he stared down at you for a brief moment, but he didn’t want to embarrass you by making it awkward, and he knew he was just so you could forget about Frankie anyway, and he was so close to coming that he didn’t really care.

He continued thrusting into you as he lost a bit of that rhythm, pushing himself as far inside you as he could go as he came with a loud groan.

The only sound was your panting as he collapsed on top of you and nuzzled against your neck.

You tapped on his arm and he rolled off you, watching as you slid out of bed, redressing like his cum wasn’t still dripping out of you.

“Thanks, Santi. That was...really great,” you said as you pulled your panties on, then you walked over to the door where you put your dress on and stepped into your shoes before you paused, looking over your shoulder. “I’m sorry about the—”

“It’s fine.” He quickly waved off your apology for saying Frankie’s name, but it was still a little awkward, so he moved out of bed to redress himself.

He looked up when he heard the door open and shut, not certain what emotion it was that made him almost sad at how quick and detached that was; maybe the same emotion that made him look at Frankie and his wife with jealousy even though it was thanks to his bouncing from woman to woman that kept him from finding that happiness.

Not that it mattered, really, because he knew this was just a quick fuck and that you had eyes for somebody else, and he couldn’t really say he’d ever thought of you beyond friendship and sex. It wasn’t the fact that it was you that was making him sad, just the fact that this was all he was ever going to be.

You walked away from the hotel room with tears falling down your cheeks because you would never be with Frankie, and you might’ve forgotten about him for a few minutes, but you still said his name as you were having sex with another man.

You enjoyed yourself and you knew being distracted by Santi was only going to make you forget about longing for Frankie for those few minutes, and now you were right back to wanting him as much as you did before. Santi was just a moment of solace. Nothing more than that.

[cartoonemotion]

i was a bit confused by other people’s confusion as to why chuck started acting a lot more humbled and, honestly, a bit more soft spoken and nice after his face-turn, and this post poses basically all the things i was thinking about the reasons as to why, BUT ! am i still going to make a sprawling post talking abt how i think its all these reasons kind of interlocking ? Absolutely I Am

anyhoo. as i saw some point out again in the tag chuck is a kind of "might makes right" kind of guy-- but it's not just the strength that makes chuck so fervently loyal to him, it's his (percieved) guts and determination to take what he wants and needs, and we kind of see chuck trying to emulate that quality. he tries literally everything he can think of to get the great leader to come down and do his cool great leader stuff; getting literally severed in half and captured overall doesn't stop him, he goes above and beyond any generic grunt alien by not only getting the leader down here, but by destroying the morale of the hero ! (that line he says that everyone thinks theyre the hero in their own story is interesting, though. might return to that separately some day)

that being said, i think also it's interesting that when the great leader turned out to be a coward, chuck still tried to cling (somewhat literally !) to his faith in the great leader and his sort of place in his grunt alien status. i think it's when the great leader kicks him off of the platform and leaves him for what one might assume to be dead is when chuck really starts having everything sink in for him; bc the other thing chuck really seems to like/want is validation, from those he looks up to specifically. he thinks the great leader will reward him, yes, but it seems like even more than physical reward, he wants praise. he wants his great leader to see him as special, and maybe for the others of his ilk to idealize him similarly to the way he idolizes their leader-- i think it’s fair to assume chuck and his peers werent afforded much in the way of individuality.. i cant provide screencaps bc netflix hates me, but in the scene where his leader shows up, he goes from “it’s me, chuck” to “er-- well, i’m the one who called you...” when the ol’ GL gives him something of a withering look for providing a name... and he specifically says “i don’t wanna be stuck chuck anymore” to him before his leader kicks him off and leaves him for dead ! the text... * chef’s kiss * Delicious

so, seeing as chuck kind of polarizes-- the GL and his army are all abandoning cowards, while The Kid (who saved him, that’s likely still fresh in his mind too) turned out to be more true to the idealizes chuck was prizing in his leader this whole time. i think his next logical leap is to try to think, well, where does kid exactly get his bravery and determination from ? we as the audience get to figure that there’s a couple of different contributors to this, but with the time that chuck’s spent with kid, he knows kid adheres very strongly to the idea of your classic comic book superhero (even if the kid’s understanding of what makes a hero is also a bit misinformed, but, if youre reading this youve already seen the show, you know how kid grows. thats a different post). and we know hes also been reading quite a few comics, so he knows what their idea of a hero (and a heroic subordinate) are: brave, confident, charismatic, magnanimous... in a word, nice !

also, chuck brings up that speaking english without his little doohickey is painful for him.. whether he meant physically painful or in more of a sense of his pride, both seem equally likely to me, but ! the point still stands ! it’s hard to do the kind of long, pithy comebacks and verbal take-downs hes been trading with people if speaking hurts him. and while he did say the pain was one he would endure for the sake of the kid, at the end of the day, saying the nice thing is 9 out of 10 times a whole lot shorter than the mean thing

with these last 2 points though, i think chuck-- while actually committed to being reformed and a good guy now !-- has a lot to learn about what’s actually the spirit of good-guy-ness vs the form. he still has little hints i feel like (his little cry of “you disrespect Kid Cosmic !!!!” felt very reminiscent of the way he talked about his old leader i feel like, and when he, oh yeah, SHOT A TRUCK. WITH A REAL GUN. LOVE THAT THEY LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THAT ONE, CRAIG AND CO) that shows a lot of his “niceness” now is emulation vs actual true understanding of how to be nice. i’d hope we’ll see him learn the actual difference and better ways to grow and be a good person onscreen, but also since s2 will take place 6 months after the final confrontation of s1, it might not happen..

maybe we’ll get allusions to it though ! in either case i would love to see chuck having to learn to actually mind his manners around people who aren’t the kid, or really the other Local Heroes.. i feel like papa g and rosa would both be great for him to have those interactions/lessons (papa g has that vibe and was actually one of the first to be willing to take a chance on chuck, and rosa is 4. you met a 4 year old ? Yeah) regardless ! chuck :]

[ppersonna]

physical - pjm | m

lights out and follow the noise. baby keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice. so come on, let's get physical - physical, dua lipa

↳ summary- you cant seem to escape the sexy fitness instructor that seemingly is everywhere you turn. it’s enough to make you irrational.

↳ rating- explicit

↳ word count- 6.2k

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ genre- smut, fluff, comedy, fitness instructor!jimin, honestly this is pwp but with like 20% plot

↳ warnings- oral sex (m/f receiving) penetrative sex, sex in public, exhibitionism, spitting, slightly dom!jimin, jimin is v mouthy during sex, jimin is also a brat, 

↳ a/n- hiiiii we back at it again.  this fic brings me to 1 fic per member so i can finally feel good about repeats looloooolll also, this was very fun to write because i got to incorporate my love for exercise classes and my bias uwu.  also jimin 100% would be the worst instructor to take a class from bc i would NEVER focus EVER AGAIN.  pls feel free to message, comment, etc etc bc i love friendship.  enjoy!!!!!

The sound of your spin shoes clipping into the pedals is like music to your ears. 

You feel your shoulders relax as you roll them, warming and stretching the muscles of your arms and back. EDM beats play lightly over the impressive sound system, encouraging the riders to cycle to warm up for 45 minutes of adrenaline and heart-pumping cardio. 

Spin class is one of your happy places. Group fitness classes give you a rush that solo workouts can’t compare to. You love the camaraderie, the support and the built in friendships. Plus, you love having someone at the front of the room tell you exactly what to do. So what, you’re a little subservient? 

You smile at the ladies clipping into the bikes next to you, not knowing who they are but finding that everyone is friendly and wants the best for themselves and the group.  It’s why you love these types of classes.  Strangers become teammates. 

You hadn’t bothered to check who was instructing today, having clicked on the class time that fit your schedule best. You hoped it was your favorite Hoseok, but had learned that all the instructors were just as good Hoseok was just so vibrant, he made you work harder. 

The heat in your legs builds upon a low simmer, muscles warming for an intense class.  A melodic voice sounds over the speakers, your instructor coming in and securing their place at the front of the room. 

You take a moment to stop gaping. In front of you is quite possibly the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen in your short life. 

He’s incredibly toned, wearing a tight adidas tank and second skin-like leggings. He clips into the bike on the podium and smiles at the class. 

You’re sure you’re salivating. You curse yourself for picking the bike front and center today, now acutely aware how likely you were to drool over the instructor the entire time.  

He notices your stare and winks before he adjusts his mic and speaks again. 

“Good morning, everyone!  I’ll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin and I’m happy to be here,” his voice is light and sounds like honey. It slithers down your skin and oozes into you.  “Let’s get started at a quick pace of 90 rpm’s and warm up those legs!”

His dirty blonde hair glistens in the spotlight, thighs flex and ripple in his leggings.  You’re frozen in your seat and it takes you four thumping heart beats to realize the class has started.  Fuck. He will be the death of you. Nothing makes you lose focus in class. 

You push your legs and begin, and he turns his gaze back on to you. It’s as if he lights a match and throws it on you, the way your body reacts under his stare.  You wonder what it feels like to touch his chest, his toned arms. You bite your lip and pant, breathlessness unrelated to the exercise. 

Class is torture. Everything Jimin says is a double entendre to your ears and you find your core aching and wet only 15 minutes in. Jimin looks perfect, up in third position on the bike, standing and hips pushed back. You can see his pert little ass in the mirror, and you want to cry. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him. 

“All right, let’s tap it back in 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Jimin pushes his hips to tap the seat with his ass, before standing back up as he pedals in time with the music. He looks delicious, sweat on his forehead.  He pushes his hair out of his eyes and you nearly pass out at the sly smile curved on his face. 

You attempt to do the workout but feel yourself faltering, missing the beat often. It frustrates you. Normally, you are at the top of the leaderboard, soaring above the others with your effort. Today you land near the bottom. All because of fucking Jimin and his perfect fucking body. 

The arms circuit comes next and you are grateful for the reprieve from heavy resistance on your legs and a chance to sit and catch your breath.  You grab the weight bar and hold it in your palms, ready to do bicep curls at the count of your instructor. 

Jimin unclips from his bike and grabs his bar, before walking the length of the front of the room.  He begins with the bicep curls and you choke. His arms ripple with the effort and his hands look so strong and veiny; your mind immediately fills with thoughts of his strong hands fingering you to completion.  He counts out the numbers and winks at you again as you falter in your push and pull. You shut your eyes, avoiding looking at him, and focus on the curl of your arms. 

It’s infuriating. You take pride in your fitness and find yourself most satisfied after an intense workout.  This class has proven to be intense in a whole different manner, but you’re upset at the lost opportunity to push yourself and focus. 

