#using the little agency he does have in his situation/cage

[bobbydagen24]

in Defence of Creek ( warning if your an Avid Creek Hater you may not want to read this 😂😂 )

ps. Branch will Hair strangle some guy he Barely knew who he didn't even care about for betraying them but doesn't do the same to his Jerkass Brothers who let him down his whole life 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️.

anyway onto the topic at hand 😂😂😂😂

Creek gets an unfair Rap in my opinion sure he technically betrayed the village but when you examine the story of the first film he literally had no other choice.

as there's no other scenario that didn't end with him being Horribly Eaten as soon as he was picked by Chef for Gristle Jr to eat and taken out of the cage his fate was sealed.

unlike the rest of the snack pack he didn't have the option of sitting around waiting on the off chance Poppy would Rescue them.

we see in the Betrayal scene he was literally in Gristle's mouth before he finally played the only card he could and said he'd do what ever they wanted him to do.

and from then on he was kept in Gristle's locket around his neck which I have to say was Horrible poor guy was stuffed in their with no space or light or even air given how tight it was.

and he was kept there until eventually being moved out of the locket and put into Chef's waist bag just before the snack pack got the Locket from Gristle and were then captured by Chef.

and from that point like Creek himself said there was literally nothing else he could do that wouldn't result in him being killed straight away by Chef.

this is what rubs me the wrong way about the movie trying to make him into a villain he has no real agency in the betrayal it'd be a little easier for me to Judge him.

if he was kept in the cage with the Rest of the Snack Pack so he had the option of just having faith in Poppy someone he claimed to care about.

coming to save them but instead he took the more cowardly action and offered to sell everyone out early on in order to save himself then I feel it'd work a little better.

but having him be plucked from the cage early on and literally only betray everyone when he was on the verge of being eaten just makes him a victim in my eyes.

like I'm sorry but he can't be blamed too much for anything he does at that point he's just a normal civilian who's life was put in danger by negligent leaders ( cough Peppy cough ).

he technically wasn't obligated to die then and there and the whole situation with him selling out the Village is a classic Trolley Problem sure its easy to Judge.

from the outside but when we're on the verge of being gruesomely murdered who's to say what each of us would do in the moment to stay alive.

basically its Chef's actions and she's the one to blame not Creek dude was a literal Hostage who had been kidnaped Humiliated by being shoved in a taco and sprinkled with spicy stuff.

and then nearly eaten and then crammed into a tiny locket for presumably Hours and then crammed into a waist bag like how is this guy not the victim here?

and some people do like to point to how he behaved about the whole thing telling Poppy he's doing it for her but I'm sorry that doesn't change anything in my eyes.

sure its an unusual reaction but its also an unusual situation and I see it more as him weakly attempting to justify it to himself since he does admit he wishes there was another way but is promptly reminded by Chef that there isn't.

his Reaction isn't Great but it doesn't change the situation and make him some pure evil person.

a little autistic maybe? given the weird response to an emotional situation he has but yeah it doesn't make him worse in my eyes.

basically to end things the film as well as the fandom that villainise him seem to basically be saying that he should have just laid down and accepted his gruesome fate the first time.

and the movie even ends on a cruel irony of still being eaten along with Chef.

which for Chef is ironic in a karmic way but for Creek its just kinda sad tbh so the film's saying his death was decided at the start and he's a villain for not accepting it the first time.

and as punishment he meets the same fate in the end anyway.

I thought this was a Trolls film not a Final Destination film lol.

anyway even tho its separate cannon I was Happy when he was Revealed to still be alive in TBGO sure I feel his Return could have been written way better.

but Regardless I'm Glad he's still alive he didn't deserve to die and also the movie cannon never contradicts the tv show cannon in Terms of Creek's survival.

so yeah he could very well still be alive in the movies as well sorry Haters 😅😅😅😅.

[praxieserver]

🎹 💀🍎 for Azi 👁👁

AZI! For reference, this is Azi, full name Aziraphale Page (soon to be Aziraphale Page-Pearce). Basically I gave danwil an ambiguously gendered bird child. They use any pronouns so go crazy!

Now to the questions!

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

Wilson has probably played the violin for them, and they've probably asked him to teach them, so they probably play violin. Actually between the 2 of them, Azi used to be the only one that played the violin, but I also liked the image of Wilson playing the violin, so now there's 2 motherfuckers who woefully play the violin when they wanna angst.

Unironically probably enjoys reading. Not like as book connoisseur, but like. Just reading. For fun. She'll sit on and armchair and read the newspaper like an old man and go "Ah yes. Peak entertainment."

She does the usual Hogwarts shenanigans such as duelling, going into the forbidden forest, making a club to ship your teachers with, the works!

Lastly, he probably also cooks fairly well due to Daniel's influence.

This is all prone to change aince Azi isn't as well established of a character compared to Wilson yet, but thats what I have on them at the moment! :]

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Again, core character aspect I haven't thought through that well yet. However.

She probably has a very strong dislike of the feeling of not being in control/having no agency. (Like father like son amirite guys kekeke—)

Basically intheir Traumatic Backstory™, they're robbed of their personal agency, denied of their humanity, played as a puppet. So after escaping that, she'll definitely place a huge importance in being in control. Thus they'd probably have a really deep-rooted hate of the prospect of being pulled along a string/being caged/being used. This sort of manifest in an interesting matter since they end up coming off as manipulative themselves. As a little kid it's more them bossing around their 'minions' so they can make their favorite teacher slash canon but it probably gets a little more concerning with age. Nothing that bad though. Probably.

I phrase it more as something she hates rather than something she fears, but I feel like she just hates it more than she fears it. It's something she's willing and ready to face, even if scary.

So, for something she fears more than she hates: Showing vulnerability to someone she trusts, but getting that vulnerability taken advantage of.

🍎 - What is the OC's relationship w/ their parents like?

Very close and very good! Because Daniel as a single father who is also a good father is super sexy.

Ok but in all seriousness, they love Daniel lots. They're extremely grateful for him since he's the one to save them from their abusive situation, so she's uber protective of him and wants to return the favor of Daniel taking her in and caring for her. In the "Hey! Only I'm allowed to talk shit about my Dad!" kinda way. She thinks Daniel's a bit overbearing (and to be fair, he is) but she'd sooner peck your eyes out for so much as breathing at him funny than hating him for it.

They have that Parent Trying to be Strict and In Control vs Silly Shithead Asshole Kid kind of dynamic going on basically.

With """""Uncle Wilson"""""" who is definitely not having a decade long will-they-won't-they dance with Daniel that Azi definitely doesn't see at all, they're a menace as a pair. A pain in Daniel's ass. And face. They've drawn on his face countless time while he's asleep. They're also a pain to house, having nearly burned his kicthen down multiple times.

Wilson is more or less the fun """""uncle""""" to them and she lets her get away with things Daniel doesn't. He's basically a second father to her and a part of the family. And in fact she will get him into the family by making him marry her dad. Modern problems require modern solutions.

[alicentsgf]

I feel its so interesting how people hate Alicent so much, like a disproportionate amount for how she’s been presented. Especially since I think we can all agree Daemon is objectively a worse person from a moral standpoint, but he still kinda garners this admiration and I feel it’s because he is admittedly charismatic. And then there’s Aemond whose a green still gets a lot of love because he has that similar charismatic air. Even Rhaenyra and Rhaenys have a similar way about them, an obvious confidence, even if its slightly feigned. Alicent just doesn’t have these qualities.

Alicent is not the kind of antagonist you can love to hate, like Cersei for example, because she has very little agency or self-assurance, as a child she was particularly naive and she’s always been very neurotic. She doesn’t have the qualities that make someone an admirable character. She not a fighter, she doesn’t get any #girlboss moments, she’s not presented as being as good of a mother as the other women in the show, and she doesn’t wield any real political power, at least prior to Viserys death. Ultimately I think people are frustrated by her and her inability to, at least momentarily, throw off her oppression like the other women in the show do. But the other women in the show have advantages Alicent doesn’t; a big one is their dragons. Rhaenys and Rhaenyra are Targaryens and they play by different rules. They have wielded a power Alicent could only dream of since they were children, and more than that they’ve had steadfast support too. Alicent has Criston at best and he lacks any political sway. Her father only cares for power and legacy, for what his daughters body can buy him, and Viserys is neglectful of her to such an extent she was all but a teenage single mother, struggling to raise children who were being actively harmed by her husbands lack of interest.

She’s essentially watching from her prison as the Targaryen women in the adjoining cells, especially Rhaenyra, seem to summon keys to release themselves and sneak out every so often when she has no key. She could rattle the door for eternity but it still wouldn’t open, and she knows this, but it’s frustrating for us as the viewers to see her for the most part not even try. Then, the few times she does rattle her cage, she fails to gain anything from it. Totally alone in fighting for justice for Aemond, for the other children to at least be reprimanded for ambushing him (and yes it was an ambush 4 on 1 and they attacked Aemond first). But her husband chooses Rhaenyra over her and her children yet again, and so Alicents emotions explode out of her. Her fear that she and her children will be easily cast aside, is realised in that moment. She’s painted with this brush of madness, even by the fandom, but she’s been defiled and gaslighted and abused for 15 yrs, so wouldn’t anyone lash out eventually? Alicent is a victim, and I don’t say that to excuse all her actions because she is still responsible for the choices she does make, I say that to point out that it’s why people dislike her in such an unforgiving way. I think people find it uncomfortable to admit its possible to be trapped like Alicent is, that some people are just doomed by their circumstances, and to watch it is off-putting. People every time say 'she could have done *this*, she could have done *that*' and every time i find myself thinking 'could she....? without dire consequences...? probably not.'

It’s a big reason why people hated Sansa so much and scornfully compared her to Arya (who was a fan favourite), as if they weren’t faced with wildly different circumstances, as if Sansa wasn’t a prisoner. She couldn’t have fought her way out of that situation with a sword. She didn’t have the resources to escape alone, she needed help. And no one ever helped Alicent. And unlike Sansa she also never had anyone to tutor her in 'playing the game'.

She and Sansa both lack typically masculine traits, and it’s only when Sansa gained some and became an active player that she began to command the respect of a lot of the fans that had previously disliked her. Likewise, I’ve seen people say the first time they respected Alicent was when she stood up for Rhaenyra against the lords of the council. In short, misogyny has a big part to play in this. It really feels like victim blaming to scorn Alicent for not fighting back "hard enough" against her abusers, for not being somehow smart enough to overcome a system she is surrounded by on all sides, for not recognising sooner she was a pawn. Because how dare women and girls be victims in a world that so heavily victimises them. And we are also forced to admit an uncomfortable truth in Alicent; that sometimes people have almost no way of saving themselves

[autisticandroids]

anyway i really dislike the “dean thinks cas doesn’t have feelings because he’s an angel” headcanon because i just don’t think it’s...... believable? 

like, my first thought is it doesn’t make a ton of sense if only because like, cas is such an overemotional character. like his motivations are intensely impulsive, irrational, emotional. but like, you could also argue that dean doesn’t understand that about him, that dean doesn’t see him very clearly, and that’s believable to me.

but there’s a lot of other evidence against this headcanon. like, first of all, dean has seen him human or de-angeled a couple of times, and he clearly doesn’t change that much. second of all, like, yes, in the early seasons dean sees cas as an Angel but by the late seasons he very much sees him as like..... just a guy? like he very much just sees cas as a guy in later seasons. i don’t know if i could pinpoint where this transition happens but it does happen. third of all, we see dean attempting to tug on cas’ heartstrings a good few times? 6x20 “i’m not gonna logic you,” 6x22 “we were family once,” 8x17 “i need you,” and those are the ones that come to me off the top of my head. and in 8x17 it even works! so like when push comes to shove and it’s a life or death situation, dean is aware that cas has heartstrings to be tugged on. like dean knows cas has emotions.

but the biggest reason is like. that line that people use to support it. the one from reading is fundamental.

Oh, I don't know, man. What can I say? You've been chosen. And it sucks. Believe me. There's no use asking "why me?" 'Cause the angels – they don't care. I think maybe they just don't have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just... breaks them apart.

like, that line is..... okay we’re all agreed that dean is like. he is nothing if not a miserable little pile of lies. he is always saying the opposite of what he means and masking one feeling under another. it’s his defense mechanism. things he says, things like this, they’re him trying to convince himself/other people of one thing, while he believes another. 

the first thing he’s doing here is blaming himself. he is taking responsibility for both cas’ previous actions and his current state on his own shoulders. 

now, remember, this is an edlund episode. and given *waves hands* supernatural, i think one of the more coherent methods of analysis one can take wrt. the show is to view individual writers’ bodies of work as coherent canons within themselves, only semi connected with the show as a whole, because individual writers often have strong and conflicting portrayals of the characters. 

anyway ben edlund’s dean very much feels responsible for cas. like, obviously edlund wrote “the end,” and we have collectively made a delicious meal of the fact that the horror of that future for dean is that he’s ruined cas - that endverse cas is very much (if i may weave the text together for a moment) “fallen in every way imaginable,” and that it’s dean’s fault. but the end is not the only place this dynamic shows up. look at the man who would be king - “you're a friggin' child, you know that? just because you can do what you want doesn't mean that you get to do whatever you want!” dean is very much taking it as his responsibility to educate cas here, to teach him right from wrong. ben edlund's dean very much views cas primarily as a child he is responsible for. hell, the whole drama of the man who would be king is basically that cas did something without dean’s permission, which doesn’t make a ton of sense unless you think dean feels responsible for all of cas’ actions. like, this is the flip side of dean’s control complex - if it is dean’s moral duty to control everything going on around him, then everything that happens is his fault. if everything that happens is his fault, then it is his moral duty to control everything around him. they’re the same. 

this line is dean blaming himself for cas’ “brokenness,” since he’s the one who got cas to try to care. and certainly, the text is encouraging him to blame himself:

DEAN It's Sam's thing, isn't it? You taking on his, uh, cage-match scars. I'm guessing that's what broke your bank, right?

CASTIEL Well, it took... everything to get me here.

like, i don’t think cas is trying to fuck with dean’s head here? i don’t think even at the best of times cas is emotionally aware enough to hit on the perfect way to ruin dean’s entire month like this on purpose, and this is not the best of times. and cas i don’t think sees things as dean’s fault, he just sees himself as fallen, he doesn’t think dean pushed him. and a lot of things have happened to cas in the last four years, only some of them to do with dean. to cas, “everything” here means just that - everything. dean is only one piece of a much larger puzzle. hell, cas when cas says “everything” he is probably referencing like, his whole “god’s plan” thing here: quite literally the entire predestined machinations of the world. it’s very little to do with dean.

on the other hand, i’m always just on the edge of reading cas in reading is fundamental, specifically, as bitterly passive aggressive - “always happy to bleed for the winchesters” is such a vicious line it’s hard to believe he’s being sincere. sometimes in stories i can sort of... feel the narrative/author possessing a character and saying what they want to express, rather than what that character would actually say. sometimes i feel like “well, it took... everything to get me here” and “always happy to bleed for the winchesters” were less “authentic cas characterization” and more “ben edlund being a bitter casgirl.” 

but i digress. regardless of whether that exchange was in-character for cas, and whether it was sincere, the effect on dean it has is in-character: dean blames himself. 

and the whole “they don’t have the equipment to care” thing is on the one hand, dean blaming himself - he’s the one who tried to get cas to care in the first place. and on the other, dean trying (and failing) to convince himself that there’s nothing he could have done, that it isn’t his fault - cas’ brokenness is inherent to his angelic nature, that can’t be dean’s fault.

the other thing he’s trying to do here is dehumanize cas. 

he has a couple of reasons for doing this. the first is simply that he's angry. dehumanizing cas is an act of cruelty, and dean is being cruel because he's angry.

it makes sense that dean is angry. like, on one level, cas has done a bunch of fucked shit that dean has every right to be mad about. but that stuff is not imo the primary reason dean is angry. dean is angry because of his self-blame. dean is angry because he blames himself for both cas' actions and his current state, and he's mad at cas for making him hate himself. i know that's like five dimensional blame refraction, but welcome to the twisted mind of dean winchester.

so dean is angry, and he's dehumanizing cas as an act of cruelty because he's angry. but he's also dehumanizing cas because he doesn't want to be angry at cas anymore. he can't forgive cas (because he can't forgive himself and he blames himself for cas' actions), but he loves cas and doesn't want to be angry with him, so he dehumanizes him and strips him of agency in order to absolve him of responsibility.

that's what's happening in this line. and also, all that aside, the line doesn't even say cas doesn't have feelings! it says he does, and they've ruined him!