As your eyes flutter open again, Jimin moves to put the bar away and clip back into his bike. Only 15 minutes left. You can do this. 

You definitely did not do it. The last fifteen minutes were pure torture. Jimin kept his monologue of encouragement going, but his voice was tinged with fatigue and he panted hard into the mic. Sometimes, during particularly tough resistance, he would add little grunts and “uh!”s to his countdowns.  You felt your thighs tremble with each one, gasping at the fantasy of his grunts as he fucked into you. 

Blessedly, the class ended and Jimin was leading the group through relaxing stretches to calm you down. It didn’t calm you in the least.  You watch as he folds himself in half over the bike to stretch his hamstrings and you’re mesmerized when he stands on his bike to stretch his back out. You want to lick every inch of him, tease your tongue down every hard line of muscle you could see until it landed directly on his coc-

“Thank you, everyone! You did incredible!” Jimin cooes over the mic as he stands next to the bike. He bows slightly in reverence to the group, and the class is dismissed. 

You’re not sure if you want to book it out of the room first or linger. You’re sure if he tries to talk to you, you’ll implode. Maybe you can leave in a crowd, while he’s talking to one of the older ladies sure to hit on him. 

You pack up your water bottle and towel, patting the sweat on your face as you try to sneak past in a crowd of elderly women. 

“Hey!” Jimin calls and you freeze. You look up to find the object of your frustrations smiling at you. Fuck. He was talking to you.

“Great job today,” he grins. 

Little shit, you grumble internally. He knows perfectly well that you did dreadfully, coming in 12th place out of 15. A woman three times your age got first place, and it burned you more than you cared to admit. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, awkwardly patting your face dry.  You’re positive you look terrible. Red faced from exertion and arousal, sweating like a pig. 

“You come here often, princess?” He asks as he walks closer to you. You find your breath catch in your throat and you’re unable to reply.  He chuckles. 

“Cat got your tongue?”  His smirk is legendary and you want to slap or kiss it right off. 

“I’m-,” you croak out, then clear your throat and steel yourself. “I come every other day. Sometimes more.” 

Jimin can’t take his eyes off of you. He smirks again. “You should take another class of mine, doll.” 

You blush, and you hope the already flushed color of your cheeks hides it. 

“You could use the practice. Soon, you’ll get the hang of it.” He gives you a wink and leaves, leaving you stewing in anger and frustration at his words. 

How dare he?! He assumed you were a novice! Your pride and ego burned. You were a regular! You always came in the top 3 of the class! It’s his fucking fault you couldn’t focus on class! 

You grab your things from the locker you stored it in, change your shoes, and stomp out of the spin studio with only one thought on your mind. 

The asshole, Park Jimin. 

You avoided spin like the plague. You rationally knew he didn’t teach every single class there, but you couldn’t face it, face the place where he hurt your pride so quickly and turned your insides into molten lava. 

You dragged your best friend Jungkook with you to yoga, a quick and heated vinyasa class. Jungkook was more of a weight lifting guy, but you had recently talked him into trying yoga, explaining the benefits of meditation and the stretching of his muscles and sinew would help improve his form. He caved and quickly found he liked it. 

You spread your mat down on the warm wooden floor and let out a sigh. You had been looking forward to this class all week, and you were finally here.  You ensured you were taking the class from your favorite instructor, Taehyung, when you booked you and Jungkook’s spot. 

You smile at Jungkook as he settles himself into his mat, and you both begin stretching and chatting lightly before class begins. 

The door opens just as you get into child’s pose, face toward the mat in between your thighs and arms stretched high above your head on the floor. 

A silky voice, most decidedly not Taehyung’s, rolls over your body. 

“Welcome everyone. I’m your substitute teacher today. My name is Park Jimin.”

Your head snaps up and you stifle a groan at the sight you’re welcomed with.  

Jimin stands on the mat at the front of the class, directly in front of you, wearing nothing but long, lululemon tights that cling to his skin. Again, you chose to be front and fucking center. You can see the way his legs form in his leggings. His chest is bare, and you can’t stop staring at the defined lines of his abs. You want to cry. 

He’s invaded your favorite spots twice now. 

He recognizes you, startled for a moment, but quickly covers it with a wink in your direction. You let your head fall to the mat with a thunk. 

The class is hot, literally. It’s 102 degrees Fahrenheit and you’re dripping with sweat. You move with precision through each sun salutation, ashtanga, and tree pose. The moves flow into one another, your favorite thing about vinyasa, and you pointedly avoid even looking at the instructor.  You’re grateful you know all the moves by heart and can position yourself into them by memory. 

You’re proud that you only falter a few times, heart stuttering every time Jimin walks by you to note your pose and call out the next position. You’ve never wanted to simultaneously fight and fuck someone so bad in your life. 

It’s the final, relaxing poses of the class and you sigh with relief as you maneuver into sleeping swan. You slide out of down dog and slip your right knee between your hands, lean a bit to the right, and press your hips forward towards the ground.  You can feel the delicious stretch in your hips and your eyes flutter at the release of tension.  You lay down over your knee, allowing your arms to lay flat above your knee and press your hips down as far as you can. 

It’s quiet, all you can hear is your breath. You see Jimin out of the corner of your eye assisting others push deeper into the pose, pressing his hands where they need the help.  You gulp.  Fuck. 

You turn your head back towards the mat and focus only on your breathing and the stretch in your body.   Jimin indicates to switch legs, and you do so effortlessly, sliding your left knee to the center and putting your right knee back. 

It feels good to stretch, especially on your weaker left side. You inhale deeply and let it out as you try to push your hip forward more.  

Suddenly, warm hands are on your lower back, right above the cleft of your ass. You bite your lip tight, knowing it’s Jimin, guiding you deeper.  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Your breath catches as he presses down, humming his approval as your hips move with his hands and you gasp at the feel of the stretch. It feels even better going further than you could on your own. He laughs quietly through his nostrils, as he smooths his warm hands up under your shirt to rest on the skin of your back. 

You feel as if you will explode. Just as your body reacts to his touch and caress, it’s gone and he’s moving to Jungkook to guide the weightlifter through his own pose.  

The class ends and Jungkook smiles at you as you both lift from your ‘namaste’ bow. 

“That was great!” He grins as he rolls up his mat. “Jimin’s a great teacher! We should take more of his classes.” 

You silently cry, not sure your weak heart and pussy can handle any more of Jimin and his stupidly hot body and his ridiculous smile. 

“Yeah, Kook,” you half-heartedly agree, not interested in divulging your sordid secret crush on the asshole who embarrassed you. 

You’re packed up and exiting the room when the same familiar voice chimes. 

“Hey, princess!”  

You and Jungkook both turn around to see Jimin smiling at the head of the room. Jungkook looks at you questioningly, wondering why the instructor is calling you princess. 

“You did good today,” Jimin notes. “You should come again sometime. We can make sure you’re really getting stretched out.” 

Your cheeks flame impossibly red and you splutter. Jimin winks at you. This fucking asshole. 

“Your hips seem a little tight. We can work on that.”  He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing and you want to kick him in the dick just as much as you want to kneel in front of him to suck it. 

“Sure, Jimin,” you grumble out before you drag Jungkook from the heated room. 

Jungkook is all grins. “What was THAT?” He asks as you exit the yoga studio and head towards the subway. “He was basically asking to fuck you right there! How do you know him?!”

You pout at your best friend. “He doesn’t want to fuck! He just enjoys getting me worked up,” you sigh. “He was my spin instructor the other day, and he got me so fucking heated I nearly came in last place! In a class full of grandmas!” 

Jungkook snickers as you both tap your metro cards and lean against the wall to wait for the next train. 

“Girl, he was offering to help you stretch you out. He wants you.” 

As much as it thrilled you, you couldn’t comprehend it. Jimin was ethereal. He surely had women throwing themselves at him. He simply enjoyed the teasing. 

“Whatever, Kook. He told me I need practice at cycling. ME! I’m the goddamn spin queen!”  The crowd around you watches you and you pale at the embarrassment. You lower your voice. “He just wants to see me fired up, for no fucking reason.”

“Okay, delusional,” he sighs, patting your sweaty head. “Believe what you want.” 

You hmph in reply and watch as a train approaches to take you home. 

You most definitely will believe what you want. 

Jimin is fucking everywhere.  If he’s not instructing, he’s taking the same fucking classes as you. Barre, Pilates, yin yoga, CrossFit. He’s always there and always taunting you with his perfect fucking body and teasing words and your fantasies of him drilling you into a mattress until you can’t talk. 

You avoid group classes altogether. You can’t face him. Your fitness is suffering because of it. 

You suck it up and go to the gym, the regular ass gym with no classes, and you’re determined to run a few miles on the treadmill and maybe get a good 20 minute lift in. It’s been too long since you’ve had the thrill of a good workout, the satisfying ache in your muscles. The gym will suffice.  It’s missing the level of companionship that group classes provide, but it’s better than nothing.

You pop your earphones into your ears and click on some music, not caring what it was as long as it was quick, and press begin on the treadmill. 

Running is easy. The strangers around you melt away and it’s just you and the treadmill. You love the way your heart is beating, sweat forming at your forehead.  Finally. A good fucking workout. 

All thoughts sweep away as you run, and your only thought process is on the push down of your feet on the treadmill belt and the pull up of your legs to lengthen your stride.  The runner’s high was something you lived for, and you realize you should incorporate more running into your routine. 

You don’t even pause for water, so wrapped up in the run's high that you don’t feel thirsty. 

Your watch vibrates against your wrist, notifying you that the 60 minutes you set to run is up, and you slow your pace to a complete stop.  You feel like you’re high. Your heart is racing and your body feels like it’s vibrating. This is what you had been missing in the weeks of unsatisfying classes. The flood of endorphins after a perfect workout.  

You suck down some water, before removing your earbuds from your ears. The roar of the gym is loud, music and TVs and chatter from the gymgoers. 

“You’ve got great running form, you know.” A familiar sultry voice is suddenly next to you, and your arms prickle. 

You turn to gaze at the intruder and feel your body coil tight. 

Park fucking Jimin. And his fucking ridiculously sexy smirk and perfect hair and godly body. 

“Are you following me?!” You accuse. How the fuck is he everywhere you go!?

Jimin laughs out loud and leans against the treadmill next to you. “It’s not my fault you’re taking all my classes! One might think you’re following me.”  

You scowl and push yourself off the treadmill. 

“Hey, wait, don’t go!” he calls and grabs your arm.  

You turn to glare at him. “You going to tell me I need more practice at running too?” your tone is harsh but you don’t care. 

Jimin bites his lip and smiles at you. “Damn, is that why you hate me?” He asks. 

“You told me I needed more practice at cycling!  I'm great at cycling!  Better than most!”

You’re aware that others are watching, but you can’t find it in you to care. You cross your arms underneath you, pressed up against your sports bra you deemed appropriate as a shirt. 

“You looked like a beginner! I’m sorry!” He apologizes. “Hoseok told me later that you’re, like, one of the best!  I have to reach out to the new riders! It’s mandatory!”  

You suck your teeth, still unimpressed. 

“When I saw you in yoga doing everything from memory, I knew you weren’t just some novice! I’m sorry for assuming, okay?” He sighs. “What had you so fucked up in spin, anyway?” 

Your heart thuds to a skidding brake. There’s no way you can tell him the reason you sucked so bad in class was because you could only focus on how his cock would feel stuffed up inside you. 

“I,” you falter. For the second time, Jimin has you stumbling over your words. “I didn’t feel well,” you lie. 

Jimin snorts. “Bullshit.”

Your cheeks flush and you stay silent. 

“You got distracted by me, didn’t you?” He smirks. You gape at the size of his ego. You wonder if his cock compares in size and then kick yourself for still thinking about his fucking dick. 

“I’ll take the silence as a yes,” he winks as he throws an arm around your shoulder. 

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that?” You snark as you push his delicious, toned, silky arm off you. 

“And you’re a selfish, competitive bitch.”

The grin on his face is shit-eating, and you find your blood boiling. 

“You take that back!” You demand. 

“Tell me I distracted you, that my presence fucked up the great ___, spin queen extraordinaire, and I will.” 

All you see is red.  Red, fiery anger. No.  There was no fucking way you would let him win, revel in your shame in the middle of a crowded gym.   You drag Jimin by his Nike tank top that shows almost 100% of his body, to the nearest ‘family shower’, pulling him inside and locking the heavy door behind you. 

You push him against the door and press a finger to his chest. 

“Fine! You did. You distracted me throughout fucking class,” you hiss. “All I could think about was sucking you off and seeing your lips on my pussy and riding your dick until we both can’t talk. Okay?! Happy now?!” You’re fuming, chest heaving with intensity. 

Jimin's grin lights up ten times brighter. 

“I thought the same things during class too,” he admits coolly. 

Jimin has you speechless for the nth time. “What?” You breathe. 

“When I saw you on the bike, I couldn’t stop staring at your tits and your lips. You looked so good. And then in yoga, that tight little ass was begging for me to spank it. While you were running, I was wondering what you’d look like cumming around my cock.” 

He shrugs, the words rolling off his tongue as if he isn’t admitting he wants to defile you as much as you do him. 

“Are you serious!!?” You squeak, heart beat thundering in your ears. 

“100%,” he smirks and rests the back of his head against the door. 

It’s silent for a beat as you stare each other down.

Fuck it.

Next thing you know, you’re launching yourself forward to press your lips to his in a searing hot kiss. 

Jimin kisses back fervently, tongue swirling into your mouth as his hands wrap around your body.  He finds purchase on your ass and squeezes it through the tight leggings. 

You gasp and shudder at his hands roaming your backside. Jimin pulls his lips away and smirks. God, that fucking smirk. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” 

“Yeah?” You ask as you move your hands to the front of his chest. He nods. “You know what I’ve wanted to do for a while?”  

He grins and tilts his head. “What, princess?” 

You drop to your knees, tugging his adidas tights down with you. His cock springs free, and you gape at the enormity of it. 

“Shit,” he hisses suddenly as cool air hits him. “That was fucking hot.”

You’re encouraged by him and you wink up at him, before you’re wrapping your hand around his length to give it an introductory pump. 

Jimin rewards you with a moan, unabashed in his volume. He doesn’t care who the fuck hears you two, this is the hottest thing he’s done in his life. 

“So thick,” you murmur. “I wondered how big it was.” 

Jimin can’t reply, because your lips are latching onto his dick with fervor and you lick and suckle at his length.  Jimin’s eyes nearly roll back into his head at the suction of your mouth.  

“Oh, my god,” he gasps. “Y-You’re ridiculously good at that.” 

You preen under his praise and continue, allowing his length to the back of your throat.  You let him gag you, saliva and tears both gathering at the sensation and Jimin stifles a cry.  Your hand comes to his cock as you pull away and take a harsh breath, wiping away the tears from your gag reflex.  You stroke him quickly, loving the way his weighty cock feels in your hands.  As you pump him, the tip of your tongue teases at the slit of his head and Jimin swears loudly. 

“Fuck!  Christ, gonna make me cum,” he’s whiny. It’s adorable. He purses his pretty puffy lips as he moans for more, more of you. “Such a good girl, shit, ahhhhh,” he gasps as you suck him into your mouth again. 

It doesn’t take long, the sensation of your hot mouth and hand jerking him sends him flying and he’s cumming hot stripes down your throat.  You feel you’re on cloud nine as you swallow his seed, sucking at the tip until he hisses from overstimulation. 

As you pull away, you open your mouth and extend your tongue to show him you dutifully swallowed his cum, and he groans. 

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing, aren’t you?” 

You nod in reply, and Jimin grips your jaw in his hand, forcing your mouth to stay open.  

You jerk in his grasp as he spits into your mouth; the saliva hitting your tongue. You’ve never been more turned on in your life.  He releases you, and you swallow again. 

“Kinky bitch,” Jimin cooes. “All for me.” 

He pulls you up to stand in front of him, pressing his lips to yours again for another burning kiss. 

It’s too short for your liking, as Jimin pulls away and manhandles you to sit on the sink. You’re obedient, smiling prettily. Fuck, you can’t believe it’s happening. You just sucked Jimin off, the same Jimin you’ve ogled and anguished over for weeks now. 

“Let me see these tits,” he asserts as he tugs up the sports bra from your body.  You comply, raising your arms up to allow him to pull it off. 

He throws the bra to the floor and cups your breasts. 

“Fuck,” he breathes as his thumbs rub across your nipples.  You shiver from the cold air and the heat of his thumbs. “I jerked off thinking about these tits after spin.”

He lowers himself to lick at a nipple and you’re whining for more. 

“Thought about pushing them together and fucking them like a pussy.”  He bites down on your nub, causing you to squeal and jump. He soothes the flesh with a suck from his lips and languid circling of his tongue. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He smirks, eyes boring into yours as he roves your nipple with his delicious tongue  “My kinky little whore wants her yoga instructor to fuck her pretty tits.”

You’re thriving, his words making your cunt ache. It’s dripping wet. You’re sure it’s leaking through the fabric of your leggings by now. Jimin being just as rough and filthy as your fantasies has you reeling. 

“Yes,” you whine. “I want you to fuck your cock in my tits.” 

Jimin hums around your nipple before switching to the other, ravaging it with the same attention as its twin received. 

“God, you’re a fucking whore,” he whispers as he bites at your nipple hard enough to make you jerk in his grasp.  “I love it.” 

Your hips are moving against his body, desperate for friction where you need it most.  It’s not lost on Jimin and he pulls off your tits with a pop. He marvels at his work. Your nipples are suckled fresh and red, perking and pebbling in the cold air. 

“Mmm, does princess want some attention here?” He asks as he slides a hand down to grip your aching quim.  

You gasp in response, shuddering at the feel of his palm against your core. 

“P-please! Pretty please!” You beg. 

He kisses at your breasts again, before he tugs your shoes and socks off, and pulls the leggings down your smooth legs and throws them to join the matching bra on the floor. He’s pleased when he notes you aren’t wearing panties.

You don’t care how you look, wanton and desperate.  You spread your thighs wide, feet resting on the edge of the sink. Jimin gazes at you like you’re fine art, the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. 

“Look at you,” he adores. “Spread out for me like a slut.  And you’re dripping wet too, mmm.” He rubs a finger up and down your silky thigh. 

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He grips your chin with one hand while the other continues rubbing at your inner thigh. “A good little bitch for me.”

You nod and gasp as his fingers skim impossibly close to your cunt. 

“Do you deserve it, princess? After you were so mean to me earlier?”  

You pout and shiver. “I’m sorry!” You gasp as his finger hovered over your pussy. “I’m s-sorry! I was j-just upset! I didn’t meaaaaaaan it!” His finger dips and taps at your clit, feather light, and you’re crying at the feeling. 

Jimin shushes you, finger still impossibly light on your clit. “Hush, baby. I forgive you. You sucked my cock so well, made me cum so hard.”

The finger increases pressure slightly and you’re aching, trembling for more. 

“Good little sluts get rewarded, hm? I think you’ve earned yours, princess.” 

You’re not given an opportunity to reply as Jimin harshly thrusts two fingers into your cunt and fucks you furiously.  Your moan is impossibly loud, loud enough you’re sure the rest of the gym can hear you but all you can focus on is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin and his thick fucking fingers thrusting into you. 

He lowers down and licks at your clit, flicking it up and down. He watches as your body trembles, wails echoing off the tile walls. 

“Mmm, my pretty little princess, so fucking wet for me.” He emphasizes with a kiss to your clit, before he sucks it into his lips. The tugging makes stars shine in your vision, nearly blacking out from how good it feels. 

Jimin can feel that you are close, and as much as he wants to get you off with his fingers, he wants you to cum on his cock more. He pulls away from you, and you’re whining at the loss. 

“Hush, princess,” he sighs. “Be good, no whining.”

You quiet immediately but still feel a throb in your core. He delivers a harsh slap to your cunt, surprising you and making you yelp. Jimin grins and kisses your lips.

“Stand up and turn around and face the mirror, doll.”

You move to comply, hop off the counter to turn and press your back against Jimin. You can see yourself in the gym mirror now. You look fucked out completely. Your tits are blooming red where he suckled at your nipples, eyes hooded and blown wide with lust. 

Jimin’s lips tickle at your ear and he whispers, “This is what I imagined during spin class. Seeing you so fucked out and wet for me.   These pretty tits marked by me,” he cups one, and pinches at the nipple. “My sweet little princess.” 

His hand moves up to your throat, giving it a solid squeeze, and you shut your eyes. Euphoria.  Pure bliss. 

“That’s right, baby,” he kisses the shell of your ear. “All mine.  Such a slut for me.” 

You’re nodding, eyes still closed, as he removes his hand and pressed your head down towards the sink.  You wiggle your ass and rub against his length, giggling at the feel. 

“I want you to watch yourself get fucked by me. You’re gonna watch me ruin this tiny little cunt,” he grunts. “You’re going to watch what I fantasized about in every fucking class I saw you in.” 

You realize you’re moaning loudly, the sound spilling out of your lips subconsciously as the head of his dick rubs your pussy lips.  He hisses at the wetness, loving the way it slicks up his cock with ease. 