[gallickingun]

a gentle reminder

Summary: Bakugou has made a name for himself as the Pro Hero Ground Zero, and yet it does little to satiate the competitive nature he feels even with you. One day, when it all becomes too much, you take it upon yourself to give him a gentle reminder that he is everything you need and more.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Rated: M/E+ Warning: smut, language, etc. Word Count: 3,899

bakugou’s birthday party has begun! see here for more info!

“A-Are you...jealous?”

Bakugou huffs, “Not jealous of that extra, no way.”

You put your phone down on the countertop and lean forward, hands cupping your face as you look over the bar at him. He’s got a pink tinge on his cheeks, eyelids hiding those crimson irises that you’ve come to know will betray him if he were to look at you.

The wafting scent of dinner distracts you for a moment, eyes wandering to the stovetop. You use the pair of chopsticks to your left to snatch a stray piece of seasoned meat from the skillet, blowing on it before slipping it between your teeth.

Every time Bakugou makes dinner, you’re sent on a trip of enlightenment. He’s got serious skills when it comes to a set of kitchen knives and raw meat. You didn’t take Kirishima’s word for it at first, but one night when you were about ready to order takeout but Katsuki found a bunch of close-to-expired ingredients in your fridge, he whipped up something so delicious you’ve never forgotten it.

You take the moment of quiet praise and turn it into something like adoration, “Wow, honey, this is amazing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou takes the skillet off the stove eye and tugs it away from you, letting the meat cool while he plates up rice. He tilts his head up so his hair isn’t hiding his eyes, looking over your face to see if you’re teasing him.

It’s almost worse, when he sees the absolute endearment settled in your eyes and cheeks. Your smile even makes his chest constrict from within the cage of his bones. Some days, when he looks at you, he thinks he’d rather be run through with a light pole than try to come to terms with the way your eyes behold him.

“Seriously, Katsu’,” you hop off of the chair and come around to the other side of the island, “you’re amazing.”

“Of course I am,” Bakugou refuses to melt into your touch. If he does, he knows exactly where this will lead and he doesn’t want the food in front of him to go cold. It’s much better warm, fresh off the stovetop. He scoffs, “You aren’t with the Number Two hero, are you? Nah, I’m Number One.”

You run your hand over the taut skin just above his waistline of his pants, your fingerprints committing to memory every curve of his muscles. It’s hard not to salivate over the dips and swells of his torso; he’s worked hard for this body, and you know it. You’ve watched as he’s grown into the Pro Hero who tops the charts - the daily workout sessions, the long nights, the early mornings. He’s filled out in every possible way, in both body and in mind. It has been years since those childish days at UA High, trembling with jealousy and rage.

“Kacchan,” you mumble, knowing how his knees quake when you use the word, “I’m so lucky.”

He curls his upper lip, nostrils flaring, “Damn right.”

Even though he has shed some of his competitive nature, he hasn’t shed his pride.

You pull away from him in a moment of frustration, your lower lip pouted as you snatch a plate and a fork. Stepping away, you turn your back to him without another word and head towards your seat at the table.

The grunt and groan of his frustrated reaction makes you smile, just a little.

It isn’t uncommon for him to be inept at taking compliments, or giving them for that matter. Bakugou has always been one to settle things with his fists and his words; trash talk is a gift that keeps on giving with him. And he’s always able to follow up on his word, using his body to seal the deal.

The two of you sit in silence at the table, both of you munching through your food without talking. Your phone buzzes on the countertop and you know that it’s Izuku. He’s trying to work with you to create some new features for his costume, and his agency is paying you a hefty amount for it. Even still, it creates a line of tension that creases Bakugou’s forehead and turns his lips downward into a scowl.

An agreement the two of you made when you started living together was if Bakugou was going to cook dinner, you were going to do the dishes. So, when you’ve finished your plate and swiped the last grain of rice between your lips, you stand and start at the sink.

Just as you’ve sunk your hands into the dishwater, the base of his chin rests on your shoulder. The heat radiating from his body is something tumultuous, a raging sea of emotion that only you can tame. It isn’t a surprise that Bakugou yields to you; you are the only one willing to challenge him in every aspect of life. Even if his head hangs in meek disappointment when he realizes he’s done you wrong, he’s still grateful for the humbling words and actions you force upon him no matter the situation.

“I love you.”

The words are murmured against the curve of your neck, hands finding purchase on your hips as he presses into you from behind. His voice is mildly defeated - just enough to where you still your fingers from grabbing another dish. He means the words as an apology as well as a token of his affection, but you want him to say it.

You turn, lips brushing his cheek, “I love you too.”

Your hands return to the dishes, dragging up a plate as you start to scrub. He lets out a frustrated breath at your denial of him, the way you are so easily able to turn your attention from him and back to some menial task. Bakugou’s arms wrap further around your waist, securing you to him at the base of your back. He kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder, open mouth leaving a trail of dampness, evidence of his affections.

“‘m’sorry.”

The muffled words are murmured into your skin as if he might be able to pump them by osmosis into your bloodstream. He hates the way his body holds him back from speaking sentimental truths and promises, and this is not unlike any other time he wants to bare himself to you. Even the hacked words that are only half there make his face go red and his toes curl within his socks.

“Hmm?” you don’t turn to face him this time, still worrying over the dishes in the sink. Your hands have started to prune, but all you can focus on is the intoxicating closeness of the Number One Pro Hero, Bakugou Katsuki.

A curse word is muttered when he reaches the back of your ear, nose nudging against the shell. He hates apologizing, and even more so than that, he hates to be forced to repeat himself. Bakugou growls into your hair, teeth bared against the crown of your head.

“I was being an ass earlier,” he mutters, pursing his lips into kisses as he speaks. You feel warm from your head to your toes, the base of his palms crackling, begging for him to let loose the pent up frustration coursing through his vessels like fire. Bakugou gulps and you feel the base of his throat bob with the action, “Will you forgive me?”

You pull your hands from the water, using the towel on the counter to dry your skin before turning to face him. A gentle smile tugs your lips upward, fingertips itching to be close to him. You curl your hands around his signature black tank, hugging the hem between your knuckles, “I’ll find a way.”

Bakugou’s lips twitch into a semblance of a smile, “I’ll make it up to you.”

The tip of his nose nudges over your cheek, lips ghosting at the corner of your mouth. You slip your hands up the back of his shirt, palming at the corded muscle of his shoulders. Bakugou is usually coarse when he’s showing you affection; all jarring and sharp edges. Now he is slow and smooth, much like the caramel he is so often associated with.

Your hands are nudging him closer, gingerly pressing into the dips of his shoulders so he will close the gap between you. Bakugou bites a kiss into your jaw, making you smile before he captures your mouth with his own. He taps your hips and you take the hint, thrusting yourself forward for him to catch you around the thighs. His fingertips dig into your tender skin just enough for you to make a face, but when he readjusts you it’s worth it.

You trail your thumbs over the contours of his biceps, mouths melding together in the quiet of your kitchen. You lick at the seam of his lips and he starts walking you towards the bedroom. Katsuki has never been fond of taking you for himself anywhere other than that specific place, for reasons he can’t quite explain.

“Kacchan,” you whine into his ear, resting your chin on his shoulder as he toes the door shut.

The darkness of the room is something of a comfort, the only light cast out from the cracks in the blinds, moonlight filtering through. Your fingertips dig into his back, begging for friction in any way you can find it. He satiates you momentarily with his hands dragging up your thighs to grip your backside.

For some reason, he loves the way you whine for him, using the childhood nickname in such a way that it makes the insides of his body burst into flame, the pit of lava rolling in his belly and your kisses only stoke the fire.

Your toes curl as he dips you back into the bed, hovering over you like a shadow in the night. The white rays of moonlight are bouncing off of him, creating pale stripes against his body. His vermillion eyes track your features, memorizing you from forehead to chin. One of your hands sift through his hair, the other pushing the hem of his shirt upward to better access his torso.

“Use your words,” he admonishes sarcastically, leaning back on his thick thighs to remove the offending piece of clothing. Your palms are at the base of him, thumbs drifting from his waist to his pectorals as he strips. There is a moan lying dormant in the back of your throat, clawing at your tongue and begging to be let out. You bite your lip and thank whoever is listening that the moon and stars are bright enough tonight that the shadows cast in the room allow you to get a clear look at the cut of his muscles.

You sit forward, your chin jutting into the base of his sternum, “You’re so handsome, Kacchan, so strong. I’m so lucky to have you to keep me safe.”

Bakugou’s hands cup your face, gingerly holding you between his fingers as he stares down at you. There is something sitting in his irises, something complicated you can’t quite make out. You would love to study him, to look on at him for hours on end until he’s sick of you.

“You’re so good to me,” you kiss the pad of his thumb where it rests on the corner of your mouth. “You’re the only one for me, all I’d ever want.”

There is a glimmer in his eyes and you swear it may be tears. Heat gathers in the form of a blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, neck bobbing as he swallows the pent up emotion building in his throat. You lean further into his palm, closing your eyes and breathing him in. Bakugou takes the moment of your serenity and lowers you further into the bed, your shoulders pressed flat against the sheets.

You tug him by the neck, opening your lids just enough so you can make out the features of his face, “I’d never want anyone else, ‘Suki, only you. No matter what.”

“Even when I piss you off?” he asks, rutting his hips forward even though both of you are still clothed from the waist down.

The question is meant to be a joke, a jest between the two of you, however he’s not smirking. There is a very serious tone to his voice, a look in his eye that says he needs this, needs you to reassure him that it doesn’t matter what he does but you will love him anyway. That you would love him in spite of it all.

You tilt your head forward to kiss him with fervor, a gasp parting his lips at your sudden action. His hands cage you in on either side of your head, the heat of his body making you wish he’d shed your clothes. Bakugou shudders under the taste of your tongue as you map out the inside of his mouth, your chins bumping while you kiss.

“I love you,” you gasp between breaths, locking your ankles around his back so you can be closer to him. You hook yourself around him at the shoulders, digging your nails into the soft skin near his collarbones, “Katsu’, I want you-please.”

The softness in his eyes never leaves as he disconnects from you, stepping out of his pants and underwear, giving you a moment to do the same. You squeal when you feel his fingertips at the hem of your shirt, tugging the material as you push your bottoms off to the side. Bakugou is slow when he pulls the shirt over your shoulders, marveling at your bare skin as you lay in front of him.

“Damn you’re pretty,” Bakugou drops his head to your neck, open mouth making quirk work of your skin. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

Your toes curl, the words sending a jolt down your spine. You keen into him, tongue running over your teeth with your mouth parted, the tip of the muscle drawing Bakugou’s attention. He kisses your mouth next, groaning slow when you force your tongue through his lips. His hand reaches behind your back to unlatch your bra, loosening the garment so you can shrug it off.

When he tilts forward to kiss you again, you reach down between your bodies to circle your fingers around the base of his cock, pumping him a few slow times. Bakugou whines into your mouth, hips jutting forward into your hand as he does so. You mumble into his lips, “Please, Kacchan, I-I wanna feel you, want you to fuck me with your perfect cock, make me yours, p-oh.”

He’s already knuckle deep inside of you, curling the tip of his fingers around your slick, cutting off your words with his actions. You moan, bucking your hips upward to take more of his fingers into your pussy, clenching around him as you screw your eyes shut.

“Already mine,” Bakugou growls, speeding up the pace of his fingers and you do the same with your palm around his cock. He licks at your lips, sloppy in the way he tries to kiss you, “Right?”

You nod, your free hand gripping the sheets as he starts you toward the crescendo of pleasure. A whine parts your lips, “Love you so much, Katsuki. You’re my favorite, you know? I-I, oh, fuck, baby, you always make me feel so good.”

Bakugou pulls his fingers away from your core to tap your wrist with the back of his palm, pushing you away from his waistline so he can coat his cock in your slick. The tip of his cockhead brushes over your desperate folds and you swear that you feel another wave of pleasure coat the inside of your walls, begging internally for him to split you wide open.

It is easy to palm over him now, bare above you as he lines himself up by the waist, ready to thrust into you whenever he’s ready. You are mapping the planes of his chest and shoulders with the pads of your fingers, committing him to memory so you can carry the thought with you every day forward.

A brisk forward thrust of his hips has your eyes rolling back in your head, fingernails scraping and tearing into his skin. Bakugou drops his head to your shoulder, mumbling into the curve of your ear, “Such a perfect pussy, made just for me, yeah? Feels so good around my cock.”

You answer him with equal vigor, rolling your hips to match his speed as he begins to rut into you. You turn your head so you can kiss him, the heat of his breath making you dizzy. One of Bakugou’s hands drifts to your thigh, clutching the underneath side so he can hold you in place better. He is slow and deliberate with his thrusts, having you feel every inch of his pulsing cock as he fucks you deeper into the mattress.

“Kacchan,” you whine, the edge of his canine tooth digging into your neck as he drags his mouth down the column of your throat. “You fuck me so good, ‘Suki.”

The two of you loiter praise over one another like it were confetti, raining it down on each other to elicit smiles and moans and touches. His hands drift from your face to your chest to your clit to your thighs, unable to satiate his need to map out your body and find every sensitive spot he can. Meanwhile, your words tumble much faster and your hands are glued to his shoulders, digging yourself in like an anchor while he fucks you gently, but with enough force that you feel your body tightening. There is a coil wound deep within you, a thing that only he has found the perfect way to unravel.

“Fuck,” he finally mutters, eyes tight as his body tenses, “I-I’m close, shit.”

You nod, surging forward to kiss him on the mouth, “C’mon, ‘Suki, ‘wanna make you come. Please?”

His eyes are bright as he looks down at you, the small amount of light seeping through the window making it appear that he has stars in his irises, making them look like little red gems. Bakugou’s jaw hangs open just slightly, “B-Bu-”

You’re rolling your hips forward now, begging him with your body to push himself over the edge. It doesn’t take much more than that and he’s spilling into you, a thick wash of come making your insides throb. Bakugou continues to drill into you through the aftershocks, practically forcing you into an orgasm despite your protests that he doesn’t have to continue.

Kastuki’s finger finds your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling the sensitive spot. Your eyes screw shut and you swear you can see stars, “K-Kacchan, i-it’s o-oh.”

You clench around his cock, throwing your head back into the pillow as he works you towards the edge. You whine, your knees thrashing against his hips as you seek release, bucking upwards into him. Bakugou bottoms out within you again, a duo of moans reverberating off of the walls of the bedroom, lewd sounds stimulating you even further.