“Eyes open, my love,” he orders gently when he notices you’ve closed them.  They snap open and your gaze falls on him in the mirror.  He looks so fucking good, so hot and feral. His muscles glisten in the light, a sheen of sweat from his workout and from the heat of your bodies pressing together. 

He winks at you, the same one he gave you that fucking blasted day at spin, and then pushes into your tight heat in one go. 

“Oh, fuck, Jimin!” you’re gasping as your walls stretch to accommodate him. 

He grits his teeth for a moment, savoring the feel of your silken walls. “Told you we needed to stretch you out, need to get you nice and loose.”

You shiver as he remains still inside of you, but he’s quickly pulling out of you to impale you again.  The sound of flesh slapping on flesh fills the room and you can hear the wetness of your cunt around him. 

“Shit,” he moans. “You’re so fucking tight, unghhhh. Gonna ruin this little pussy, baby.  Gonna make you never want another cock in you except mine.” 

You believe him. You’re sure after this you’ll never even notice another man.  Jimin has you wrapped around his finger, he has since the first day you met at spin. 

“All yours,” you squeak through the thrusts, watching your tits jiggle. He notices your stare and roughly grabs at one, squeezing it until you reward him with a loud groan and the tightening of your cunt. 

“That’s right.  You’re mine. Ahhhh, wanna make you my girl, baby. Gonna fuck this little hole every night. You’d like that, huh?”  You nod in reply, and he slaps your ass with his free hand. “Use your filthy words, bitch.” 

You gasp at the sharp sting and splitter a response. “P-please! I want you! Only want you inside me.”  You’re half coherent to the words you’re speaking, his dick is literally fucking you stupid. 

He grins in reply, swatting your ass again. The pain sends a tingle straight to your clit and you squeeze his cock inside you, causing him to groan out loud. 

“God, you’re so perfect.  So fucking perfect for me,” he babbles. “Gonna fuck you in the spin studio.  And at yoga.  Gonna fuck you in barre while everyone watches.” 

The high you’re feeling is unparalleled.  You’re sure you’ve felt nothing quite like this, never been fucked so good in your lifetime. Jimin knows how to work you up, both emotionally and physically, and brings out the beast in you. 

You can feel your release building, already so close from his incessant fingering and tonguing of your clit. 

“J-Jimin!” You’re heaving his name, harsh pants signaling your oncoming climax. “S-so close!”

He becomes rabid, fucking into you at a pace you’re sure isn’t human. He angles his dick to hit right at your spongy wall, thrusting into your g-spot with ease, as if he knows your body inside and out. 

“Yeah, cum for me, whore. Cum on my cock.” 

It feels heady, feeling him thrust inside you and murmur such filth to you. He wants you and only you. The notion is as orgasmic as his cock itself.  The tightness in your core builds, builds, leaning on the precipice of euphoria. 

“Cum for me, baby, come on. Mark me as yours.” 

His possessive tone is the last thing you hear before the waves of orgasm pound over you like a typhoon. Your cunt clenches and flutters hard around his dick and he’s moaning your name. You feel how tight you are, his cock stilling inside you as he reaches his own high. 

“Oh, shit! Shit shit shit!” he gasps. “Gonna be full of my cum, baby! You’re mine!”  

Hot ropes of cum coat your core, and you’re relishing in the feeling. 

“My god,” Jimin sighs. He lets his softening cock remain inside you as he presses a kiss to your back. 

“Is it too early to say I love you?” He jokes.  Your heart flutters as you wiggle your ass.

“No, but take me to dinner first.”

He slaps at your red ass lightly, right where he spanked it before. His grin lights up the room. 

“With pleasure.”

“Hi, welcome to class, I’ll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin. Let’s get started.” 

You smile from your seat, front and center, and move your legs in time with the music. 

The instructor catches your eye and winks at you. 

Spin is even better now, if that’s possible. You spend your time in class with your deliciously sweaty boyfriend, who doesn’t go easy on you. He pushes you, makes you better and faster and stronger.  He rewards your first place spots by eating your pussy until you cry. 

Life is better.  You’ve found your person, the one who will do everything with you, for you. He loves you, completely and fully. You’ve never felt more cherished in your long years of living. 

Class ends before you know it, and you linger as the group meanders out to the lobby, leaving Jimin and you alone. 

“Hey, princess,” he calls to you as you rub the sweat from your face. 

You look up to see a sly smile on his face. 

“You should stay back and practice.  I think you need it,” he chides, teasingly. 

Your heart skips a beat as he closes the door, barring you from exiting the room full of bikes, and approaches you with a leer. 

“Oh, yeah?” You place a hand on your hip. 

“Yeah, and I think I know just the instructor who can help.” 

Jimin pounces on you with a kiss, and your giggles fill the room. 

Life is better now, and it will get even more so. Jimin glances back at the podium as you scurry to get your leggings off, his eyes resting on the velvet ring box. 

Yeah, it will definitely get better. 

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[astriefer]

“Please hold me.” for thomastair (ofc bc that's what you said) 🥺

Thank you for this! @littlx-songbxrd you asked for this as well. I'm sorry it's so bad.

~~~~~

Trust me with thy heart

Pairing: Thomastair

Words: 4,537

Contains mild angst, some self harm and hurt/comfort.

Note I am awful at writing angst or hurt/comfort. This whole poor writing is based on miscommunication, much or less, or the fear to let others close.

~~~~~

Thomas wasn't fond of fights.

Demons were one thing. Their destiny as Shadowhunters was to protect mankind from those filthy monsters who invade their world. They brought disorder and death. The people he cared about were a different tale. 

A light jest with his friends, why not? A banter with his father about taking the coat or not while going outside? Sure. But not a very tumultuous, tempestuous strife with them. He preferred them all to get along with each other. 

Thomas liked even less when it was him involved in the disagreement.

He spent the last day jogging between massive training seasons, hanging out with his friends, and losing himself in his thoughts. Now, he avoided everyone in favor of reading Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. He made a special effort to tell no one where he was going, so non could bother him and ask him questions.

So Thomas was stunned when Ariadne Bridgestock, of all people, rushed through the entry in an unmatched combination of grace and ivory skirts, then flopped herself onto the armchair in front of Thomas.

While she had had a pleasant expression on her face, there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. If Thomas hadn't known better, he would've sworn she came here to murder him.

"You and Alastair fought," she stated.

Thomas glanced between his book to her determined face twice, considering his options. Then, on behalf of good manners, he put a bookmark on the current page he pretended to be reading for half an hour. "Is it Alastair's way to tell me to speak to him? If so, please tell him not to embroil any other folks in our relationship."

"He hadn't sent me," Ariadne ignored the last part of his sentence. "But he did not arrive for our conclave."

A spark of concern lightened up in Thomas, yet he repressed it. He was angry with Alastair, Thomas reminded himself. "And what have you speculated I can do about it?"

She looked at him funny. "Talk to him, I presume."

"Ariadne," he tried, weariness falling heavy on him. "While I appreciate your concern, I doubt Alastair wants to see me. In fact, I doubt whether I want to see him right now. I know you confide in each other-" more than Alastair does with him, the bitter thought tore its way into his head. "And your intentions are well, but I will highly prefer to keep this between myself and Alastair."

He thought this would give her down and make her apologize. "Alastair wouldn't have sent someone else, and he didn't solicit help from myself," she said instead. "He would've given time to you both to collect your minds, and then come to you in clearer mind."

It was right. He knew it was. "So this parley is all you?"

"As I said, Yes. I worried for my friend, who happened to be your partner."

Thomas brushed his thumb on the spine of the book, musing over her words.  "Why would you be worried?"

"He stood me up. I came by your flat later, just for him to say nothing has happened. When I asked where you were, he conceded you two had a big bump in the road."

"That's a nice way to put it," Thomas murmured. "I frankly wished to be left alone. It's nothing-"

"Thomas," Her amber eyes met hazel ones. "You are good at many things. Fighting demons, and keeping the rest of the Thieves out of trouble, for example."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Lying is not one of them."

Thomas swallowed, endeavoring to hide the feeling of hurt off his face. Recalling what happened a few days before made his whole body ache in pain. "So Alastair and I had a row. It always happens with lads." 

"It's not just a lad for you," she pressed. He was wide aware of the chastisement in her words. "It's Alastair. And never have I seen him the way he looked when I checked on him."

"What do you mean?" he asked after he perceived her words. "Alastair was absolutely fine when I left the flat." 

"You have to see for yourself." Ariadne said, "Go to him."

Despite the knots formed in the abdomen, he dithered. "Things ended up stormy when we last spoke. Maybe he's still mad. Maybe I'm still mad."

It wasn't just Alastair who was mad. He wondered how Alastair had been this past day, and how was he feeling, among many other thoughts. Yet the cloud of exhaustion and hurt surrounding him perturbated the nervousness. He was allowed to be upset about what happened. It sure wasn't nothing. Not on his part, at most. Why couldn't Alastair just-

"Excuses are not appreciated," Ariadne announced, "So you better confront him already, or I swear I shall chase you to the end of the Earth with my electrum whip." Ariadne threatened, and that what had taken to wake Thomas out of his hesitation.

"Of course," he sighed, "Because I don't have enough troubles already."

She brushed it off again with a smile, and Thomas felt mildly annoyed. He hadn't shown it. "Sort it out. It will benefit the two of you to tackle the problem."

She left no place for arguments. Utterly abandoning the book, Thomas rose to his feet and went to leave the room. 

He was glad to get out of the grip of this confusing confab, but he was even more unsure if to listen to her advice.

He was still angry with Alastair.

~~~~~

A veil of fog surrounded the city. It was a prevalent London day, cool and cloudy. The wind is blowing hard, welcoming passersby in a burst of freezing breeze. A thunderstorm on its way, they said.

But those were the last of things that perturbed Alastair's peace of mind. It matched his mood just fine. If someone was to describe him, curled up on his bed alone, he could imagine being portrayed as forlorn and tormented.

No, what bothered him was a particular someone that left and hasn't returned. Alastair hated he still hoped Thomas would return and make him less cold.

His breath was heavy, and his lungs burned like fire. He remembered words that haunted him for weeks in the past.  I believed you were more than what others said about you. I conceived myself beneath all the harsh words, was someone with a kind soul waiting to be seen. Was it all a lie I told myself?

Darkness flooded his senses. Trying to get any portion of self-control on his body he could, Alastair rose to his feet, glancing out of the window on unsteady legs without seeing anything at all. Gather yourself together.

But the words burned deep then, and they burned deep now. That was a battle against himself he meant to lose. The cold spread not only from the world beyond the window but from within him. It pulled out his ugly head, writhing and furious, desperately trying to break free and rise to the surface. People walked in the streets, oblivious to his troubles just as he was to theirs.

Thomas wasn't there.

Thomas wasn't there, and Cordelia wasn't there, and anyone he loved wasn't there. He locked himself in their flat for the past day, overthinking and speculating and wondering why did he have to be the way he is. If Thomas had finally realized he deserved someone so much better than Alastair, would he be surprised? Alastair was aware of this fact too well. The way he looked at him when they fought, the shaky hands when he opened the door, and the hours of waiting in case Thomas will return, just for nothing to happen. What does it mean if not that Alastair finally made Thomas give up and leave?

This inner part of him was crying, demanded to be heard, to be set free. A shrill cry came to his ears, and it took him a moment to perceive it belonged to him.

His vision became vague, his head ached, and everything spun around. He tried to lay a hand on the wall - only to find he miscalculated the distance and fell ungracefully on his knees. His heart pounded in his chest while the darkness tried to pull him in; He tried to take a breath and dozens of small knives tore his lungs up. He shrank, gasping for air that didn't come.  

Everything seemed blurry, all his mind could engross in was the words Thomas Lightwood told him, the cold truth dripping from them, freezing Alastair all over again. 

Alastair was accountable for all the hideous things he'd done and said, unquestionably. How weak is he that he hides behind shallow faces and vicious words? What a dolt he is, hurting a person, mainly the only person outside of his family that seemed to genuinely care for him. His words rang in his head, Thomas's voice haunting every corner.  

He sank lower, his breathing gurgling, reaching out in search of something stable, something that would serve as a pillar in the chaos that ensued around him. His hand extended out to the still air and then groped for something to hold on the floor. That came the way of a cold, sharp object that lay on the ground. He gripped it tightly, and he groaned in pain and relief at the physical ache that eased his mind.

"Alastair?" A voice called.

~~~~~

Thomas was about to lose his right mind. Alastair was trembling vigorously, barely able to stand on his feet that were shaking like a leaf swaying in the wind.

"Alastair," Thomas stuttered, with no response back. His indignation vanished to immediate panic. "Alastair?" he repeated more stubbornly.

His chest went up and down quickly; His eyes were wide like that of a deer caught in the automobile light. When Thomas tried to take a step toward him, the smaller man stiffened and stood bolt upright. Thomas stopped dead.

"I came at the behest of Ariadne," he said, just for the sake of talking. Alastair hadn't told him to quiet, so he kept going. "And because I was worried about you."

"Leave," Alastair hissed out frantically. Thomas couldn't stop the throbbing burn striking through his body.

Thomas took a few steps back, allowing Alastair his space. He had no temptation to leave as he requested - Thomas simply waited aside, for a chance Alastair would change his mind. He recalled the nights he woke up from a nightmare, dazed and overwhelmed with emotions, and how Alastair always reassured him in the dead of night.

This Alastair seemed lost in his own mind, unable to escape, and it terrified Thomas. Yet, he shoved the dread aside and put on the most relaxing facade he could. He was told to be quite good at it.

"I'm right here, Azizam." 

"Everyone leaves. You can do as well."

Somewhere in his mind, the pieces joined together, like a colossal puzzle. Was he afraid Thomas would leave him? That he would give up on him? he told him he could leave in their run-in, because he thought everyone will leave him in the end? 

"I don't know. I don't know how to do it." To cease making the wrong decision. To cease pushing people away. To cease hurting people. "man nemidânam."

"Alastair, can you hear me?"

As he found out, Alastair did not hear him. "I don't want to hurt you. I already hurt you so much." Alastair went on, choking on his own words. Thomas was in full panic mode, and he hurried further toward Alastair with barely contained alarm.

I find you worth any pain to come, Thomas thought. 

"It's fine," Thomas said. "I am fine. I want you to be fine as well. It's much more important to me than whether you may or may not harm me."

Something split in his face, and he took a deep breath down his throat. His eyes snapped to Thomas. The terror on his face made Thomas's heart sink.

"Alastair?" he asked, but it didn't manage to elicit a response from the other man.

Thomas drew closer to Alastair, not missing the flinch passing the half-Persian's body. Thomas could hear his breath, shallow and trembling. He could painfully see the tremor of his hands. The wide eyes that so clearly tried to hold back tears. He took one step closer, and Alastair took one back.

Thomas imminently came to a halt. Alastair squeezed hard against the wall. He looked like a captive animal on the verge of losing hope, a man pushed to the edge, an injured soul. 

Thomas took one step closer. With his enormous figure, it all needed to reach Alastair. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, didn't let go even when Alastair squirmed, trying to shove him aside, fought to set free from Thomas's grip. His hold only tightened, and he used his strength to shove Alastair's head into his chest. He kept him close, kept even when Alastair protested, kept his hold when Alastair Surrendered abruptly, sinking into the soft material of Thomas's clothing, even when sobs began and his chest got wet from the tears of his love.

Thomas pressed his lips to the dark hair, held Alastair steadily while he cried. No words of reassurance passed between them. Truly, Thomas wasn't sure Alastair would have heard him if he tried. He knew the touch was what Alastair needed. Their embrace was clumsy and distorted, but it was enough. Enough to tell Alastair he wasn't alone; Thomas wouldn't have let him go through this alone.

With a soft sigh, Thomas finally let loose of his grip. He started to pull away and was surprised when he felt fists clasping on the fabric of the front of his sleeveshirt.

"Please," Alastair whispered desperately."Please hold me."

Thomas couldn't find it in himself to deny it to Alastair. They slipped to the floor. Alastair buried his face in Thomas's chest once again, shaking silently. Thomas felt his mouth forming words on his chest, although he could not tell which. All the while, his hands embraced the slim, shaking form of Alastair.

A few minutes had passed. Or an hour. Or a couple of days. Thomas didn't feel the time had passed while he tried to console his beloved one. He closed his eyes and concentrated on moving his hand on Alastair's small back, kept him close. The other hand came to caress the space between his ear and jawline, where he was creating circles on the tender skin.

Slowly, The dark-haired's breath became more even.

"Here you are," Thomas let a breath of both exhaustion and relief leave his body. "Can you hear me, Eshgham?"

"Y-Yes."

"Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"

"No."

Thomas sighed inertly as he held the other gentleman in his warm hands, promising reassurance and no judgment. Alastair, for the matter, clang to him as if he was drowning and Thomas was his only lifeline.

He never liked to fight with Alastair. It rarely happened, but when it did it left a bitter taste in his mouth and a pang at his heart. But he was not going to give up - not on this. He remembered his mother once told him couples fight, sometimes, because they still care about what the other does. It was their first argument with their new agreement. It didn't make him feel any better at the time. All his life he had been surrounded with unconditioned love, never exposed to the arguments and the imperfect details. It made him view love as just sweet and honey, while he learned that there's more with Alastair.

There's the giving. And the receiving. The trust in the other's intentions and the willingness to make them your priority foremost of all. The disagreements make you understand when your boundaries are and open a place for learning and acceptance. The balance you build with time, something he hoped he could shape with the man in front of him.

The trust part, to his belief, was something they still were working on. Alastair had leaned on him, and Thomas wondered it he thought now he calmed down, Thomas would leave him again. He did the last time.

"I'm not leaving," They locked eyes, and for some reason, he felt hope. "Alastair, I'm not leaving."

There are very few things he wanted more than Alastair. Verily, He was what he longed for above everything else. He wanted Alastair and everything he was.

Alastair didn't answer, but he averted his eyes.

"Are you ready to go now?"

Alastair seemed slightly lost, but he nodded and weakly stood on his legs. He followed Thomas while Thomas flung himself up and let Alastair sat on their bed beside him. The comfortable place always made both feel better - The mix of English and Persian and Spanish books on the bookshelves. The notebooks full of poems Thomas kept beside his side of the bed. Alastair's spears collection. The artworks they bought when they visited art galleries.Even the soft yellow light was a source of relief.

"You are mad," proclaimed Alastair in a hoarse voice.

"So are you," Thomas returned. Alastair shook his head, and Thomas's eyebrows rose. "So what then, if not mad?"

"Mostly nauseous," Alastair murmured, managing to startle a breathy chuckle out of Thomas. "But also bloody exhausted."

Thomas fumble after the right words, before deciding he should be candid. "I didn't like being apart from you in those few days. But I stick to what I told you before, Alastair." He saw it happening - the wall of defense Alastair was building up again after the last one had crushed. "Let me bring some fresh air into here."

Thomas tried to ventilate the room well while Alastair sank into the mattress and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. "If you call the London foggy, polluted air fresh, then sure."

A bit of relief passed because of Alastair's quip. He didn't lose it. "It seems you and my father share this opinion."

Thomas scanned Alastair, then noticed the cut on his right palm. Absentmindedly, he approached his side.

"Why did you do it?"

It took Alastair a moment to conceive what he was referring to. He hastily covered it with his other hand, but Thomas saw it. "I - didn't mean to."

Thomas watched the cut in awe as if it was imaginary.  However, when he grazed the skin, Alastair winced. 

Thomas wasn't sure how to counter this. Their fight. What just happened. Alastair didn't either. Or did he wish to pretend none of this happened? That he -both of them- weren't hurt?

This thought wasn't toleratable to Thomas.

And that's why, after he took his stele out of his dresser and was applying an iratze on Alastair's forearm, that he asked, "I want to talk about what happened the day before yesterday."

He could feel Alastair stiffening, his muscles tensing. "I was upset," Alastair said cautiously. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, Tom."

"You shouldn't have," Thomas agreed. He was done with the iratze and put the stele aside. "But that's not why I'm distraught."

Alastair shot him a tumultuous look. Thomas took a deep breath before looking Alastair dead in the eye. "You were upset, but you wouldn't tell me why. You grumble about things relentlessly, but when you're truly shaken you don't share at all. It's not - just this argument. It's not just one thing. Those small moments you hesitate whether to tell me the truth. The times you don't." He inhaled, letting the cold air fill his lungs. He resisted looking away from Alastair's face, didn't let his eyes flutter around the room like they were trying to do. "Love is also built on trust and communication. If we don't have those, what is left?" He didn't need to hear Alastair's reply. "We talk, and we share, yet I cannot understand why you're so grumpy at times. I need you to tell me."

"Can't one just be pissed off at the world?"

"Alastair."

"Many things can upset me," Alastair said. Thomas might have hallucinated it, but his voice was a bit shaky. "Do you want to hear them all?"

"Yes," Thomas answered immediately. His tone was sincere.

Alastair's hand reached to the other side of the bed, a nonverbal request.  They still couldn't stop staring at each other. But not playfully, or lovingly, but earnestly.

Alastair, naked of his facade and any snide remarks. Alastair, whom he grew to know and rarely showed up to many else.