His name falls from your lips one final time before you’re coming around his cock, pussy fluttering with exhileration. You dig your hands into his shoulders, arching your back upward so your chests are flush with one another. You pant, breath hot in his ear as you clutch onto him like an animal.

“Kacchan,” you mumble, near whining when he pulls out of you.

“C’mere,” he’s already got you wrapped up in his arms, turning to the side so he can hold you. You kiss his chin and then his bottom lip, your knee sliding between his thighs to drag yourself even closer. Bakugou nips your lip before kissing you again, slow and lazy.

You tell him you love him between the space you’ve created, warmth and comfort coiling around your every extremity like vines in a garden. When he holds you close, when his hands pass over every bit of your skin, it’s a reminder that Bakugou is holding onto you, keeping you steady despite everything going on in the world around you. Your hands are on his neck and back, trying to soak in as much of him as you can with your blurry mind.

A swipe of his tongue on your lower lip has you gasping out the words, “You’re perfect,” into his mouth. You cinch your legs tighter, accidentally grinding your hips into his thigh, “K-Katsuki, I-I just...I want you to know.”

Bakugou uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward, “Know what?”

“I want you to know that I’d always pick you first.” Your thumb grazes his jawline, “In every day, every universe, every timeline. I’d always choose you.”

If you weren’t looking close enough, you wouldn’t see the smile on his face. Any other person would mistake it for a smirk, but you know better. There is a gentle dimple dipping into the center of his right cheek, begging for you to kiss over it. Bakugou’s arms pull you in tighter, tucking your head underneath his chin as he cradles you in his arms.

You don’t stop there - you need him to understand the depth of your feelings, “I think you’re amazing, with or without a quirk. You’re strong and you’re brave and you’re smart. Sometimes you act like an ass, but it’s only because you’re proud - your pride is one of the things I admire most about you.”

Your fingernail traces over his pectoral, writing the words I love you and small hearts into his skin like they might stay if you repeat the action enough times. You wish you could etch every kind thing you’ve ever thought about him into his skin and bone, begging him to believe you even though you know he won’t.

“I love your eyes and your lips and your strength,” you squeeze his bicep for emphasis, biting on your lower lip as you think of how many times he has held you down with those very arms, “and I think that you are exactly the hero that we need right now. I’m so luck-”

Bakugou has cut you off with another kiss, this time he is a bit rougher, emotion seeping through as his lips work into you. He has your cheeks in his grip, thumbs brushing the tops of your cheekbones.

When he pulls back, your half-lidded eyes try to make contact with his ruby red irises, “K-Katsuki, I need you to know that you never have anything to be jealous of. Not with me.”

“I know.” He nods, pushing a strand of hair away from your face before replacing his hand on your cheek, “I don’t deserve you.”

You smile, scooting closer to him so you can share in his warmth, all of your skin pressing into his, “Well, I’m just here to give you a gentle reminder that you do.”

“Ah,” Katsuki kisses the tip of your nose, “a gentle reminder, huh? Say, I think I’m forgetting what we were just talking about-you, uh, you think you could remind me?”

A blush paints the tops of your cheeks, but you know better than to deny yourself the reality that you won’t do exactly as he suggests, but this time - a little less gentle. --- a/n: i am.. not satisfied with that, but heck if i’m gonna re-write it. more to come, since bakuweek is upon us!

A/N IN ALL CAPS: THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME I’VE TRIED TO POST THIS. THIS FRICKEN THING BETTER NOT FLOP. I WILL BE... SAD. 

taglist: @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @multifandom-fanfic​ @that-one-enthusiast​ @cutest-celestial-princess​ @blue-peach14​ @pastel-prynce​ @bokunokangae​ @shoutodoki​ @bakuoushoe​ @tenyaingenium​ @lxvely-mha​ @myherorambles​ @ramen-rambles​ @honeytama​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @tumblingintothefeelstrain​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @bnhasidebin​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @aizawamirite​ @yuueimagines​ @plusultrawritings​ @bnha-violetnote​ @suckersuki​ @heroes-landing​ @bnha-mha-imagines​ @heroesreverie​ @pink-imagines​ @brattyquirks​ @kazooli​ @lookslikeleese​ @normiewrites​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @pinkjeanist​

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #9: Elevator Pitch: Hawks

In which you and Hawks spend some quality time together, and you’ve spilled coffee on your shirt.

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), vaginal sex, up-against-the-wall-sex, partially-dressed, semi-public, uncaffienated sex, stranded/stalled elevator, hawks is a smarmy piece of shit

Notes: Okay, enough feelings! Only porn. What better way to jump back on the thirsty bandwagon than with everyone’s favourite smug bastard? Today’s prompt was ‘In Public,’ and while this isn’t the most public of public places to have sex, it’s definitely one that I’ve been thinking about... a little too often.

Kinktober Masterlist

“What was that?”

The elevator gives a sickening clash and lurches to a stop. You look up so fast you can feel the strain in your throat, glancing suddenly back to the control panel to see if it can possibly offer you any more information.

The lights die over your head, plunging the elevator into darkness. You give a little scream.

“That’s not good.”

The voice next to you is familiar but grating. Of all the people to be stuck in an elevator with, it has to be Hawks.

He runs the agency two floors above your office. But your companies share many of the same amenities- these elevators, to name one- and you’re unfortunately all too familiar with the self-serving hero.

As if things aren’t bad enough already.

Your manic Monday is already off to an excellent start, proven by the coffee stain on the front of your blouse. Apparently, the morning train was just a little too crowded to be careless with your latte-the half that didn’t get sloshed all over your front ended up on the floor- so here you are, trapped in the dark with the dull edges of a caffeine headache already beginning.

“Hang on-“ It’s Hawks again, and before he finishes his thought the emergency lights flicker to life. He seems entirely too relaxed given the situation. It’s pissing you off. He’s leaning against the opposite corner of the elevator with his wings tucked neatly behind him, arms folded across his chest.

He looks you up and down.

“Damn, you musta put on a few pounds if you’re heavy enough to short out the elevator.”

“Don’t even start,” you hiss. Your headache is getting worse. Spending nine floors with Takami Keigo was supposed to be bad enough already. You don’t have time for this.

“If anyone was going to be too heavy for the elevator, it’s you,” you snap back. You brush past him to the control panel and he starts a little as you push yourself between it and him. His wings give an alarmed little flutter and he steps aside, opening the space between you again.

You’re jamming your thumb against the ‘call’ button, but nothing seems to be happening. You’re not altogether sure how this is supposed to work- you’ve never been stuck in an elevator before. But Hawks looks as though it’s happened to him on a weekly basis. You suppose he sees worse on the daily, given his line of work.

“I don’t think anyone’s comin’ for us, kid.”

You glare over your shoulder at him, hearing the smirk in his voice. He raises a gloved palm to his mouth and yawns. Then he stretches, and his wings follow suit. He can’t extend them fully in here, but you’ve still forgotten how big they really are.

“Might as well get cozy,” he sighs. He slides down the wall, stretching a leg out and hooking his elbow over the other knee, bent.

“No thanks, I’ll stand.” You toy idly with the front of your skirt, brushing an invisible coat of dust from it. It’s when you notice him watching you that you stop and furrow your brow. He’s staring right at your chest. Not even trying to hide it.

You’re just about to say something when his eyes flick up to yours and his smirk, if possible, gets even lazier.

“Rough morning?”

You fold your arms over your chest, hyperaware of the coffee stain that you had conveniently forgotten about seconds before. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re permanently ticked off at him, though.

You decide that he’s not worth answering and avert your gaze. Sullen silence settles over the two of you for a moment. Finally, he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Let me ask you something,” he prompts.

“No thank you,” you answer.

“No, no, that’s exactly it. You don’t like me. I’m not an idiot, kid. But the thing is, I’ve been wrackin’ my brain, and I can’t think of one thing I ever did to deserve it.”

You swallow. Hard. Your cheeks are going hot. The truth is, you’re not entirely sure why you don’t like him.

You’d like to say it’s because he’s self-serving and arrogant. Because he saves people for the clout and not because he cares about their safety. He’s only ever been snarky and sarcastic to you, and you’re sure he treats his staff like garbage. He soaks up the celebrity status like a goddamned sponge.

You’d also like to say that you’ve followed his career so closely for the same reasons. You scour the Internet for stories about him and save newspaper clippings from your coworkers’ subscriptions, looking for evidence that your claims are true. You need to hear somebody else talk about his arrogance because it pisses you off to no end how obsessed with him you’ve become.

“I don’t… I like you,” you scoff. If you could press your back even further into the elevator wall, you could.

He laughs. Throws his head back and laughs and you want to disappear.

“You treat all your friends like that, kid? No wonder you look so sour all the time.”

That does it. You’ve had enough of Hawks, enough of this elevator and this damned headache. You’ve had enough of today.

“Alright, fine. You wanna know why I don’t like you?” Your eyes narrow. Your arms tighten across your chest. Hawks gets to his feet. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he seems to tower over you in the narrow space.

His tawny eyes narrow as he tilts his head, serious but inquisitive.

“Enlighten me.”

“You are the most egotistical, self-centered person I’ve ever known,” you hiss. “You treat women like they’re disposable, you-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stops you, holding up his palms. “Like they’re disposable? What in the hell gave you that idea?”

“You’ve got a different girl on your arm every week,” you retort. Later you will sink into your desk and expire as you remember saying these things to him, but he asked for it. And you’re starting to get claustrophobic.

“So what?” He shoots back.

“So what? So what? So what makes you think you can go around breaking hearts like that? You’re gonna make some enemies, y’know.”

“Sweetheart, those girls don’t want anything to do with me, either. No false pretenses there. I think you just don’t like seeing me with other women.”

Your stomach lurches, rejecting the idea. But you know that it’s true.

“Don’t be ridicu-“

“No, it’s my turn to speak now,” Hawks growls. He steps closer, caging you against the elevator wall. Your cheeks and ears are burning. One step closer and the coffee on your blouse will start to boil all over again.

“If you’re jealous,” he hints, bending down to whisper in your ear, “I’d be happy to treat you like those other girls, kid. All you gotta do is ask.”

“Hawks-“ you choke. He’s so close now that there’s no way you can pretend you don’t want this. You can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, the soft, spicy Monday morning scent of him filling your senses.

He grins, and his lips brush the crook of your neck.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the next second his mouth crashes down on yours and you’re kissing him back. You from ten minutes ago would be disgusted at the sight of this, but you can’t even deny wanting this. Not when he’s giving it to you. Not when you didn’t even need to ask for it.

You’re not shy about combing your fingers into his disheveled hair, tugging him closer to you. Already he’s tugging the hem of your blouse out of the top of your skirt. He rips off his gloves and pops open a few of the buttons without even breaking his mouth from yours. It’s only as he digs his fingers into the fabric and pulls the folds open around your chest that he pulls back to have a look.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I wanted you from the second I met you, y’know that?”

You consider pinching yourself. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you hook a palm around the back of his neck and pull him harshly down to you again.

“Shut up,” you hiss, dragging his mouth back to yours. Your hands wander, pulling the strap of his belt out of its loop and giving it a harsh tug. It pulls tight and he grunts, then you let go and let the buckle fall open. You reach in further, going for his fly. He lets you. As you dig your hand into the opening of his pants you realize that he’s already hard- already rock hard.

Maybe he really meant what he said.

You shove his pants down around his knees and he grabs you by the backs of yours, hiking your thighs over his hips. His hands crawl up your thighs and under your skirt. He finds the strap of your thong and you nuzzle into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet as he swipes a thumb up your clothed slit.

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear. “Soaked for me already, sweetness. God, lemme have you.”

He shifts his hips forward and presses the head of his cock against your entrance, easing forward until he’s sure he’s lined up correctly. Then he rams into you without warning and you nearly wind yourself on his shoulder as all the air from your body rushes out at once.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” he growls, starting into a brutal rhythm. “You’ve wanted this too, haven’t you? Fuck, why didn’t you say something? I coulda been fucking you this whole time.”

You’re in the clouds at this point. The words he’s growling into your ear are blurring together, clouded by the immense pleasure that he’s sending through your gut with every thrust. He fits you perfectly, it seems, and you’re already drawing embarrassingly close to the edge.

“Hawks,” you practically sob, your head lolling against the wall as he fucks you into it. “Can’t hold on- gonna… g-gonna..”

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetness? That’s it. That’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart, aw, hell, I’m there, baby.”

His voice is growing shaky now, his thrusts erratic, and as the elastic band draws tight in the pit of your stomach you realize he’s not far off, either.

He gives you one, two, three good thrusts and you’re falling, coming so hard around him that your vision whites out for an honest minute. Currents of tension rush from your head to your toes as you clutch at his back and whine and pant through your climax.

He follows close behind you, driving his hips into your sensitive pussy before drawing abruptly out of you and coming in long spurts against the inside of your thigh.

For a dozen heartbeats, the two of you are still, catching your breath. Settling into what you’ve just done.

The emergency light flickers as the regular lighting returns. The elevator gives a telltale beep and a shudder and starts heading downward. Your brain short-circuits.

“Get off,” you hiss, shoving him off you. You tug your skirt harshly down around your thighs, hiding the mess as he hurries to tuck himself back into his pants and zip up. You’re two floors from the lobby when he turns back to you and starts.

“Your shirt.”

“Oh, shit.” Your fingers race to the buttons on your blouse and you fumble to get them fastened again. He reaches over to help but you bat his hands away as the elevator draws to a stop. You’re just finishing the last button when the doors slide open, revealing the surprised faces of a coverall-sporting technician and your boss.

“There you are,” she gasps, relief flooding her features. “The power went out and they told me people were still stuck in the elevator, I- good morning, Keigo,” she greets, giving a little nod of acknowledgement to Hawks, who’s taking his time strolling out of the elevator with his hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’,” he greets idly. Then he calls your name, and you look past your boss’s shoulder. He’s smirking, his eyes lit with the memory of what you’ve just shared.

“See you around,” he calls. Then he’s gone, and your boss is asking you some sort of question, but it flies straight in one ear and out the other. Your teeth sink into your lower lip. Every time you close your eyes you remember him, groaning in your ear and forcing himself into you.

You are so fucked.

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

Abourt Rei Himura and BNHA Chapter 301

Now that I've read the official release of chapter 301 I can finally try to gather my thoughts. I think this time the particular rendition of dialogues and inflections provided by Caleb Cook is more crisp and clear than usual, especially in throwing "shade" upon Endeavor as a father figure. But let's do things in order...

Title: THE WRONG WAY TO PUT OUT A FIRE - a simple, but stark message that doesn't leave space for ambiguity. There was a fire, an imminent tragedy that could and should have been avoided, but whoever tried to fix it, did it all wrong and now we have to deal with a huge arson.

CARLESS HANDLING OF FIRE, on the other hand, doesn't quite cut it for me, because it seems like everything was caused by a foolish mistake. "I was carless and now I'm in a pinch"- type of situation, while it's perfectly clear that Endeavor and Rei decided purposefully which "strategy" to use with Touya. A BAD one to say it lightly. Rei's contribution and complicity is debatable, of course, and I'll touch on this later.

Let me get this clear though: I'm not trying in any way to critique the hard work of unofficial translators. I can't say anything relevant because I'm not a translator in the first place (I can barely understand English and my native language on a good day) and also because I am so grateful for everything they do in order to give us really good material FREE OF CHARGE basically a second after the release in Japan. I'm just interested about the different shades of subtext we can catch if we read the story through multiple filters. Every translation is unique because it carries the personal spin of the author even if the bias should be inexistent or ideally undetectable...

However, back to the chapter

REI'S CAGE

The first scene opens on a luxurious classic Japanese villa, with Enji, Rei and her parents discussing the motivation behind Enji's proposal. Or at least we initially think that's what's going on... Because in reality Rei's family couldn't care less about the motivation. Everything these people see is a wealthy, famous guy the next number one hero ready to take their daughter in marriage. I guess the Himuras are pretty broke, thight on cash, their old prestige is definitely gone and all they can do to save themselves from shame and poverty is "to sell" their only remaining asset.

During the whole ordeal, Rei is standing still, silent, cold as ice. She knows she doesn't really have a choice. How mortifying and sad is this? An adult, capable woman has no agency whatsoever, she is used again and again and she stoically accepts this treatment from every single dominant figure in her life until she can't be stoic anymore. I really hope Horikoshi's going to give her a much more proactive role in saving her family and it seems the narrative wants us to expect this type of character development.

I'd like to point out 2 panels in particular:

First one

In this scene the Todorokis are back from their trip to the doc, who clearly said they shouldn't try to conceive a child with a perfect quirk mix because it is dangerous (and morally questionable too). Rei understands this fact and tries to dissuade Enji, but he doesn't listen, because he's projecting all his pent-up resentment and frustration onto Touya. He knows how it feels to crush against an unbreakable wall, since he can't surpass All might and his son can't too. He had to learn this truth the hard way, so Touya needs to do the same. Enji is purposefully throwing upon his son years of failures, self consciousness and despair, just because the boy has to get it into his thick skull that he is a dud, just like his father. This is not a hopeless dad making a mistake bona fide, this is a broken man trying to destroy his self reflection by proxy, annihilating everything Touya is, swiping the kid's identity under the rug. He describes his son's dreams and sadness as something birthed from stubbornness. He is auto-convincing himself however (because Endeavor is not stupid). A little bit later he's basically saying: "Touya let's play make believe! We can go on like everything I had engulfed in your psyche never existed, you're a failed attempt so you don't exist. Your needs and wants are silly and useless, nothing worth dealing with now that I can't make you my prodigy. Why don't you go play with the other failures so that I don't have to look at myself while taking actually care of you. I don't want to see you, because it's too painful, because you're a remainder of my own inadequacy."

Note: If you want to read an incredibly well done analysis about Endeavor's motives and psyche, you can get it on @thyandrawrites , she's dwelt on everything extensively and way better than me.

I really want to talk about Rei though. In the panel I showed above, her expression is a bit tricky to analyse. At first she is very vocal about her position. She doesn't want to put Touya through useless suffering, especially since they have a scientific reason not to. They have no guarantee of success with other children, besides, they could possibly have to deal with other health related issues. However, all it takes to convince her in the end is Enji's half assed attempt at the "It's for Touya's sake" shtick. Is it really? Why doesn't she question her husband anymore?

Well... I think before Natsuo, she was probably hoping Touya would let go "naturally", with time and growth, maybe by taking interest in his other siblings. Rei said she wanted to have more children because in her mind they would have supported and loved each other. Maybe she was naive enough to think that a big family full of kids few years apart from each other was all Touya needed to distract himself from his purposes... BUT and here is the point I want to get across: She was deluding herself too, much like Enji. The ugly truth, in my opinion, is that Rei is a person prone to protect herself by going with everything other people want, especially if said people are capable of hurting her. Yes, she was hurt time and time again, but what would have happened if she really tried to stop Enji?

What I am trying to say is that Rei is the kind of person who endures to survive. She holds a "captive" mentality in which, by indulging her captor's desires, she can continue living with less possibile damage. If I stay still and silent, if I don't make a scene, I can go on, I can hold onto the few things I have that actually make me happy.

Let's think about it... Enji was so obsessed with his psychotic, power-hungry quest that he would have probably disown Rei. She would have been thrown away for a more compliant woman with an ice quirk, or something similar, this resulting in her probably losing everything, the respect and love of her family (the Himuras) and also her own children. Because we know Endeavor can definitely hold a grudge and is vendicative.

So, clarifying, Rei doesn't put up a fight because she is scared for herself in a way... She is scared to be hurt in the worst possible way (by losing her little bit of serenity), so her strategy is to endure and to keep up a facade of control and purpose.

Rei, ironically just like Touya and other characters in mha, doesn't really get what unconditional love is. Her family loves her until she can be useful to the Himura name and status, her husband loves her for her quirk. Her children, however, love her for who she is and she wants to stay with them... Only to be forced to leave them later anyway.

The few times Rei actually smiles are when she is with her babies. She is a deeply loving mother in her core, but her declining mental health makes her a very lacking caregiver.

This panel, in my opinion, shows the point of no return for Rei. She can't keep the glacial facade forever...

After Natsuo's turn to be deemed a failure, Endeavor is crazier than ever, because All Might is as popular and loved as ever and he hasn't make any progress into his eugenetic games. The last two images of Rei are very telling. She is exhausted, but she knows what her husband wants from her this time too. She looks like a lifeless doll and honestly I can easily see Shouto's conception as... Non consensual and I will stop here.

Then Shouto is born, the last, perfect specimen... And Rei isn't doing much for Touya, we can see she's apparently blind towards her eldest son's distress already after Natsuo's birth... But why?

Because she is actively avoiding to face the Touya's problems too.

If Touya is still suffering, is still feeling stressed and worthless, then everything Rei has endured, everything she pretended not to feel for the sake of her family has been completely useless. What Rei cannot look at is her own parental failure, is the concrete proof that while protecting herself and her peace she did not protect her children too, because the two interests were never really aligned, even if she really believed so. She never had a functional family to preserve in the first place and everything she accepted to do was all for the sake of a false sense of belonging.

However is too easy to say she should've rebelled against Enji and dumped his sorry ass. Abuse traps you and your abuser too in a cage tricky to escape.

What I imagine will happen next chapter is one of two things:

Enji stops Touya by using brute force, probably also saying something really scarring to reinforce the notion that Shouto is the only child he cares about.

Rei stops Touya by using her quirk. This act could be considered by Touya another confirmation that even his mother actually does something by her own accord only when Shouto's safety is at risk

Necessary conclusions

I don't blame Rei for her actions too much. She is a victim turned abuser by circumstances, but more importantly she's actually taken mesures to prevent herself from hurting her children again. She's trying to heal for her family's sake, really this time. Ten years spent dealing with guilt and having actual therapy seem a good plan to me. And now she's the one ready to snap Enji back to reality.

Enji, on the other hand, is trying too. It's too little too late, but if he stops avoiding reality and hardly works on understanding his family's point of view I don't think he is completely unredeemable. I don't see him surviving his last confrontation with Touya, thought... But I could be totally wrong.

Obviously everything I've said it's my personal analysis on Rei's character, as I interpret her actions and words, so feel free to contradict me and/or to add anything you might see fit.

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

Hello! I want to start by saying that I’m totally in love your BSD works. If it’s alright, I wanted to make a request~ I’d love to see a Kunikida x Reader (preferably she/her) angst fic 💔 with the prompt “Please... please don’t look at me with such hatred, I’m begging you.” (coming from the reader)

It might be something related to a case they work on that contains a controversial topic and the reader turns out to be morally grey about it, creating a contrast with Kunikida’s snow white, ideal morals and maybe triggering his past traumas. Or anything else that you think would create a beautiful angst with Kunikida, this was just an example! The ending is also up to you, you might just finish it in a dark, angsty mood or shift to fluff/comfort; I’d probably prefer the second ending but if you don’t feel like it, I’m alright with anything!

Oooo I don't get requests for Kunikida much, so this one made me super excited to write! I hope it lives up to your expectations. 

The gray between right and wrong |Kunikida x Female Reader|

Prompt|“Please... please don’t look at me with such hatred, I’m begging you.”|

Warnings| mentions of implied abuse ( the case being worked on)

Notes- there are she/her pronouns used. (third-person for a few paragraphs)

Words- 2163

~

Beneath what appears is always an underlying layer of difference. Between the right and the wrong, there is always a between. Separating black from white lay a thin sheet of gray. With every decision, there is indecision. No mortal can exempt themselves from these concepts. To be morally white is to ignore being human. To be perfect is to ignore your imperfections. Even those with the strongest of morals have moments of doubt and indecision. There is always the what if I was wrong. While a person's morals appear crystal clear and white to them, to another, to society, their morals may not be as clear as they say. While one may say that theft is gray, one may also argue theft is black. It can be gray because theft may lead to survival. While the counter-argument says it is black, as it takes what could have helped earn somebody a living without giving in return. As long as the person believes they are right, their morals can be completely white. Such a person does exist, a person who sees it all, every right and wrong choice, every counter and rebuttal, they do exist within the mundane world. Such people turn to their ideals as a way of living life. Such was the case with the agency’s Doppo Kunikida. A man whose life was completely planned out, a man who lived his day on a schedule created for his specific needs. His every movement a routine planned out without a second of hesitation. There was another within that agency who found her morals to be pure and untainted. To him, she was the ideal woman, level-headed and strong on her own. Somebody he could rely on, without worrying his schedule would suffer.

The case the two were working on was fairly simple, but involved complicated matters. Drama among the home was always complicated. While upfront one would say the situation was dreadfully obvious, another could notice something missing. These situations, especially involving abilities, can become a tangle of lies, deception, and cunning twists. This was one of the few cases one could rely on their moral sense of justice. These situations were the trickiest, lying within morally gray areas of different sizes and classifications. He looked at her walking while jotting small notes and thinking to herself. He wondered what was on her mind as they went on their way to investigate the crime. “Is there something bothering you?” he asked before looking down at his watch, it was alright to slow their pace. Arriving too early would disturb the latter of their day. Judging by their location and the remaining distance, they could half their current pace and still be thirty seconds early. Best not to risk it considering traffic and unforeseen issues could arise at any given moment. Slowing down just enough to talk would not hurt though, even if they came into a disturbance, they would be there on time.

Looking at him with e/c eyes, you shrugged. Closing your notebook and pocketing the pen you had been holding. If there was something on your mind, it would be the confusing state of this case. On one hand, there was black, murder, and on another hand, there was something else. It wasn’t white or gray, but closer to a blackening gray. Murder was wrong, no matter what, at least that was how Kunikida, your partner, would view it. To him, there was no doubt in his mind that this case was going to end in the pursuer being sent to jail, tried for the sin they committed. 

Then why, why was it that you found yourself morally gray with this case? You had never been so unsure of an answer before. An accidental murder, an act of defense, an act of pure hatred. Did these concepts change the black to gray? Murder stayed indifferent, it stayed wrong, but could it be justified? Surely Kunikida would agree that at times certain morals had to be bent, laws had to be made to accustom these morals. So you answered him honestly, for lying in itself was never the right decision, even in the event to spare another's feelings, you were honest and down to earth with your approach. “The case is bothering me, that’s all.” It was not a half-truth, simply not the full reason. He never asked why, just as you never pressured to why he had so many ideals written out in that notebook of his.

Stepping inside the warehouse where the case had originally started, one of the family members stood waiting. After your kind introduction, the woman, in her late twenties, answered little of what pressed on your mind. Though she did make one small flutter of anxiety run rampant over your heart. Like a stampede of gazelle rushing to escape a predator, your heart pounded under the force. While she covered her words with unsure and terrified stillness, her hands had trembled and her words contradicted with the smallest of minuscule details. It reminded you of a memory you had. So the question softly fell in the silence. Your words pin against the stone; an unpleasant ding to stir up the room. So morally confident that an accidental death inflicted by self-defense as an ability activated unconsciously for the first time was unpunishable. Sometimes, bad people get karma in unimaginable ways. The fault falls on the cruel ways of that person. “You're the wife, so you should be able to answer with honesty. Was he kind to you and your daughters? Did this man ever hurt them?” with a horror-stricken face, the woman leaped from the box she had fallen onto earlier. Her face contorted in rage and shock. For a moment, a fading bruise showed itself on her wrist.

With a confident stare, you met her quivering eyes. The smallest tear pooling out of the corner. With such tender lips, the woman looked to the blonde you cared so much for. When her eyes settle back onto yours, she held nothing but regret. “He would have killed her, my baby girl.” She whispered such words softly, and you nodded. Walking her out with shaking hands, you smiled. “Your child did nothing wrong. The fault lays within the attacker.” Was it those words that triggered the beloved blond? So focused on comforting the mother you had forgotten you had him with you. So overly confident in your decision, you did not realize how morally gray that sentence had been. No human, no matter how evil deserves death's punishment. For most that punishment is nothing but freedom from hell. That was something you had learned from another co-worker. The suicidal maniac had a thing for death and would say the harshest yet most delicate sentences that stuck with you.

Kunikida stared in shock, never had he imagined she’d speak such words. Somebody who had fit all his ideals, somebody whom he had connected with, was justifying the slaughter of a man. It didn’t matter whether this man had hurt others, you locked a criminal up, you did not murder them. Murder, no matter the reason was murder, there was no right or wrong when it came to murder. As he listened to those words, a memory peaked inside his head. There were reasons he believed in what he did. Criminals have families, mothers, and fathers. If you kill a murderer, then the amount of killers does not decrease. The world would never be peaceful if all justice did was kill. An even punishment was required for the crime. His eyes couldn’t leave you, even as they narrowed and his brows dipped. His head shook in both shock and resentment.

Your heart nearly dropped from its cage. The look on his face was never a look you had thought you would find pointed at yourself. You knew you were right about this. Though your mind knew the decision; the thought you had come to was wrong. That it wasn't morally right, but it wasn’t wrong either. In fact, it was that heavy gray spot so many people trapped themselves within. You denied it though, saying your decision was not gray, but white. The longer you stare, the more an image is painted into your head. A loved one looking at you with such hatred, even you loathe yourself. It had been Kunikida who pulled you from that spot and showed you the light of the world. He had been the one your morals aligned to. It went silent, like the moment just before the tsunami’s wave came crashing down. When the torment of peace faltered, your hands came up to your chest and your eyes fell silently shut. Shaking your head with a striking, stabbing feeling in your gut words parted through your lips. A muffled scream, a plea to not he was not so harsh with you. “Please... please don’t look at me with such hatred, I’m begging you.” those words seemed not to reach him at first. His voice lashing out as if your words had been the lightning to this storm.

Though his voice is not loud, his words stuck with a heavy weight. “How could you say something like that?” he hissed through confusion and disappointment. Though his anger was no longer purely directed at her. The memory stirred within his mind, pulling the feelings he had about this topic to rise. “No matter how you look at it, nobody deserves to be slaughtered. A loved one always ends up feeling the fault, blaming themselves and hurting.” There would never be an exception. Even the most hated, dangerous, and cruel criminals had people mourn their death. Yet, he could not look past that to see the suffering he was causing the woman who stuck by him.