I do trust you. I care for you. were the meaning behind Alastair's gaze. All Thomas wanted is to lean on and forget everything. But still - it was not his pride making him relucent. That was much deeper than that. 

He lingered there just for a moment too long, enough to make Alastair believe he declined the request, and his hand quirked in pain for a moment. His face became emotionless - and Thomas had feared he misleadingly deceived Alastair that he didn't want them after all. That he didn't want him.

In moments, he climbed on the bed. He coddled Alastair, silently and diligently. "Tell me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," Alastair retorted eventually. He rubbed his eyes and laid back on the bed board. Then after a moment. "Everything."

"I hate it when I see you suffer and I don't know why," Thomas whispered. "I want to help. More than anything. But you push me away and I am left to think it might be because of me, because-"

"No," Alastair said firmly, extending his hands to cup Thoams's. "You have never been anything but good to me. It's just-," he broke off.

Thomas searched his foggy eyes. "I don't blame you," he told him, "If it's hard for you. But trust me enough to tell me what bothers you, thus we could face it together." He collected his hands in his own, lifting them so he could kiss his knuckles. "I know I want to stand by your side whatever the cost." he was certain about that; No whirlwind to come could change it. "Will you let me?"

Instead of an answer, Alastair kissed him.

Thomas knew he was kind, forgiving, trusting. He knew Alastair was slow to trust, slow to reveal his true feelings, hiding behind sharp words to secure himself from being harmed by people close to him. He knew the world broke his heart - so viciously, and that he took the pieces that were left. It was undoubtedly hard. Alastair had changed so much, yet Thomas wanted to understand, to reassure Alastair they were in this together. 

"Hamsar-am," Alastair said when they pulled away. "I will try."

Thomas smiled at the endearment term. His heart was throbbing fast. "I was mad," he confessed, "because you refused to tell me what's wrong. You pretended. And I - I don't want facades, my love. I want the truth. I want you."

"I don't want to be weak around the people I love," Alastair whispered, and Thomas understood. To what extent did he fear that if he shows weakness, his friends and family would suffocate him again, shield him from the world as they did when he was younger? How much he feared at slightest of weakness shown, he would be smothered as Thomas had been when he was too small, too fragile?

But Alastair never did that. He supported him in his way, allowed him to be weak without acting as if Thomas was made of glass. "So not weak to everyone," He was astonished he found it in himself to laugh softly. "Each other will be enough. We can be vulnerable with one another."

Alastair stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, a faint smile appeared on his lips. "Okay."

"This is just another way of trust."

So Alastair told him. He told him about the rumors he heard from the London enclave about his family, the looks he had gotten. Of the words of people who were white while Alastair was brown. He didn't mind, much, but it drew attention to his family. And to Thomas. Respectable family and a kind heart seemingly weren't enough to make the rumors - and who spread them - silence. The opposite is correct - the fire burned even brighter, and its flame was like cutting knives. The people who matter didn't care about their agreement, and Alastair long stopped paying attention to rumors. But when it was about Thomas, he said, he had been furious. The stories unfolded, the truth shone through, and the more Alastair talked - not just about rumors, but on the way some of the people treated him, of the Cornwall's townhouse and its residents, the things his soul troubled about were finally out.

Thomas listened, understood, stroked Alastair's cheek when he seemed to start shaking again, but now out of relief instead of concealed agony. 

They sunk into a comfortable silence in the end. Up until Alastair inquired, "You were out for so long. Where were you?"

"At the institute," Thomas replied. The concept of coming back to his parents' townhouse, admitting the quarrel, rewinding it all in his head countless times while enduring Sophie and Gideon's worrying looks, was nothing he wished to do. "Or somewhere I could avoid anyone."

"And now?" he asked tentatively. "You come back?"

"I have no intentions to leave this bed even if Ariadne herself will come to pluck me off the sheets." He affirmed.

Alastair's smirk became genuine this time. "Ariadne was here today."

When Thomas said "I know" he got a quizzical look from Alastair so he supplied, "She found my whereabouts and made me go confront you. Not much subtly, may I add."

"Yes. This jinx made me open up the door and refused to leave until I told her what happened."

Thomas silently laughed. 

"I..suppose it was rather cathartic," Alastair said. It was evening now, Thomas noted, and none of them found it in themselves to get up and eat supper. They just kept their bodies close, relishing their air of comfort.

"Indeed. This, this was good. Splendidly better than reading the same page over and over again in the Devil's tavern or pretending to care what waistcoat Matthew is taking to the impending party at Anna's flat." 

"You thought the place you and your squad go to hide is the best place to hide from them?" Alastair asked.

"It seemed reasonable at the time," Thomas murmured. "Each of us has a kind of hideout, have we not?"

Where was Alastair's safe hideaway? At home, with a book in hand? At museums, drinking in art and beauty? Was it hiking in the streets of London by himself and enjoying the view and the whispers of nature?