The louder his words became, the more they echoed and tore at your heart. With every passing second, you became less sure of your morals. Unsure if what you believed was truly above the others. Were you destined to be alone and isolated forever, to morally set for others to care, but not enough for him? Your voice repeated the same line again, this time your eyes leaked water. Rain was adding itself to the storm. “Please... please don’t look at me with such hatred, I’m begging you.” The words escaped your lips again as the thunder sounding about stopped abruptly. The only sound came from the rain; your soft tears. The smallest hiccup of your voice, as you tried to explain your reasoning, to explain the memory that drove you to think in such ways. To explain the view of such a thing from a female's perspective. Sometimes violence was the only thing to keep yourself alive and safe. In extreme situations, accidentally killing somebody happened. Bashing one over the head to keep them from harming you was the easiest way. Sometimes, those actions went too hard, and instead of simply knocking them out, they bled to death from the inside out. So why, why did he have to look at you the way they always did? It wasn’t fair, being a woman in an abilities world. These accidental deaths happen more frequently, men and even at times other women who seem to think they can get away with things, become victims to an ability reacting on its own, something appearing for the first time.

Kunikida glanced at the time with conflicted thoughts. His mind trying to settle on what he should do. For as much as he hated pushing things back, he knew he had hurt you. He’d never meant to lash out like that, especially not against you. Everybody had reasons for believing what they did, surely you did as well. Watching your shaking form, his arms grabbed onto you and pulled your head to his chest. The waves fell to a calm, a single drop of water plummeting before they were no more. Shock taking over your body as he embraced your shaken form. He whispered a word he did not often use in his large vocabulary. For you, he could set aside pride and show you a softer, caring side. “I apologize for… lashing out like that.” He found it so difficult, apologizing despite the difference in your opinions regarding this matter. He owned you a celebration for solving the case, but he’d brought you to despair instead. Deep down guilt flooded him, and he held you closer until the sniffling of your nose had stopped, and your shaking had come to a close. With a light smile, you reached to his cheek.

“It’s alright…” you whispered watching as the blonde pulled away and lightly patted your back, before looking down at his notebook and schedule the rest of his day.

"Great because I planned a small relaxation for later," he grumbled, with a slight red to his cheeks. This was out of the ordinary, but he'd been free enough to add it.

[esmeraldablazingsky]

I’ve finally hit my limit on the number of bad takes on the Lan parents I can see before I have to lay out all the reasons I disagree, so hello, I’m Blazie, and in this essay I will justify my visceral dislike of the assumption that Qingheng-jun married/imprisoned/had sex with Lan-furen against her will.

    Warning for mentions of rape (in context of Interpretations I Really Hate) and a very, VERY long post below the cut.

    Before I start going off about the finer points of all this, I want to make sure people are on the same page regarding what we actually know about what went down with Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen. What I say is based off the EXR translation of MDZS, for the sake of clarity, and although I don’t think the exact wording should be too important, feel free to let me know if you think I’ve missed an important bit of nuance or something (the whole story is in Chapter 64.)

    The story we get is told by Lan Xichen, and it goes like this: a young Qingheng-jun falls in love at first sight with Lan-furen, who doesn’t return his feelings, and at some point kills one of Qingheng-jun’s teachers over unspecified “grievances.” Although he’s understandably very upset over the murder, Qingheng-jun sneaks Lan-furen back to Cloud Recesses and officially marries her in order to announce to his clan that anyone who wants to hurt her has to go through him.

After that, he locks Lan-furen in one house and himself in another as a form of repentance. Wei Wuxian speculates that this was because “he could neither forgive the one who killed his teacher nor watch the death of the woman who he loved. He could only marry her to protect her life and force himself not to see her.” 

    A central detail of this story that I think people don’t give the import it deserves is that aside from marrying and protecting her, Qingheng-jun’s other option was to let Lan-furen be executed by his clan. His purpose in marrying her wasn’t just for kicks/out of a possessive sort of love, it was so she wouldn’t straight up die. How she felt about this arrangement isn’t stated, but I’ll get into that in a bit. In addition to that, Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen live separately, which was apparently purposeful on Qingheng-jun’s part, and runs counter to the interpretation that he intended to take sexual advantage of Lan-furen.

Though there aren’t many concrete details in Lan Xichen’s retelling, he does specifically inform Wei Wuxian that his mother never complained about remaining in her house. What exactly this signifies is unclear— whether she was simply putting on a brave face for her sons, or whether she was in fact at all content with the situation— but it at the very least serves to further muddy the waters on how she and Qingheng-jun felt about all this. 

Beyond what Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian are saying out loud, there’s also quite a bit of subtext in this scene, especially in light of later events and revelations, like Lan Xichen’s confession for Lan Wangji at Guanyin Temple. 

So what is Lan Xichen trying to convey with all this? There’s a lot of memes about this scene, most of which err too far on the side of Himbo Airhead Lan Xichen for my liking, but one that I do find amusing emphasizes how Lan Xichen draws parallels between Wangxian and the story of his parents (Lan Xichen: [flute solo] please use your one brain cell to connect the dots.) If Wei Wuxian hadn’t completely lost his memory of Lan Wangji defending him against his own clan elders, one would assume that Lan Xichen’s story would have had a much better chance of hitting home. 

In hindsight and side by side, the parallels are much clearer— Qingheng-jun, “ignoring the objections from his clan… told everyone in the clan that she would be his wife for the rest of his life, that whoever wanted to harm her would have to pass through him first.” Similarly, according to Lan Xichen in Chapter 99, “for [Wei Wuxian,] not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the GusuLan Sect. He heavily injured all thirty-three of the seniors we asked to come.”

In that context, it makes a lot less sense to interpret Qingheng-jun as an aggressor towards Lan-furen, as in Lan Wangji’s case, the narrative clearly establishes that his actions are to secure Wei Wuxian’s safety. The action of Taking Someone Back To Cloud Recesses is— okay, actually, it’s a little more nuanced than I took into account when I started writing that sentence, so let me go a little deeper into Lan Wangji’s actions and how they relate to his father’s, story-wise. 

My intent is not to dive into the terrifying underworld of novel-versus-drama discourse, but simply put, Novel!Lan Wangji as he is written isn’t exactly the poster child for clear consent. (I’m going to entirely leave off the extra chapters for the sake of everyone’s sanity, so I’m just talking about the main body of the novel here.)

He means well, and I’m sure we can agree that he does actually love and want the best for Wei Wuxian, but his lack of communication on this point means that he accidentally gives Wei Wuxian the impression that he wants to imprison and/or punish him in Cloud Recesses at least twice off the top of my head (pre-timeskip, as we know, and post-timeskip immediately after Dafan Mountain when he actually drags Wei Wuxian back to his room.) 

That all likely has something to do with MXTX’s narrative kinks and regular kinks and all that, and can absolutely be taken with many grains of salt. However, these events establish how easy it is to misinterpret the action of Taking Someone Back To Gusu as an attempt to imprison rather than protect them (much to Lan Wangji’s chagrin.)

Failing to communicate his purpose to Wei Wuxian doesn’t mean that Lan Wangji actually had any intent of hurting or caging him— that was just a misinterpretation on Wei Wuxian’s part, and we, as the audience, find that out in due time— but as written in the novel, it can be really uncomfortable to read. Because of that, many people choose to accept CQL canon regarding Lan Wangji’s more possessive actions or mix characterization from different adaptations, which, to be clear, I completely understand and respect. 

However, Qingheng-jun doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt as often, which I frankly find baffling, because nowhere in the text does it state that Lan-furen objected to being taken back to Cloud Recesses, while even Wei Wuxian clearly objected the first few times. In fact, while we’re on this note, I’ll take it a step farther— I find it baffling that people seem to default to an unsympathetic view of Qingheng-jun, because nowhere in the text does it state that he overruled Lan-furen’s wishes in any way. The text doesn’t clarify a lot of things, actually, and that is part of the point. 

The narrators of MDZS are, in many situations, highly unreliable. This is, presumably, very purposeful! MDZS can easily be read as a sharp criticism of reputation and mass judgment and the concept of condemning people without knowing their motives! And I don’t want to sound mean, but guys… did any of us learn anything from that? Here, I’m going to put it in meme format for a second to convey what I mean. 

MDZS: It’s easy to condemn someone as a villain if you don’t know their story or the reasons behind their actions

MDZS: Anyway, here’s a character whose story and reasons behind his actions you know nothing about

Some Parts Of This Fandom: Ah, a villain 

    Memes aside, here’s what I want to point out. It’s entirely possible to assume Qingheng-jun was a bad person who disregarded a woman’s wishes in marrying and confining her when all you have is Lan Xichen’s (actually very neutral, thank you Lan Xichen for being an eminently reasonable and concerned-with-evidence character) account of what happened. It would also be at least that easy to assume Wei Wuxian was just an evil necromancer if he hadn’t un-died and brought his own story to light, or even to believe that Lan Wangji had somehow tamed Wei Wuxian into submission and being a respectable cultivator if you were an average citizen of Fantasy Ancient China with nothing but rumors to operate on. 

    The thing about Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen’s story, then, is that there is nobody left alive who knows the full tale. Nobody knows what they thought about anything, really. Nobody even knows why Lan-furen killed Qingheng-jun’s teacher. Wei Wuxian asks why, and Lan Xichen can’t tell him, but I think the best answer would be something along the lines of I don’t know, Wei Wuxian, why did you kill people? Your guess on the motivations of your own thinly disguised narrative parallel are as good as anyone’s. 

    So, while it’s not technically impossible to assign darker motives to Qingheng-jun, the cautionary tale of MDZS seems to warn against that exact assumption. 

    I’ve refrained from getting too salty on a personal level thus far, but now that I’ve said a lot of the more logical and story-based points of my argument, I will say that at least some of my annoyance with the interpretation of Qingheng-jun as a possessive rapist and Lan-furen as his victim stems from the fact that I just think it’s straight up boring. Where’s the nuance? Aren’t you tired of reducing these characters to the flattest possible versions of themselves? Don’t you just want to add a little flavor? 

    In a slightly more serious phrasing of that criticism, I find that making Lan-furen a helpless prisoner strips her of whatever agency she might otherwise have. To be fair, she’s more or less a non-character in keeping with the general state of the MDZS universe, but making her a damsel in distress only consigns her more deeply to hapless, milquetoast innocence. 

    It’s perfectly valid to enjoy ladies who have done nothing wrong, ever, in their lives, but like… Qin Su is right there, if that’s your ball game. There’s also really no need to make Qingheng-jun someone who doesn’t respect women. Isn’t Jin Guangshan enough for at least one universe? 

    Anyway, ultimately, you do you. I don’t like arguing on the internet, and will just ignore things I don’t agree with (or write an 1800 word vaguepost) like a mature human being. I’m just saying, if it’s a cut and dry tale of imprisonment and assault you’re looking for… you probably don’t want to turn to a woman who committed a murder and a man who loved her enough to forfeit everything to keep her safe. 

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Dazai/Reader piece for the lovely @ramannnn​. It’s been a very Dazai-centric few days, but... I think it fits the theme well, considering how *controlling* I got to make him, here. I can only hope everyone else is having as much fun as he is, honestly. 

TW: Dub-Con, Explicit Material, Groping/Rough Sex, Gun Violence, Blood, Death, and Slight Emotional/Physical Abuse. 

Word Count: 5.2k

Dazai still wasn’t used to it, he guessed.

Relationships were a foreign concept to him, intimacy as alien as an unknown creature and affection just as strange. Hell, gestures as simple as holding hands made him flinch and pull back, even when he knew it was only you, the girlfriend who could main him about as brutally as a house-cat. It’d taken him two months to get used to cuddling, another three weeks to actually initiate a session, and he still had to think over his actions strategically while going in for a kiss, if only to keep from embarrassing himself. You were patient with him, sickeningly so, smiling and letting it go whenever he failed to reciprocate, always asking before trying something new. You didn’t have to be told that this was his first relationship, his first real relationship, and you didn’t make him say it. It was something Dazai loved about you, why he’d bothered with making himself seem vulnerable in the first place.

The feelings were new, too. You could still make his heart skip a beat by looking at him the right way, the air around you always too thin, his head in a constant state of spinning, regardless of how composed he presented himself as. It was embarrassing, at first, a lovesick spell more fitting of someone Atsushi’s age than his own, but you were great about that, too. Dazai was neglected when it came to love, simultaneously chasing after your approval and refusing to accept it, but you nursed him on small displays and gentle touches until he could stomach entire dates. He wondered if you knew you were doing it, sometimes, if you’d been conscious of the effect you had on him. Stuck on the thought, Dazai let his attention stray from the case-file in front of him, thankful he’d taken it down to Uzumaki before starting.

It would’ve been a pain to walk down from the Agency every time he thought of you, considering how often his paranoia tended to flare up. Kunikida never seemed pleased by the honest reasons behind his absence, either.

He relaxed as soon as he found you, helping a customer at the end of the cafe’s bar. It was only natural that you worked so close to him, managing to infiltrate your way into the fringes of Dazai’s life. He liked being able to find you, too, even if he was rarely in the office most days. Seeing you was like a tranquilizer to him, a narcotic, Dazai getting… twitchy whenever you weren’t around. Still, he couldn’t help but wince when he got a better look at the person you were chatting with, the conversation having gone on too long for you to only be taking his order. The jealousy was fresh every time he felt it, restored and more powerful than any time before, blunt nails soon tearing through the thin folder as he watched you close your eyes and laugh at something the man said.

You shouldn’t be doing that. He didn’t like it when you did that.

Without a hint of hesitation, he pushed himself up, not thinking as he moved towards you. Your attention from the interaction at hand didn’t waver, letting Dazai approach without notice, his arms wrapping around your waist and earning a small yelp, quickly covered up by a breathy giggle. Reflexively, you leaned into him, not looking away from the customer. You two had gone through this too many times for that.

“I’m sorry… he can be clingy sometimes,” You said, the remark equal parts an excuse and a tease. He felt you make a weak attempt to pry him off, an elbow jabbing at his rib cage, but Dazai only buried his head in the crook of your neck, letting his teeth graze over your skin as you sighed, exasperated. “Will that be all, sir? I can get you something on the house for the interruption.”

Dazai perked up just enough to stare at your customer through his bangs, narrowing his eyes just enough to get his point across. Whether or not he noticed, Dazai wasn’t sure, but the man squirmed nervously, gaze dropping to the floor as he fiddled with the lid of his cup, the disposable kind. Good. It meant the bastard wouldn’t be staying very long. “I… I should be going,” He mumbled, half-heartedly throwing a few bills on the countertop. “See you tomorrow, (Y/n).”

He didn’t speak until the man had gotten up, forgetting his drink as he headed towards the door. Even then, Dazai found a tender spot on your neck and bit down before you realized what he was doing, his teeth managing to sink in enough to leave a mark, only separating when you shoved him back. You were scowling when you turned to face him, barely suppressing a grin, trying to look hurt as you rubbed at the forming bruise. “You a real creep, you know that? I’m going to get fired one of these days, and all because you keep harassing my regulars.”

“Wonderful,” Dazai replied, pausing to peck at your lips. It was a hasty kiss, but there would be more later. He’d make sure of that. “You can be my adorable little housewife, and I’ll be the loving husband you brag about ever time you see your old coworkers. That sounds dreamy, doesn’t it?” He sighed loudly, overdramatically, closing his eyes and slumping against your chest. “Why don’t you quit now, sooner than later? We’ll get married this afternoon, I’ll invite Chuuya to the ceremony, and you’ll be a widow by the time the sun rises! It’s better not to draw these things out.”

“Oh, no, you’re not allowed to die after you trick me into marrying you. Chuuya or no Chuuya.” It was tentative, but soon enough, you were carding through his hair, feeding into his neediness. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

Dazai pursed his lips, thinking before answering. “Tomorrow. The Agency’s trying to drain me dry, this week. Will dinner and a movie be enough to buy your forgiveness?”