"You," Alastair said. Thomas hadn't realized he voiced his question aloud. A tired, small smile played on Alastair's lips, yet his words were soft, plain and simple. Their eyes locked, and he could feel how genuine Alastair was. "You are my hideout."

~~~~~

Dictionary:

man nemidânam - I don't know

Eshgham - my love

Hamsar-am - my equal head, my better half

[bijoharvelle]

doing these prompts! today is “watching the sunset/rise” & it’s dedicated @menjiiii bc they couldn’t make it to the watch party last night & were missed! read the whole series!

Dean holds his niece for the first time as the sun sets against the river the hospital looks out over. She’s pink all over and her big eyes are a soft blue-grey but Sam says they’ll probably get darker as she gets older. A crop of brown hair sticks straight up from her head and over all she looks a little like one of those troll dolls that Sam had when he was a kid. Dean loves her so much he’s afraid to hold her, afraid he’s going to crack open from it.

Sam is half-sitting in a chair, half-sprawled over Eileen in her bed and they’re both asleep. Dean turns from the sunset to look at them, to look at Sam, Eileen’s hand tangled in Sam’s hair. He was just four when Sam was born but he can remember being sat in a chair, being told to hold his arms out. He cradled the tiniest version of his brother in his arms. There’s a picture of it, somewhere, Dean small and with lighter hair almost to his shoulders, Sam in his arms and both of them staring at each other with matched awe.

Dean was there for Sam’s first steps and potty-training and bottles to solid food. Dean taught him to brush his teeth and tie his shoes and, in the parking lot of a motel with a bike that was not obtained legally, ride a two-wheeler. He taught Sam to shoot and talk to girls, how to recognize the difference between a werewolf and a rougarou and how to drive. Things that Dean mostly taught himself how to do, and Dean isn’t quite up-to-date on his daddy issues but fuck it, he was Sam’s father. He raised that kid and now here they are. He’s holding Sam’s child.

She’ll never have to learn how to shoot and the only witches she’ll know will be in story books and Disney movies. She’ll never have to stay in a motel, or dig into the dirt of a crossroads.  

“Are you all right?”

Dean looks up and realizes that he’s been crying. Just soft tears, finding their way down his unshaven face. Cas is looking at him with that never-ending stare but there’s the lilt of a smile starting.

“Yeah,” Dean rasps. “I’m all right. Just remembering-” He sighs a little and jerks his chin toward Sam, still asleep. “Changed his diapers, you know. And now here he is with - here she is...” He tips his face and sees that Jo is quiet in his arms, asleep, the bow of her mouth suckling subconsciously.

Cas comes closer and reaches up, runs a delicate finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “It’s...strange. I know the science of it, the biology of it. But still it seems rather-”

“Don’t say miraculous,” Dean warns, humor in his voice.

Cas smiles at him and - okay, miraculous. “No, I -- Well, yes. I was going to say miraculous. But, not in the way of heavens and Gods. In the way that...” He smiles again, interrupts himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “In the way that I sat across from a man, once, in a park full of children that he had saved, defying orders from angels. And I thought, never in all of history, could my father have created this man, he is his own making. Miraculous.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that so he just closes his eyes and nods. Cas steps closer, he feels it, and their foreheads hover close. “Do you wanna hold her?” he asks gently.

Cas kisses him softly before answering, hand cupping his cheek so lightly, the same way he just touched Jo. “If you wouldn’t mind giving her up.”

Dean shakes his head and they shuffle closer, pass the baby carefully. She fusses just a little as her weight shifts but once her head is nuzzled into Cas’s chest she calms. “Joanne is a good name,” he says, eyes on Jo. “Joanne Maura.”

“Yeah,” Dean answers but he’s not listening, he’s looking at Cas. Looking at the tilt of his chin, the mess of his hair, the shadows under his eyes and the way he holds Jo, tucking her close and protected. “We could-- If you wanted to. We could find a way. Kids, I mean.”

Cas props his head just enough to catch Dean in his sight. His smile is warm and content. “We can talk about it,” he says and that’s the best answer, at this point, because Dean doesn’t honestly know how he feels about it, about having kids. With all he’s seen, and they have Jack, they have Claire and Alex and Patience and Kaia. They have Krissy and Josephine and now, here, in their arms, they have Jo. It’s enough to know that Cas will talk about it, they’ll talk about it and figure it out together.

“Oh,” Cas says softly and he shifts a little. Dean leans in to see that Jo has woken up, eyes huge and looking up at Cas. Something softens on Cas’s face, then something brightens. Dean watches, tenderly, as Cas’s eyes go glassy with tears.

Miraculous.

tags under the cut, as always pls let me know if you wanna be removed or added!

@prayedtoyou • @folklorecastiel • @good-things-do-happen-dean • @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you • @nesnej •  @bianca29753 • @spaceshipkat • @601218764 • @nickelkit • @dizzypinwheel • @epple-benene • @kayrosebee • @feraladoration • @queenvee08 • @destielangst • @destiel-is--real • @brazencas • @destielle • @flowersforcas  • @50shadesofsubtext • @multifandomagic • @fluffiestlou

[yakocchi]

Becoming a Family With Him, Part 3 // Shuichi, Hikaru, Rhion, Luke, Eisuke

so this came out, as further celebration for the anni. VERY GOOD, much more appreciated than the prior story set lol that one was kind of boring but i get it

they made the kids for all the... kid-less ones, and the eisuke one that used to be VIP-exclusive is now here for everyone to buy (rip those ppl who gacha for it)

my rambling behind the cut (spoilers!!)

shuichi // as ud expect, shuichi has a literal hime ass looking girl (kikyo) for a daughter. she’s only 6, but is pretty calm and ladylike. She even calls her parents with –sama so... ok luckily shuichi does not strip down all the way in the presence of her daughter and only takes off his suit coat. thanks dad

anyway since shuichi has a break coming up, he wants to have a family trip how nice. but then the dang girl wants to go over to see eisuke WHAT when soryu exists and lives a block away? unrelatable, im closing the app anyway eisuke is her first love, which wtf he’s like 20 yrs older than u. even worse, mc says she’s been in love since she was like 3.

shuichi is reconsidering the benefits of democracy in his mind but eventually relents. but then they’re still following the fucc-days rule they set years ago. well, as he says in the story, RULES ARE RULES

blah blah i don’t want to go over everything bc then it’ll be boring reading the story when it comes out in engl right? also im tired bc it’s 1 am and i just want to play toontown in bed but nothing really bad happens. they are a v cute family bc shuichi is a pleasant and mature dad. kikyo and mc even do a little surprise for him at the end and it is very sweet. i feel like out of all the families, this is the most ideal

mad hatter // so they have twin sons named Rui and Kai. Rui is the childlike one that resembles Rhion in personality, Kai is the more mature one that resembles Al. man i forget that boy’s name but u get me i know they only can use stock bgs but it’s killing me that these dang kids get to sleep in what looks like separate king sized beds.

even though rhion is now a father of two, he still acts like... 10. i mean he still horni but it makes me feel weird

later it’s revealed that Ota teaches them both as an art tutor bc they both showed an interest in art. this is cute bc ota is bad with kids in this universe LOL

the ending on this one was weird cuz the kids didn’t show up in the entirety of the last ep bc it was about WORK. so uh... interesting

hikaru // so their son is named akari. haha get it because it means light. like how hikaru also means light. can mc name her kids unrelated to their father or is that against the Geneva convention

this kid actually acts like an actual little boy. like what hikaru would’ve probably turned into if not for the whole sad backstory. the story starts with akari just bringing a dog randomly home one day. he actually saved the dog (it is very cute bc he did not want the dog to cry), and then after a talk they decide to keep the dog as long as akari knows the responsibility of taking care of an animal.

so next day, the bidders come over to their house and everyone’s like woaw a dog. lol they come into their house as guests and eisuke and mamo still demand for beverages, they all suck

akari names the dog... “Light” (Raito) and i want out of this nightmare. Naturally bc Light is an abandoned dog it’s still kind of bad with interacting with things. But then Light suddenly be giving the ( ╹ਊ╹) to soryu bc remember, animals love him. everyone clowns on soryu for being an unintentional dog whisperer and then akari is like “soryu san pls make me ur apprentice” and he gives some advice like approaching it slowly, and talking to it from the front instead of back.

blah blah there’s a situation where Light goes YEET after a Doberman gets all angry and then hides bc then another dog is scaring it. hikaru swoops in to the save the day as the Real Dog Whisperer. ok it’s cute when hikaru actually gets to look cool  for once LOL

luke // luke is cute on the bc “pre-story” scene he’s actually pretty open to the idea of having kids; he actually goes “well imo we should think abt it pretty soon, but i wanted to hear ur opinion on it” but then he gets horni. and then he’s like “our kids are going to have your collarbones. awesomeee im looking forward to that” ....ok

ok cut to the actual story and they’re in Japan. Luke’s kid looks... strange versus the others. why are his eyes so big? omg voltage his eyes arent going to be saucers just cuz he half white also the kid’s name is Yuri (Or Urey). They couldn’t think of any other Brit-styled names? Like Harry? Henry? William? Wilfred? hey stan be my princess btw he’s pretty cute, though he gives serious “timid kid that gets bullied in the children’s movie” vibes. He calls Luke “daddy” and mc “mammy/mommy”.

so luke talks about his relationship w/ soryu and eisuke and then yuri is like “i want friends like that” wow cute but also find less ethically-complicated friends

so luke lets yuri meet a young patient of his (haru) so they can be friends. they get along so it’s good. haru gets in critical condition later so luke zooms outta there to do the operation.

LOL but at the end yuri is like, “i want to make more friends. (...) can i go to the bidder’s room from now on?” this boy works fast

And then he’s like “Eisuke-san... please be my friend.” HIS POWER. even eisuke was like :O so then eisuke orders a whole bunch of food and books up to the penthouse. But then yuri’s like “...i like eisuke’s eyes” and everyone’s like oh man that’s gonna be his fetish

Baba: why have u started to have an interest in eyes Yuri: I read it from one of daddy’s medical books Hikaru: wtf u can read that at 4??? (...) Soryu: wat Yuri: um... i want soryu to be my friend too Yuri: bc soryu’s eyes are also powerfully cool...

eisuke // ok this gets an extended ramble bc the more annoying the story the longer i must complain

so you might be thinking, “oh so this is gonna be a flashback in some in media res styled story with your 2 kids, u know in the style of the others” and well, no you just go straight to white screen into the flashback, back when eito was smaller and thus a little more cute. well it’s not really false advertising bc they did say “reminisce” in the description. but i wanted to see eito be a good big brother for a moment! or... less good? man i wanted to see kaito go waaaah like a baby idk i wanted to see him exist

so back to the story they cut to small eito. even as a smaller punk he does fight with his dad a little, just w/ a more narrow vocabulary to work with. tho at this point he’s still pretty sweet so clearly eisuke clowning him day and night was a negative effect on his development. (doesn’t treat his child like a child) (child grows up to a punk that doesn’t respect him) (surprised pikachu) being the son of a billionaire means that this child has to go study at a very young age and listen to MOZART. no child of eisuke ichinomiya will be listening to degenerate bops like lee taemin’s criminal next day they all go to the very fancy school that eito will be attending. eisuke does a speech, but then eito is all like “why is papa over there all the time” in reference to how all the other parents in attendance are having fun with their children, but eisuke is busy talking to other people for business and connections etc. etc. mc kind of has a hard time trying to explain it to eito bc... it’s honestly poor parenting... eiji shows up after arriving late, and he’s like “gramps is gonna be with ya today! instead of papa” which is cute but then she’s like psst thanks for coming and im like oh... so grandpa just didn’t randomly come to the open house for fun he’s just gonna be surrogate dad while real dad is busy... aw... and then at the end eito’s like FUC THIS KINDERGARTEN. eisuke is like “(smh) don’t yell in public. (despite everything) you are still the eldest son of the Ichinomiya family”

and so afterwards it’s clear that eito does not want anything to do with this school. he just sits in the classroom until mc is there to pick him up instead of playing in the courtyard or w/e, wanting nothing to do with the other kids.

so later there’s a hiking trip for the students and both of their parents, and mc asks eisuke if he’ll be available for it. eisuke is like, “i have a business trip that day, so I’ll have to adjust my schedule” and he’s been very busy in the opening of a new business or w/e. mc tells him to not do so much for something like that and that it’s ok if she goes alone with eito on the trip.

it’s the day of the trip, and mc goes alone with eito. she notes that a lot of dads did indeed come along for the trip. she apologizes to eito and says that she did talk to eisuke about the trip before, but he’s simply busy for this day. and im like... but girl, you were the one who told him not to change his schedule for the trip. yes a trip may seem less important than business ventures, but don’t make it sound like you weren’t the one who stopped him. lol. idk why im pressed abt this single line of dialogue bc later she does realize she fucced up there well eito is just like w/e about it and has pretty much accepted that sort of thing

anyway eito goes missing later and one of the kids said that he told eito that his dad (eisuke) didn’t come bc his dad thinks that his work is more important than his son. so eito got mad and ran off somewhere

and then mc finally gets the lightbulb moment that eito... wants to see his dad!! he ran off to go try to see him somehow??? !! wow so sweet

it’s raining like a mf but then in her search for eito eisuke randomly pops out of nowhere. He’s like “ho i did not remember saying that i wasn’t coming” and she’s like “im sorrryyy” and both me and him are like “just find the dang kid”

ok yea they find eito, he starts being a good student, and u start to see where he starts being antagonistic towards his dad LOL etc. etc. lol this story annoyed me so i don’t feel like doing the rest of the play by play orz

anyway thanks for reading my garbage LOL

[fweasleyswhore]

F.W. Who We Are

Chapter Two: Your Least Favorite Color

Chapter One

a/n chapter two my lovlies!! i rlly wanted to pump this out p fast bc ive been having so much fun with it and i hope you are too!

summary: fred and george tell you their plan for their prank. fluff with a pinch of angst.

word count: 3k

warnings: some touching??? uncomfy situation??

tags: @you-make-children-cry @levylovegood @bohemianspacebabe