You took the news with a sober nod, but he didn’t miss the heat that rose to your cheeks, the red tint you suddenly couldn’t hide. “I want… something else, too,” You admitted, the confession not needing an explanation. Your ‘purity’, for lack of a better way to put it, was something Dazai was well aware of, and it made sense. You were as innocent as they came, doe-eyed and naive, even if you tried to hide it. Just asking to be defiled, really. He couldn’t help himself, his hold on you tightening ever-so-slightly, clueing you in much too soon. “You’re a pervert.” With a huff, you crossed your arms, wedging a barrier between you and the offending aggressor, despite said aggressor’s complaints. “Don’t make me regret it, I’m doing this because I love you. I don’t want it to turn out like--”

“It won’t.” He was quick to reassure you, knowing just the right way to cup your cheek, straightening his back and meeting your eyes in a way that always made you more agreeable. This time was no exception, a shy simper returning as you melted into the support. “And you won’t regret it, either. I promise.”

There was a short silence, his words rolling over in your head. Your answer was a painstakingly slow one, but the bright, beaming smile that accompanied the wait more than worth it.

“I trust you, Dazai.”

~

Yuri. That was what the man went by. Dazai hadn’t bothered with a surname.

A warehouse worker, night-shift. He’d stop by Uzumaki before every shift for a black coffee, and he’d always ask for you, leaving without making a purchase if he couldn’t get his favorite barista. He didn’t have friends, his family lived overseas, and from what Dazai could tell, he was a coward no one would miss when he finally bit the bullet. If anything, Dazai was doing the leech a favor. He was doing you a favor.

The fewer inconveniences you had, the better.

The less competition he had, the better.

‘Yuri’ was already trembling by the time Dazai’s pistol had been drawn, the barrel forced into his mouth when he tried to scream. It hadn’t done much to muffle the sound, but the sharp click of the weapon’s safety switching off had his breath hitching, any sounds turning into high-pitched squeaks and cries when he realized exactly what kind of situation this was. Dazai wasn’t sure how he hadn’t caught on earlier. Hidden between packed-together buildings, the sky dark and the city fast asleep… not much good can come under those conditions, but luckily, ‘good’ was the last thing Dazai had in mind.

“I don’t want to kill you.” Some of the tensions in Yuri’s shoulders dissolved, a mistake quickly corrected by a tap of the front-sight against the roof of his mouth, Dazai’s finger sliding onto the trigger. “It doesn’t matter to me, whether you live or die. I’d let you go, if I had a choice. It’s less clean-up.”

Yuri tensed up, glancing at Dazai’s hand, at the grip of the Desert Eagle currently half-way down his throat. As if to ask what the catch was. 

He obliged swiftly.

“It doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t like people touching things that don’t belong to them,” He explained, not bothering to keep the venom out of his voice. “And you’ve been doing just that, haven’t you? Coming into a place you don’t belong, talking to someone who’s not yours, and acting like you have the right to step onto someone else’s territory. It’s disgusting. I should’ve ended your pathetic life months ago. You’re just lucky I’m so nice.”

In a confident, practiced movement, he brought the Desert Eagle out of Yuri’s mouth, letting the worn metal scrape against his lips, tearing at the thin skin. Before Yuri could move, the muzzle was shoved into his solar plexus, bruising the underside of his ribs. “Talk,” Dazai commanded, shoving his free hand into his coat’s pocket. “Make me believe you won’t fuck-up again.”

Opening his mouth, Yuri stuttered incoherently, swallowing and mumbling and getting on Dazai’s nerves before spitting out something intelligent. “I… I’m sorry! (Y/n) is nice, we’re friends, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend!”

“You’re friends, or you didn’t know she was taken?” Dazai paused, raising an eyebrow. “I’d keep my story straight, if I were you. Considering the stakes and all.”

“I’m sorry!” He was yelling, now, eyes shut and voice shaking. There was an attempt to grab the handgun, but Dazai was able to discharge his attempts at bravery with a sharp thrust and a sigh, the ordeal turning out to be much duller than Dazai thought it would be. “I won’t go near her, I swear! Just… just let me go, and you’ll never see me again. I won’t even think about your girl. You two can have your weird-ass romance, I won’t be a problem!”

Dazai smiled, unable to stop himself. “You’re not a negotiator, are you, Yuri?”

Yuri only shook his head, daring to open his eyes, almost relieved at the slight softness in Dazai’s tone. That might’ve been what did it. He was moving before he realized it, slamming the grip into Yuri cheek with the force of a grown man’s weight, the suddenness and the power behind the blow knocking him to the ground, Yuri hardly even tried to push himself up. He made the mistake of looking back at Dazai, of wasting those precious seconds, but their eyes never met. His silencer muffled the gunshots, muted ticks the only sound to signal the end of Yuri’s life. There wasn’t a scream, no fighting or struggling or pleading, just a labored breath and a splatter of blood on Dazai’s shoes.

Still, that didn’t stop Dazai from emptying the rest of his magazine into Yuri’s head. If only to save such a pitiful creature the pain of having to go on for another hour.

~

You didn’t think you’d ever been this nervous before.

Calming down was a fruitless effort. You’d tried to tell yourself that you were an adult, that Dazai loved you and didn’t care, but… just the thought had you buzzing. It was a palpable anxiety, something that had you walking unevenly and dropping mugs while you cleaned them and laughing when anyone said anything because everything was funny. Your coworkers took notice, but they were dissuaded with an excuse and a few comments about an ‘off-mood’, and luckily, your regulars hadn’t been around enough lately to witness your odd behavior.

They hadn’t been around at all lately, really. You made a mental note of that. You’d have to check in on them, soon, if you remembered to. It was hard not to worry, considering how many frequent visitors had disappeared so abruptly, recently.

Still, Dazai was a source of comfort. You were a timid person, closed-off despite how badly you tried not to be, but you really did love Dazai. He was persistent, consistent, and just as unused to affection as you were, albeit on the opposite side of the spectrum. That might’ve been why you trusted him so much. He was like you, in a way, but so different at the same time. Just as closed-off, but with all the confidence you lacked.

Without thinking, you let your mouth fall open, mumbling the first thing that came to mind. “Thank you.”

Dazai hummed as he glanced over his shoulder, sending you a questioning look as he unlocked the entrance to his flat. It took him a second to understand, but you didn’t have the nerve to explain yourself, letting Dazai come to his own conclusion. It must’ve been a good one, though, judging by the way he pulled you a little closer as the door fell open, kissing your temple and tugging you through the threshold. “Don’t thank me yet,” He chuckled, softly. “We’re just getting to the fun part.”

You didn’t have time to ask what he meant. As soon as you’d stepped into his apartment, his mouth was on yours, the kiss as overeager as it was underplanned. No attempt was made to ease you into it, no trace of reluctance or consideration, only his arms wrapping around your midriff and your back hitting the wall, crashing into it as he found the first available surface to pin you to. Keeping up with him was a futile effort, but you tried anyway, pushing your lips against his and nipping at the tip of his tongue playfully when he tried to deepen the gesture. You could feel it as he smirked, pulling away and focusing his kisses on your jaw, hands falling to your thighs and lifting you off the ground without a trace of effort. It was easy to forget how strong he was, but as Dazai slotted himself against you, far closer than you’d ever let anyone else get, it slipped your mind to tease him about it, too.

Instead, you let out a cracked laugh, one that turned into a small whimper as his teeth brushed against your jugular. “It… this feels kinda sudden, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” He said, before choosing a spot and biting. This wasn’t your first hickey, this wasn’t the first hickey he’d given you, but this was the first time Dazai’d been so violent about it, sucking viciously until a purple, bruised mark covered the area. Hot, open-mouthed kisses traveled downward, each a little more primal than the last, only pausing when he hit the unwelcoming fabric of your shirt, the annoyance eliciting something near a growl. He dropped you in a heartbeat, leaving you to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to him as he all-but tore at the offending clothing, not seeming to care what he ripped. “You wanted this, too. It’s a natural progression.”

A natural progression. That’s what it was, a natural progression.

This was the next step.

So, you didn’t complain as your shirt fell away, his coat dropping to the floor not long after. Your whimpers and yelps turned to low, muffled moans as he went on, the pain fading into a light sting. You pulled at his collar, too, beginning to undo the first button with one hand while the other remained uselessly draped over his shoulders, but if Dazai noticed your work, he didn’t see it necessary to show it. He occupied himself with pushing up your skirt, letting it pool around your hips as he groped at whatever he could reach, only growing more aggressive as you writhed against him. It was only as he slipped a finger under the edge of your panties that you spoke up.

“Bed.” Your voice cracked, the whisper coming out helplessly. “Please, Dazai.”

Again, he didn’t waste time. You were pulled wall from the wall one moment and thrown onto a plush surface the next, the terrain suddenly strange, unfamiliar. You couldn’t help but freeze-up, but Dazai wasn’t hit by the same affliction, kneeling between your legs and continuing where he’d left off. Your panties were discarded in a matter of seconds, leaving you partially dressed and unprepared when thin fingers started to run over the length of your slit, his thumb hardly making contact with your clit, testing the waters. He slid two digits in as soon as he decided your wet enough, pausing for a moment.

“You’ve touched yourself, haven’t you?” The question is punctuated by a curl, his fingertips rubbing against slick walls. The stretch made you want to whine, but you bit your lip instead, nodding as he scissored you open. You balled your fists around the sheets, closing your eyes as Dazai moved lower. “Naughty girl. You won’t be allowed to do that, anymore.”

Before you could wonder what he was doing, his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just harshly enough to have you grinding against his face. Your thighs went stiff, then twitched, attempting to clench around Dazai’s head, but he held them open easily, his other arm too busy finger-fucking you to do much else. You almost got used to it, almost, but the moment Dazai’s fingers hit something spongy and soft, your composure was done-for. Pressure pressed down on your chest, the air choking you, but Dazai never let-up, never relaxing, not until you were clenching and squealing, slicking building up and flowing over his fingers, Dazai only slowing down to pull out.

You thought he would kiss you, or smile, or say something.

Instead, he began to undress.

You watch in anticipation as a layer fell to the floor, then another, a sensation between excitement and dread forming a tight ball in your throat. This wasn’t how you pictured it happening. This wasn’t how you wanted it to happen. It was supposed to be more… romantic, less passionate and more loving. You thought it’d feel more loving. This wasn’t how you pictured it, but you couldn’t make yourself say something.

So, you laid back and shut your eyes again. You hoped he would notice.

The kiss came too late, but you accepted it nonetheless, running your hands through his hair as his lips brushed against yours. It was conciliatory, if anything, simultaneously more apologetic than it should've been but less than it needed to be, for whatever reason. “Don’t worry,” He reassured, lining himself up with your entrance. “I’ll be gentle.”

But he wasn’t. As soon as he was inside you, all pretenses of self-control abandoned him, Dazai bucking into your wildly and forcefully. The ache was worse, eliciting something near a sob, but it was all you could do to hold onto him and let it happen. His hips rolled against yours without any regard for the way his cock couldn’t fit inside of you, determined to go deeper, faster, harder with every movement. You found yourself burying your face in his chest unconsciously, grabbing anything you could reach, just trying to find a center before Dazai ripped you away from it, again. Distantly, you could hear the bed creaking, wet sounds echoing off the walls, but his voice was close enough to overtake it all.

“Mine, mine,” He repeated, the single word turning into a mantra. The head of his cock pushes against your cervix, Dazai intent on fitting you to his shape or tearing you open in the process. “None of them can have you. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

You tried to speak, but the sound was cracked, hollow. “I don’t--”

“None of them can have you.” He pushed himself away from you, fucking into your with twice the strength and half the consideration. Still, a coil forms in the pit of your stomach, something tense and hazy taking root in your mind and refusing to leave. Something you didn’t know if you liked. “Say it. You belong to me.”

You obeyed. You weren’t sure what would happen if you didn’t. “I-I only… I only belong to you!”

Your orgasm was less earned and more torn from you, crashing down with the same delicacy of the man who’d caused it. It was suffocating, euphoric, the world going white as you forgot how to inhale, Dazai’s mouth slotting itself against yours. So enraptured in holding you, he hardly remembered to pull out, your cunt clamping down on him like a vice. Still, you felt it as cum splattered across your thighs, warm and sticky, as repulsive as it was disgustingly comforting.

Neither of you said anything, heavy pants and enduring whines monopolizing the conversation. But, after a long minute, Dazai’s attention re-focused, his eyes meeting yours and a small grin spreading across his features. His hand came up to cup your cheek and willingly, you melted into it, relaxing as he wiped the stray tears from your skin.

You only smiled back, wondering when you’d started crying.

~

“I’m just worried about you.”

You could’ve groaned at the familiar sentiment, hardly gathering the energy to glance up from the order you were punching into the register. Lucy was a new recruit, still green around the edges and not quite a skilled communicator, but you could appreciate her for what she was… most days. It was just the two of you on staff, at the moment, only a handful of customers in the cafe at such an ungodly time in the morning, leaving her with plenty of time to voice her oh-so-persistent concerns. It was sweet, honestly, a newer girl becoming so protective of her coworkers so quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel the same way, even if the age gap between you two was barely two years long. She wanted the best for you, and you for her.

So, you let her go on.

“Osamu’s not a nice guy.” Her voice was impassioned, just as genuine as the muffled curses she let out as a few drops of steamed milk spilled over the side of the cappuccino she was working on. “You should hear the stories Atsushi tells about him, they’re not… they’re not good. It’s hard to listen, sometimes. Especially when it’s so easy to tell he’s got the poor boy wrapped around his finger.”

“I’d hate to say it, but ‘they’re not good’ isn’t exactly compelling evidence,” You reasoned, biting the inside of your cheek. Your legs were still sore, your back aching, but you ignored the pain. That was normal, wasn’t it? For the first time, at least. “He’s a hard man to warm up to. It took me a while, too, but he’s really not as bad as he seems. Playful, but nice. With me, at least.”

Lucy sighed, shaking her head. “It’s the way he looks at you. I don’t like it,” She explained, a little too bluntly for the comment not to irk you. “Sometimes he’ll just sit and stare at you, and it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. He’s always asking the other girls which regulars you’re talking to, or for a copy of your schedule, and he gets so rude when we refuse. It’s not playful, it’s obsessive. Like he doesn’t trust you.”

You hoped she didn’t notice the way you frowned at her last comment. “He… he asks about my regulars?”

“Oh, all the time.” The words were too tired to be rehearsed. Not angry, annoyed. Like she was used to it. “A few of us slip up, occasionally, but nobody ever tells him anything. That doesn’t stop him from tryin’, though, nearly every time you’re not working. He tries to say it’s for the Agency, like half our customers aren’t detectives.”

Now, that got you to pause, your fingers slipping as you tried to focus on the task at hand. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Please let me know if he does it again.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” She mumbled, stopping to wave her free hand in some abstract, dismissive gesture. “Trust me. Or talk to him, do something. I just don’t want to see you cry over someone like him.”

It was hard not to smile, to thank her, even if you weren’t sure how you felt just yet. It would’ve been a lie to say you’d never had your doubts, but hearing someone else voice them was an entirely new experience, one you couldn’t say you were used to. You wanted to say that, you wanted to tell Lucy how much you appreciated her, you wanted to ask if there were supposed to be bruises on your hips, but as soon as the words made it to your tongue, they were swallowed back down, your mouth refusing to let them escape. It felt wrong, but staying quiet felt terrible.

You did the best you could, considering.

“You don’t have to answer, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. “Do the people you love ever start to scare you?”

For a second, she didn’t respond. She pursed her lips, something between surprise and concern coming across her expression, both emotions disappearing in an instant. A reply came eventually, tender and reassuring, but you had your answer the moment she failed to meet your eyes.

You needed to talk to Dazai.

~

Dumbfounded didn’t seem like the right word.

Shock would’ve been better, maybe. Dazai didn’t know how to react, flinching and laughing half-heartedly, the two acts mixing into something painful to see. He only grew more sure of your discomfort as you looked away, keeping your eyes on his walls or his rug or anything but the man who owned them, despite failing to pull away as he moved a little closer, closing the space between you. It wasn’t hard, the furniture in Dazai’s apartment as sparse as it was scattered, the loveseat no exclusion to his rule. He still hadn’t adjusted to having guests, even with all the time you’d spent together.

“Could… could you run that by me again?” He asked, the question more a whisper than a demand. “I don’t think I understand.”

“I just think it would be a good idea if we… took a break.” You were nothing short of meek, defenseless, curling into yourself as you spoke. “You haven’t been acting like yourself, lately, and everyone seems so worried about me. I don’t really think--”

“It’s those girls, isn’t it?” Dazai didn’t try to ease you into it, he couldn’t ease you into it, he was too angry to ease himself into it. That what it was, anger. Dark, ugly anger, potent enough to make him pull you closer, a hand on your knee and the other around your hips, refusing to budge when you nudged at his arm. “I knew they were against me, against us. You can’t trust anything they say, especially if it’s about me. They don’t want you to be happy--”

You cut him off abruptly, catching Dazai off-guard. Even if your actions didn’t reflect your violent tone. “They don’t want me to be with someone who can’t stand making me happy,” You retorted, digging your nails into his arm, this attempt to distance him more sincere than the last. “You don’t have to pretend you care about me, anymore, I get it. I’m some… thing, to you, that’s why you’re always checking in on me, why you’re always acting like I can’t handle myself. It’s fine, or, it was fine, I mean.” You sighed, shaking your head. Confliction wasn’t a good look for you, Dazai realized. He didn’t like that look on you. “I don’t want to do this anymore. You got my virginity, you win. I just want to go home, Dazai.”

He was silent, for a moment, as motionless as he was stiff. “You can’t do that.”

“I don’t care.” This time, you tried to get up, to pull yourself away from him, only gritting your teeth when he dragged you back down. “Let me go. I’ll call the police, if I have to.”

“And I’ll break your fingers before you can find a phone.”

You snapped around, but you didn’t have time to respond, not before you were thrown against the couch-cushions, Dazai straddling you reflexively, acting on instinct. He didn’t want to lose you, he couldn’t lose you, not after how far you’d come, how beautifully you’d opened up for him. You fought back, weak and misguided, but Dazai only had to shift his weight onto your diaphragm to stifle your rebellion, the hands soon wrapped around your neck more of a flourish than a safety-measure. You tried to grab at his wrists, but the resistance wasn’t forceful.

Still, Dazai tightened his hold, pressing up into the bottom of your chin. If only to hear that whimper he doubted you show him willingly, anytime soon.

“I thought this might happen. Chuuya used to call me crazy for planning ahead, but this always happens.” His laugh was genuine, this time, light and airy and genuine. Dazai could feel you go still under him, your stare burning holes through his skin, but he didn’t care. What you were feeling was secondary, as long as you were directing those feelings towards him. “People get inside your head, and they turn you against me. It doesn’t matter how many parasites I get rid of, there’s always a dozen there to take their place. You know how annoying that is, don’t you?”

This time, you were the speechless one, swallowing thickly before answering. “You’re insane--”

“There’s only one thing left to do, when keeping the bugs away doesn’t seem to help.” The smile that spread across his lips must’ve been wicked, because you began to struggle once again, kicking and thrashing and fighting, but Dazai was far from caring. He bent down slowly, letting you bite at his lips, not caring when blood was drawn. The metallic taste spread across your lips as he kissed you, only making him all the more keen to remind you why you belong to him, in the first place.

“I’ll just have to keep you away from all those bad influences, won’t I?”

[b-rainlet]

I promised to answer this in a seperate post so here it goes!

(Sorry this took forever but...I think the length explains why ajsnsns)

For @honestmrdual who asked for Alice +/vs/or Jervis!

Slight warning??? For the discussion of kidnapping since I mention Alice and Jervis within my Rotten AU

Also Murder. And Suicide.

Also Incest. Duh.

Jervis vs. Alice

That's...a hard one but also super simple? Like, I don't think either of them would want to fight the other, you know?

Of course Jervis doesn't wanna hurt his love but Alice also would rather avoid a confrontation with her brother.

But since as long as one of them is alive, they're gonna play an eternal game of cat and mouse, it would've come down to a fight eventually.

And even though in canon Alice dies, I think she would win.

Because canon seems more like an accident than a strategic suicide (even though Gordon words it like it's one).

But if it came down to a one on one fight?

I mean, Alice is shown to be willing to shoot Jervis whereas Jervis never truly threatens her.

Like yeah, she's tied up but he doesn't threaten her with a gun (like he does at the Lee/Valerie/Jim tea party for example) and when they meet on the roof he's mostly super happy to see her, he doesn't even think about defending himself??

He just stands there, arms up and obviously wanting to touch/hug Alice.

(Which…I think about often ansnsnsn)

So if they didn't need Jervis around for longer, Alice would've definitely killed him.

Shot him. Stabbed him. Lit him on fire. Whatever she could think of at that moment.

And Jervis probably would be super surprised because?? Alice??? His dear sister?? Why would you hurt him like this if he only wants to keep you safe???

Also I have made a post before about how he never once tries to hypnotize her - possibly because she's immune but that's never outright stated so maybe he also just...wouldn't do that to her. And I lose my mind every time I think about that for more than two seconds).

Also also, if I am already rambling - when am I not - the way it would've given Alice way more agency if she would've chosen to die the way Jim seems to imply she did.

Since he goes 'She would've rather been dead than spend any more time with you' or something like that and you could argue that yeah, she does pull away from Jervis but I think that was more 'I need to get away' and less 'I'm actively choosing to get impaled now'.

Just imagine!!

Jervis once again pressing Alice to his chest, watching Jim and Harvey fight tweedle dee and tweedle dum, when suddenly Alice pushes away, frees herself and stumbles into the room.

And everyone freezes for a moment because she's yelling at them to stop and Jim's telling her to go hide somewhere while Jervis is trying to reach for her without getting shot but she's having none of it.

She's sick of running, sick of hiding, she doesn't wanna live the rest of her life like this, always looking over her shoulder, always ready to vanish again, never truly able to build herself a life, to make any friends, to do more than survive.

Mostly, she wants to be able to wash all the blood from her hands, wants to stop being responsible for people getting hurt, the ones close to her and the ones unfortunate enough to be in her brother's way.

It's her fault Jervis is in Gotham, it's her fault Jim nearly died, it's her fault Jervis manipulated and maimed and murdered his way to her.

Not to mention she's a killer too! It's in her blood just as much as it is in Jervis' and she's tired of it, of all of it.

And it seems for a second she's gonna go to Jervis willingly and stay with him (which is an option she knows, but it wouldn't stop the running and the hiding, wouldn't stop the detectives from coming after them) but no.

Instead she picks up Jervis' gun (that I think he discarded in that scene? If not, he did now ajsjsjs) and she shoots herself.

And everyone would yell at her not to do it, voices shouting and people running toward her before there's this loud bang and then there's silence.

For a very long time.

Anyway, since Alice made it very clear she chose to die, it would be harder for Jervis to delude himself into thinking Jim somehow forced her or tore her away from him (although he would probably still manage, it's Jervis after all) so maybe, they'd actually get to arrest him (because I can see him just...falling to his knees and not moving after Alice is dead. Maybe cradling her in his arms. There's no real reason to go on now after all).

But even if he gets dragged away like in canon, this minor change would've made Alice' death a lot more driven in my opinion.

(And if we still need her impaled then imagine her speech and then she lets herself fall backwards with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched and she still ends up on the pole).

(Plus, because I like multiple endings, two possibilities I would also consider very sexy but wouldn't make sense in canon since they need Jervis around:

Jervis kills himself after seeing Alice die - much like Victor Fries tried to do, because what kind of life is this if the one person worth living for is dead?

 Alice pretends she's willingly going with Jervis but she used the time she had while she was monologuing to acquire a weapon (maybe one of the needles Jervis used to draw her blood) and once she's close enough she goes for a hug and ends up stabbing him in the neck multiple times until he's falling down in front of her, slowly bleeding out, murmuring her name with his eyes open in shock.

Just....some musings you know akjssksm).

Jervis + Alice

Do I even need to answer this? xD

They're on my top ship list, they're right up there next to Jecco and Jerelina, but they also have scenes within canon that make my mind go !!! like Jerome/Lee and Jervis/Ecco do.

They're just....good. Very good.

I have...a lot of thoughts and AUs for them but I think I shared them all already because I can't stop blabbering about them lmao.

Although I gotta say I've been thinking about them within my Jeremiah/Ecco/Jerome AU (aka the Rotten Fic)

Specifically about Jervis being Alice' legal guardian since she was about 10 or even younger (since their parents died very early in her life) and Alice isn't exactly being held captive but everytime she tried to run away while she was growing up, the police simply brought her back to her brother.

Because she was a minor and he was her 'loving and worried' big brother - who also could be very persuasive and knew how to manipulate people in his favour - and soon she was known as a 'notorious runaway' and the people she tried to plead for help only smiled at her in that condescending way people do when they pity you.

'Ah there she is, the little Tetch Girl, poor thing, lost her parents so soon. Now she's a troubled kid, running away, telling lies. She can be thankful her brother is so patient and loving with her.'

And surely all the tales she likes to spin about her brother crawling into bed with her or giving her 'special baths' are simply a sign for her overactive imagination, a hurt child making up all sorts of morbid things to get some attention.

And now she's around 20 and she knows she's old enough, an adult now, they would have to at least listen now.

Or she could simply try and get away, out of town, the police can't escort her back to her house anymore, they can't stop her at the train station and tell her she's a bad girl for worrying her brother like that.

But she also knows Jervis would never let her, he would come after her and he would kill everyone she would dare to care about besides him.

He would find her no matter where she hides.

It's safer when she stays, for her and for all the people out there she will never get to meet.

I simply like the idea of Alice basically being in a kidnapping situation but no one realizes. She's the sweet girl living with her brother, she belongs at home with her brother, what is she talking about being 'at her brother's mercy'.

And it's gotten to a point where he put her out of school with the promises of 'homeschooling' to 'help her anxiety' and oh, isn't he such a sweet and caring brother?

Taking it upon himself to teach her at home, what a big sacrifice it must be for him to completely focus on his little sister like that, to make sure she doesn't get left behind!

(And of course, since Jervis can be...persuasive, no one questions whether he actually has a teaching degree or anything of the like, no, Alice is shoved into his arms with smiles and waves).

And as Alice grew up, got to a point where her words couldn't be brushed aside as child's talk anymore, she learned to play her part. Made some…mistakes, said the wrong thing to the wrong person and had to live with the consequences.

(Consequences the other person can't live with anymore).

So if some newer neighbours notice that Alice is never seen outside? Well, she's a shy girl, no need to be worried!

Her brother is such a gentleman and he does make it a point to introduce the both of them to everyone who moves into their street, did the same when they first moved to Gotham, going from door to door with little Alice on his hand to prevent any rumours from spreading to make a good first impression!

And even if someone does worry, they only need to wait until Jervis is gone for the day to ring the doorbell. Alice will open and invite them inside, will play nice and portray the little sister Jervis told her to be.

The neighbour will come back home thinking 'Oh well, the girl is a shut-in, nothing too out of the ordinary. It's a dangerous city after all' and Alice will remain in her room and fight back the panic inside her, knowing that if she didn't do her job right and they get suspicious....accidents happen all the time.

Of course this routine is gonna get disturbed once Ecco enters the scene but let's not get ahead of ourselves👀👀👀

(Anyways the inherent horror of being kidnapped and used by strangers - aka Ecco and the twins - vs. Being permanently kept in a glass cage that no one else can see except you and no one can ever hear you scream for help - aka Alice and Jervis)

Jervis or Alice

Okay that's a hard one! Like, harder than choosing between Ecco and Jervis because Jervis and Alice are kinda on the same level here.

I love Jervis. You know if you've seen even just a fraction of my blog lmao.

But Alice.....so much potential. Such a good fucking storyline.

(Jervis and Alice as two sides of the same coin? I'd even say they have a big 'star-crossed lovers, one can't truly exist without the other' vibe. I mean, you could even compare them to 'B*tjokes in a way - only the who hunts who down is flipped).

Also Alice is very pretty and I have an obvious preference for girls in pretty much any piece of media I consume.

But then you have Jervis, who isn't only involved in the Alice storyline but is also part of the J Squad.....you have the legendary Jerome/Jonathan/Jervis team up and all three of them being horribly into each other....Jonathan and Jervis basically being an old married couple....the way Jervis looks at Jerome which still has me losing my mind....also you have the Ace Chemicals Episode which single-handedly saved the 5th season......the superb Ecco/Jervis interaction......fuck, this is hard.

I love Alice and I need to talk about her more often but I think Jervis wins simply by having more interactions with other characters (and oh to have Alice around for longer.....have her face off against Jervis on the regular.....Bruce deserves a little ragtag team of protoheroes in my opinion so why not add Alice...).

...But I am getting off track :D

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

How do you think the Grima and Saruman plot in Rohan would have gone down if Theodwyn had still been alive? Or Eomund? Or Edhild?

An interesting question! Though I think it’s one that’s almost impossible to answer simply because we know so little of the women.

Theodwyn, as a woman in Rohan already would have had limited access to direct political power. And, as a widow tending to her husband’s estate on behalf of her son, would likely not have been very present at court in Edoras. I suspect she would not have left Aldburg that often as she had the Marshallate to oversee and her children to raise. 

The tl;dr is: I suspect her being alive would not have been relevant to the success or failure of Grima and Saruman. 

-

Longer musings on Theodwyn, Elfhild and Eomund: 

We know very little about Theodwyn save that she was Theoden’s sister and died of heartbreak after Eomund went and got himself killed. Indeed, we know basically nothing about her that is useful in determining how she might have intervened had she become aware of Saruman’s plans. 

Personally, I don’t get badass powerhouse vibes from her, honestly. Which is totally fair and I don’t think every woman needs to be Eowyn-I-Am-Not-Like-The-Other-Girls Strong Female Character to be worthy of being considered interesting and dynamic. But yeah, I get a very passive vibe from Theodwyn. But that’s just my read on her. 

Theodwyn and Elfhild suffer the way almost all women do in Tolkien’s world of having almost no story and zero characterisation. Lothiriel, Arwen to a lesser degree but still, Finduilas etc. are really nothing more than names. Which is frustrating! and it drives me batty. 

For both Theodwyn and Elfhild all we know are names, who their male relatives are, and that they were able to make heirs for their husbands. All the important things, clearly. 

Based on Eowyn’s position at court (and her deep frustration and anger about it), I think it can be safely argued that women don’t play a strong role in the political world of Rohan. Eowyn describes her life as being in a gilded cage - no real power, limited agency. I think that’s very telling of the role Theodwyn and Elfhild would have occupied.