comment a request to be added to my taglist !

“Snape’s least favorite color?” I laughed out. “I think you mean, like, any color. I mean has he ever worn anything that isn’t black?”

I was now seated in a small semblance of a circle on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, Fred and George in front of me. It was most definitely past curfew but because tomorrow was Saturday I really didn’t care, the time was the last thing on my mind. The most present thought I had was how the hell Fred and George were going to change the color of all the cauldrons in Snape's room and get away with it. 

“Well, now that you bring it up, I do believe I saw him in robes that looked rather navy instead of black.” George pondered, looking up to the ceiling and tapping his chin as if he was deep in thought. 

“Oh bug off!” I laughed and smacked him on the arm. He looked at his arm with wide eyes, his smile gone. Before I could ask if I was too forceful he was pretending to cry, a little too loud than he should’ve considering it was well past 12 and I am technically trespassing. None of us cared though or even thought to care as we watched George grasp onto his brother’s arms like it was the last thing he would ever do. 

“I-I don’t want to die Freddie.” He whispered. His grip tightened onto his brother as he spoke again. “Freddie, I…” He then let out a loud, fake sob. “There’s so much I haven’t done.” He dropped his head and shook it. I rolled my eyes, how long was he going to keep this up? 

Fred brought his hands up to cradle his brother’s head. “It’s ok George, you can let go, it’s ok.” He looked into his brother’s eyes tearfully, “I’ll help you…”

Before George could react Fred lifted one of his hands and swiftly flicked him on the forehead. George let out a loud groan and spasmed a bit in Fred’s arms, I watched with narrowed eyes as he seized up and shook. 

“You look more like a fish out of water than a dying man,” I said smugly. George rose up and fixed his hair. He looked over to me with a glare and his tongue out. I laughed fully, the situation and everything, as well as some sleep deprivation, catching up on me. I threw my head back, clutched my stomach, and rolled around for what felt like hours. Once I had started I couldn’t stop. 

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” George whispered to Fred. “Maybe we have finally broken her?”

“Maybe…” Was all Fred was able to say back, too caught up with the beautiful girl in front of her to even fully process George's words. 

Finally calming down due to the sharp pain building up in my stomach from laughing so hard, I painfully pushed myself to sit up straight. Leaning on the couch behind me I tried to catch my breath while gripping my stomach. I could feel my face was flushed, my hair was a mess but I couldn’t care. Although the pain that coursed through my body, I was still smiling, looking at the two boys in front of me. Focusing on George I saw that he looked at me with a look of disbelief and amusement, rolling my eyes at him I focussed on Fred ready to be met with the same expression. 

What I was met with nearly made me roll over again. 

The way he looked at me made the rest of the world evaporate. I lost my breath. He smiled at me, but it wasn’t amused or disbelieving like George, he smiled at me with pure content, like watching me writhing around on the floor was the best use of his time. His eyes flickered with something, his usual gleam of mischief no longer evident but what was currently being held I couldn’t decipher. My whole face flushed even more if that was possible, I was praying in my head he didn’t notice it. I diverted my eyes from his gaze, trying to hide my red face as I adjusted into the position I held before I broke out in laughter. 

“Maybe red?” I tried to steer the conversation back to its previous topic, my voice quivered, making me cringe and I hope that the boys didn’t notice or just wrote it off. 

“If we make them red he will know a Gryffindor did it, that’s the equivalent of a murderer leaving a ransom note with his name on it.” George retorted. I sighed, relieved he didn’t say anything. Bringing my gaze up to meet theirs I looked between them, they were both staring at the floor, obviously lost in thought. I brought my gaze to the fire behind them. I pulled my lip in between my teeth trying to focus on a specific color that would make the blood drain from Snape’s face. 

Snape was the head of the Slytherin house, and though that relation, I absolutely despised him. He was terribly rude to Gryffindors for no bloody reason, being that my friends mostly consisted of Gryffindors, he was terribly rude to me as well. He never took points away from me specifically, knowing it would reflect badly on him, but he took the absolute piss out of any Gryffindor around, often even subjected me to long detentions for minor offenses. I have to watch my step around him, even my breathing could set him off, send a nasty glare, or even grade my way. Being a Slytherin though, there was not much I could do about it except accept it, and that made my blood boil under the surface. 

“Perhaps,” I started, my gaze was still trained on the dancing fire behind the boy. “Hot pink would suffice?” 

Lifting my gaze from the fire I glanced between the two. 

“Wicked.” They said in unison. They had these stupid grins on their faces that made me giggle. 

The rest of the night was spent actually completing the plan, or trying to and getting distracted. The day before we leave for Christmas break we would sneak into his room, Fred and George would hide in the back of the room while I waited for Snape to arrive. I would ask him to help me find a book in the library about potion making because “I had really been struggling this past year in his class”. Total lie, I knew what I was doing Snape just hated to give me the grade I deserved. 

Considering Mrs. Pince was on maternity leave he would have no option but to say yes. The boys would hex the cauldrons then run back to the Gryffindor common room where Harry and Ron were ready to provide an alibi. It flowed well, the potions section of the library was in the back and far up, Ron and Harry were more than happy to take the piss out of Snape, and Snape knew that because I was in his house I would never do anything directly against him for fear of being expelled. 

Although I knew there would be no evidence for Snape to use against me I was still quite nervous but the thought of the shit eating grins it would provide the twins gave me enough courage to agree. They always made me happy, it was only fair I do the same for them. 

Once it was mildly solidified in our brains we let the conversation drift, topics from quidditch to the worst animal to transfigure as filled up what should’ve been a quite common room at that hour, and never once did I feel bored.  

-

The feeling of someone shaking my shoulders brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes to a rather bright and blurry mess of red around me, quickly shutting them again I groaned, swatting at my attacker. My lazy attempts fell short never actually hitting anyone. 

“That was lame.” Hermione laughed. 

I opened one eye to glare at her. “Considering I was blind I think they were ferocious.” I shot back. 

She laughed again. “Well I don’t know how late you stayed up, but it’s quarter to 9. Breakfast ends at 10.”

“I have so much time, why must you hurt me ‘Mione?” I huffed running a hand down my face. 

“Because Saturday is blueberry pancake day!” She said half singing. “Also I figured you would want to shower and get ready before we go to Hogsmede.” I groaned again but I knew she was right. I threw my hands over my face and rubbed my eyes before opening them, this time the brightness nor the redness of the room affected me. 

“What would I do without you?” I asked sitting up. Now in a seated position I could see my surroundings. I was laying longways on the couch, a robe sprawled over me like a makeshift blanket. Hermione stood behind me, her hands rested on the armrest that my head was just against.

“Probably dead, due to these two.” I couldn’t see her but I knew she was talking about the twins. I turned my head around and smiled at her. 

Squinting around the common room I could see George curled up in a loveseat by the fireplace, he sat sideways, his head against the back of the chair while his arms hugged one of his legs tightly to his chest, his other leg was thrown over the armrest. I giggled at the sight of him in such an unnatural position, it could not be comfortable with his long limbs. I searched the room for Fred. He wasn't in the other seats by the fireplace or the other couch pushed against the wall. 

My heart plunged into my stomach at the thought that he went up to his dorm, I wasn’t completely sure why it hurt me so much. It made sense for him to have left, but part of me just felt pained at the fact that George stayed and not him. Of course I liked George but not in the way I liked Fred. George was like a brother to me, he was a best friend. Fred was something more than that, not that he knew, I would never admit it to him much less our friends, but that didn’t stop the longing I felt for him, hoping that he felt the same way too. 

Finally I found him and all the doubts I had before were void upon seeing him. He laid on his stomach on the floor next to the couch. One arm under the pillow supporting his head that was facing me and the other thrown across the floor. He didn’t have a blanket on him and his robe wasn’t in sight. His hair was slightly brushed in his face and I had to refrain from leaning down and brushing it out of his eyes. I let out a small laugh realizing he was using the pillow that I threw at George the night before. 

Turning around again to Hermione I spoke again. “You’re completely right.” She rolled her eyes with a smile before exiting the common room muttering something about the work she needed to do that day. 

I stretched and readjusted, pulling my legs to my chest while figuring the best way to get up without disturbing Fred. I balled up the robe that was laid across me, still trying to figure out how to navigate my way out of the common room. 

There was a small space near his arm on the floor, taking it as my best shot to then jump around him. I carefully placed my foot down, making sure not to step on him. Shifting my weight onto that foot I began to move my other leg to go around his back. 

Slowly crouching to get some momentum I jumped, but before my foot could even leave the ground a strong arm grabbed my ankle. Taken by surprise I let out a small shriek before falling onto the couch and then sliding onto the floor. 

I was met with Fred, smirking at me with half lidded eyes. 

“Trying to sneak off with my robe are you?” He said smugly. His voice was deeper and raspier than it usually was and had an immediate effect on my body, my legs weakened and my face burned. I was thanking Merlin I was already sitting and flushed from the fall.

“What are you on about Weasley.” I whisper-yell at him. 

He released my ankle, something I hadn’t even noticed he was still holding until I felt uncharacteristically cold where his touch had been only moments ago. He used his now free hand to point at the balled up robes in my arms. 

“You did not just make me fall on my arse only to accuse me of stealing my robes!” I whisper yelled again, although a tad louder than last time. 

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Your robes? I wasn’t aware we had joint custody over my clothing Y/L/N, but since you want them so bad I suppose you can keep them, red looks good on you by the way.” He shot me a wink at the end of his remark. His confidence and cockiness just upset me further. Although he was unnervingly annoying I couldn’t help the grin that split onto my face at his own stupidity. 

I rolled my eyes and unbunched the robes to show him the green that adorned them, but once they were unrolled I saw the red fabric. My eyes shot wide open, I could feel my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. 

“But…” I couldn’t even form a whole sentence, this didn’t make sense. “You hexxed my robes!” I shot at him. It was the only logical conclusion I had come up to that he had planned this. 

The laugh he was holding back erupted from his mouth. His morning voice made it much deeper than his actual laugh. The rings of his laughter normally made my body hot but this was a whole new level. 

He didn’t say anything, just brought his hand up to my collar and tugged. Looking down I saw that I was still wearing my robes. Never took them off. 

I groaned and threw my face into my hands which only made him laugh harder. He peeled my hands away from my face and held them in his much larger ones. “I would never hex your clothes,” I could feel my face heat up at his words, the genuine tone and the lower octave of his voice sent shockwaves through my whole system. “At least not red, I’d make them purple!” He stuck his tongue out at me and I playfully swatted his shoulder. He knew that was my least favorite color. 

I stood up and threw his robes at his face. “See you in the Great Hall.” And with that I grabbed my shoes and walked out as quickly as possible. I could hear him still laughing as I got to the portrait hole but kept going trying to calm down and get the flush off my face, both from our proximity and embarrassment. 

-

I had thrown on my favorite muggle outfit. Going to Hogsmede was a tradition but the excitement was still there which qualified for a little dressing up. It wasn’t anything special, just plain light wash jeans, a white turtleneck and an oversized orange button up I managed to steal from the twins. All pulled together with a little accessorizing I thought I looked rather good. 

Walking out of my dorm and into the Slytherin common room there was an evident pep in my step. I was happy but a fool wouldn’t be. Stepping towards the exit of the common room someone just had to ruin my fun. 

“Not going out with the Weasels again are you Y/L/N?” Draco drawls. Turning I see him snickering with Crabbe and Goyle before standing and waltzing up to me, arrogant as ever. 

“What is it to you Malfoy?” I spit at him. I was not going to let him ruin today. 

“Well you got so pretty today, Weasleys do not know how to appreciate such expensive things, they can’t afford them, how would they know how to? You deserve someone who knows how and can express their appreciation in equally expensive ways.” He laughed out. He lifted his hand to caress my cheek. His touch made me cringe, his hands were cold and his demeanor was uninviting. Everything about him made me recoil. 

I grabbed his wrist and threw his hand down. “I hope you don’t mean someone like yourself Malfoy. I’m not sure how you even know how to use a hand like that, it looks as though it hasn’t done a day of work in its life. Is that something you are really proud of?” I threw my words at him like daggers. Steam rolling off of me. I could see him change under my glare, his confidence shrank and his anger grew, his relaxed expression was soon replaced by his snarl he adorned everywhere Harry was near, his back stiffened and his fists balled up. 

“Never, touch me again Malfoy.” I turned on my heel and stormed out. Before reaching the exit I thought of something though. 

“Future advice,” I turned again so I was facing him. He hadn’t moved and still looked at me venomously as before. He lifted an eyebrow at my comment, urging me to go on. “Money can’t buy consent.” 

His face darkened and I had to turn quickly to stop myself from all out laughing at him. I’m sure that if I stayed I could have watched him have his temper tantrum but frankly I wasn’t interested. My interest laid with the redhead waiting for me at the doors of the Great Hall. The same one who smiled at me as I walked up to him and poured my juice for me when we sat down. Fred Weasley had me totally, inconceivably, and utterly smitten, and I was completely ok with it. The harder I fell the sweeter it would feel when he caught me. 

Or I hoped.