Not to say that they wouldn’t have been able to influence and inform decisions made by their spouses, but they would not have been privy to war councils or the daily Politicking that Theoden and Eomund got up to. Men are clearly the dominant leaders in Rohan and the gender roles and expectations in this country run along a strict binary that favours a militarized hyper-masculinity. 

While Elfhild and Theodwyn would have defended their homes when the men went to war (as Eowyn does in the books), it would have been only if no other “appropriate” man was present to taken on this role (again, as happens in the books. Though props to Hama, real MVP, and member of the Eowyn fanclub). 

Any influence Elfhild or Theodwyn had over the decisions of Theoden or Eomund would have been behind the scenes and very much a “soft power” approach. And this is assuming their spouses were open to listening to them. 

I know we all wish this wasn’t the case, and we want an Elfhild and Theodwyn who were super active and influential in the politics and manoeuvrings of their country -  but based on the text, that probably wasn’t the case. It’s a fandom head-canon. 

-

Now, all of this said, Elfhild being alive may have caused a bit of a hiccup or challenge for Grima exerting control over Theoden. However, Grima is very good at manipulating people and situations, so could possibly have undermined their relationship. We don’t know enough about Theoden and Elfhild as a couple to really determine how that would have gone. 

Also, remember, no one really knew of Grima’s treason. When Gandalf went to warn Theoden in October of 3018 it was about the incursions and plans of Saruman. It’s unclear if he made any mention of Grima’s role in it. It can be interpreted that Eomer knew, or at the very least had suspicions, but otherwise I think we can safely assume, based on the text, no one else knew. 

(Eomer can also be read as not having known at all; he was under house arrest because he threatened Grima with death in the king’s hall which is against the law. And that, it’s implied, was over Grima ogling Eowyn.)

Grima was seen as a trusted advisor to the king - if anything, Eilfhild may have leaned on him as her husband started “ailing” and become more and more unable to fulfill his duties as king. Theodred seems to have been fairly absent as heir so I don’t know how much of the day to day duties he was able, or willing, to undertake. 

So, the dynamics of the court during Theoden’s witchcraft-imposed infirmity, may have been really interesting and not as black/white as it might come across at first blush. 

As noted at the top, Theodwyn would have been managing the Third Marshalate until Eomer was of age, so she wouldn’t have been very present at court. And after he came of age, she would probably remain in Aldburg to help manage things while he was off seeing to his other duties and working to try and slow Saruman’s steady creep into Rohan. So, I don’t see her having lived after Eomund’s death heavily impacting anything. Also, like with Elfhild, we don’t know what the relationship was between Theodwyn and her brother. 

So if just the two women had survived, not Eomund, I can see Elfhild more than Theodwyn posing a potential roadblock for Grima and Saruman. But, that’s only if: 

a) she knew about, or suspected, Grima’s treason;

b) she and Theoden were close and they had a relationship that could weather whatever wrenches Grima would throw into the mix; and 

c) she were the kind of person to take a very active political role to fill the void left by Theoden’s absence. 

Like Theodwyn, we don’t really know who Elfhild was as a person. Was she the sort to try and take control of a situation? or was she more likely to have simply seen to her own duties and tended her husband without really getting involved (In the way that Eowyn tended her uncle as he “ailed” but didn’t get involved politically at court. But a wife has privileges a niece does not). 

-

However, if Eomund had been alive that might have influenced events in a different way. Maybe. It would mean another member of the House of Eorl to contend with and neutralize, on Grima’s side. However, Eomund was hot headed and prone to doing really stupid shit without thinking and I suspect Grima could easily manipulate him into either a compromising situation or to ride to his death. 

Eomund being alive would have freed Eomer up to focus more on his efforts against Saruman, which he wasn’t able to do to the degree he wanted to as Third Marshal (he laments about this to Aragorn when the four three hunters first arrive in Rohan). 

Having the full family alive would also have provided an additional barrier/more people for Theoden to lean on making it more difficult for Grima to wheedle his way into Theoden’s head. It also may have changed the dynamic at court and kept Theoden himself more hopeful about the future which may have, in turn, informed Grima’s own decisions about how to approach the war with Sauron and its potential outcomes. 

Grima gave into Reasonable Despair, which I suspect was partially fuelled by Theoden’s own personal misery about his aging, his perceived inability to rise to the occasion, his own despair at the future. That’s a contagious mindset. Despair is easy to fall into and it breeds more despair. Hope is hard. But, if you have a lot of people around who are relying on you, who are supporting you, who are helping you - that changes things entirely. 

-

I suppose the long and short is: WhO kNoWs??? hahaha

I’m very sorry about the novel this became but thank you so much for the ask! I really enjoyed gaming things out and I hope it somewhat answered your question <3 <3 

[marshmallowprotection]

Kait Reacts To The AE 10/?

Hi! These reactions are written out every time a Chatroom opens and it’s done over the course of the day. So, you’re watching me react in real time as it is for me. So, Spoilers AHOY. Expect Another post like this tomorrow, there is just too many chats to put it all in one post. So, hey, if you click this, you’re opening yourself to spoilers, you make the choice. If I do this right, there should only be two posts tomorrow. 

[21:39]

The chatroom opens again. Saeran knows the truth. He ran off. I don’t know how he handled it. I don’t. He said nothing. He just left. I had a feeling for a moment that he used this... grief and moment of weakness to make the distraction that needed to be made and I don’t know if I’m still on the good ending path or not right now because I didn’t think the game was going to continue to separate me and Saeran. I sincerely didn’t. It felt like maybe there was a shred of hope but now I just. 

I don’t know. I don’t know what to think here when I’m reading through this part and it hurts. But, I do appreciate the commentary in this chatroom because time and time again, the game lets you tell Rika she’s wrong. She needs to hear that shit whether she likes or not. Nobody can coddle her. She needs to facts and be honest. She needs to admit she did wrong. 

She cannot live a lie. I thought she was going to lash out. I don’t know if she will at this point but she and V leave the chatroom after this conversation so make of that what you will. There’s some dodgy moments there for a second as they try to figure out where he went and who should go after then. I really don’t even care anymore about what’s going on with them. I cannot trust them. I just can’t do that. 

They both hid this secret, and the bombshell is that V is there that day. He was close-by. Rika didn’t fucking hide it from him. He hid that. I didn’t know that, I did not even think that he knew. I thought maybe... he assumed, but I wasn’t sure if he actually knew. He didn’t know about Mika, either. So, this just proves that V has been hiding her and spurning this all along and Mika was there as well to push Rika deeper into what she already wanted to do and who she wanted to be. No wonder she crashed when she did, honestly. 

Saeran hits V with a text and that’s when I know this is the end. 

He only texted V something vague about where to find him. 

Once again! So, yeah, that’s one thing that caught me off-guard and now I can’t unsee or unread what I learned. V knew from the start that she was going down a bad path and he knows right and wrong, but he just... he didn’t. He didn’t stop her and he didn’t help her go to where she needed, we know that she blacked out when she killed Mother Choi. She was fearful for her life in that moment and likely wouldn’t have faced a huge punishment. 

But, she still took a life. 

And Rika herself says... “Even my abusive mother... if someone killed her... the devil would be the one that killed her.” Therefore, in that logic, she and V are the devils. V asks me if it’s a mistake. Let’s just make it clear how I handled that one with him. 

I race to Saeran as fast as I can in the visual novel. It’s... there’s no choice for me here. I have to leave him and the music is playing louder in the background and I just. I’m crying. “I don’t want to leave you. Please.” I try to see if he’s okay but he’s... at peace with the truth. I don’t know how I would have handled that in this situation. Does anyone feel relief when their abuser is dead? It tends to be muddled quite a bit for most people. 

Saeran tells me that he won’t change his mind, though. I don’t have the strength or the ability to type through my tears right now so I just copied the dialogue out from the game and pasted it here for you to see why I’m so fucked up. I can’t just forget you and leave, Saeran Choi. That’s not how this works. We’ve talked about this. Nobody can make me choose anything, just as nobody can make you choose anything. 

And, I choose you, forever and always. 

So, if you think that I could leave and never look back, you’re wrong. I can’t do that. I don’t know... I just. I can’t. I don’t know. Zen texted me after this and said even though Jumin said no, he wants to help me make a plan with Yoosung to be able to save Saeran. Maybe, that’s the key? I don’t know. 

[23:00]

I have never been sadder in my life than the moment that I heard Generously Hacked Bepop. Honestly. That song came on and I was just. I’m too sad for this upbeat jazz party. I can’t. The RFA is together and they want to know that we’re okay. We got out. Saeran stalled. He did what he could. We’re out of there and Saeyoung is going to be awake within four hours and we’re going to be at C&R within two hours. There’s not much to note, here. All I know is that we’re on the move. 

Zen and Yoosung want to rescue Saeran. Jumin... I don’t know. He seems to be thinking otherwise. I don’t like that. He and Saeran likely had a talk. I don’t know, I’m just... guessing here. He also says something that we shouldn’t forget, that the group wants to put on a big announcement in the morning. I don’t know what that means. I’m actually. 

The worst thought came to me when he said that because. 

I thought. 

What if the plan is to say that Saejoong Choi killed Saeran? To everyone, to all of those in earshot. I don’t know. It’s just a guess. But, when Saeyoung does the work for the agency and takes them down... he’s the only boss left to take care in a sense. Is that the plan? It has to do with Saejoong. I don’t. I don’t know. I just can’t figure it out. This is my guess... but I don’t know. They said that they will tell me when I get there. 

That means I may not like it. 

That means I could be right and. 

My track record of being right has doomed me thus far. 

Anyways, the visual novel is rather lengthy and it fucked me up. It fucked me up really bad. I just. There was the music, there was the emotional turmoil, there was just too much to process all at once for me to be able to handle what was even happening here. Rika and V really did get rid of the body together, they did that. I can’t. I can’t believe that. Saeran is... I can’t believe his level of maturity, I said that I didn’t want him to forgive Rika or V. But, he chooses to forgive them because that’s his choice. 

He doesn’t want to be angry anymore. 

He doesn’t want to think of the pain. 

He doesn’t want to drown in that feeling.

He just wants to be happy. 

He chooses that for himself, and honestly, it felt like he did that as he came to the conclusion that this was it. There’s a lot to unpack here so... I’m just going to let Saeran speak for himself for the most part as I recount my feelings on the matter. He’s... I’m proud of him. I know that he picked this for himself and I want to respect his freedom. He decided to forgive, and he decided that this was the right emotional choice for him. Don’t get me wrong, I doubt he’s going to let them into our lives. 

Forgiveness does not mean friendship.

It means that we can part ways as well and end that arc of trauma. It’s a choice that you can make. You don’t have to make it. If it helps you, make it. Saeran is the one that decided that he needed to do this. I respect that. I don’t know what V and Rika plan to do.

And for the worst, he looks at them with this look on his face and simply says: 

It was my worst fear come true and I don’t... I can’t. He is willing to die for this cause. I can’t. I can’t. Rika freaks out. She says that she is the root of all evil because this “never would have happened if I didn’t kill your mother.” She can’t change the past, and she has to live with that. If she and V do turn around here and do the right thing, don’t expect me to forgive them for what they did. Even if you do the right thing at the last second, you are owed nothing. 

I’m twisted. I know that neither of them want Saeran to die like this. I know that, but... after all that they’ve done. It’s just hard for me. Saeran is a bit more stronger then me, I guess. I admire that about him and I love him for it. He is so warm and so kind. I will never let myself forget that. But, this isn’t the end, and I am not leaving him to die. 

You can call him after this as well. 

His phone is about to die. He’s tired. He can’t move. He’s laying there on the grass as he watches the sky. He repeats his love over and over and over and over again. He says that he’s grateful for me being there for him when he needed someone and he’ll never forget that. He tells you every way that he loves you and every way that he is thankful and it’s hard to focus on it when you are crying. 

And... he just... 

Saeran: “I’m free. I’m finally free. My life was always a cage that I never thought I would escape from... but. I’m free. I love you... I will love you forever... I love you, I love you so much... I...”

And the phone drops the call when his battery dies and I die a little alongside that. 

Please, please let me rescue him before it’s too late. 

[xtruss]

Afghanistan’s ‘Misinformation Surge’

An avalanche of misinformation has followed the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan. Some of it is sloppiness: people sharing information and not knowing it’s wrong. But intentional efforts appear to be at play, seeking to shape the images of the Taliban, the resistance, U.S. officials, and the Pakistani military. The identities and motivations of those sharing this misinformation are often not clear, but they could be part of organized propaganda campaigns.

Misinformation about Afghanistan has been posted in many languages, including Urdu, Hindi, English, and Korean. The Poynter Institute, the Associated Press, and Agence France-Presse have compiled many examples, including a Twitter thread from AFP fact-checker Uzair Rizvi.

U.S. actions in Afghanistan have so far been a frequent target of misinformation. Some social media posts include photoshopped images of Afghan evacuees bearing heavy weaponry, suggesting Washington has helped terrorists leave Afghanistan; these were posted by Russian media outlets. Others falsely accuse U.S. President Joe Biden of gifting $80 billion in arms to the Taliban and abandoning U.S. military dogs.

Additionally, much of the misinformation spreading in Afghanistan relates to Taliban brutalities and is easily debunked. An image of the Taliban purportedly auctioning off women actually depicts a protest against the Islamic State in London in 2016, and a photo of a man leading women in chains is digitally edited from an image taken in Iraq in 2003, for example. Other posts mention a nonexistent Al Jazeera investigation on women abducted by the Taliban and their nonexistent plans to execute Christian missionaries.

The battles between the Taliban and resistance fighters in Panjshir—the only province not seized by the group last month—have become a bonanza for fake news. The lack of credible on-the-ground reporting in the province has led to an information shortage that could be easily exploited. Photos of supposed Taliban fighters in Panjshir actually depicted French soldiers. Several Indian TV channels broadcast video purporting to show Pakistani aircraft attacking Panjshir. (In reality, the video was depicting American jets flying in Wales.)

What explains this surge in misinformation? The sudden attention rush of a major news story, the power of social media, and information shortages all play a role. Moreover, actors with axes to grind use misinformation as ammunition. Fake news about Biden’s policies in Afghanistan has been propagated by his rivals, from the U.S. Republican Party to Russian state media. Nationalist Indian outlets seek to paint Pakistan as an aggressor.

The information vacuum is critical. In recent years, Afghan and U.S. officials stopped providing information about military casualties and the amount of territory under Taliban control. As the security situation worsened in the last few years, media coverage outside of Kabul became more difficult. It’s now hard to know what’s happening in far-flung areas. In Panjshir, for example, the lack of on-the-ground reporting results in competing narratives, fueling rumors and propaganda wars.

The spread of misinformation in Afghanistan has troubling implications. For one, fake stories about the Taliban could change the group’s image among those outside of Afghanistan. While its brutality is apparent from its actions in Kabul, where citizen journalists recently filmed the Taliban beating female protesters, it’s harder to see this elsewhere. Without independent reporting, accounts of beatings, arrests, and intimidation outside the capital can’t be confirmed—giving the group space to project itself as softer and more moderate.

Furthermore, with so much fake news, true accounts run the risk of being dismissed as false. Social media posts have already suggested the images of U.S. aircraft taking off with Afghans clinging on that began circulating on Aug. 16 are fake. And with foreign bureaus evacuating their Afghan employees and local journalists facing Taliban threats, information shortages are only likely to worsen.

Unfortunately, the spread of misinformation all works to the Taliban’s advantage. It could prompt the militants to ramp up repressive activities in areas with little media presence, knowing that many of them will go unreported or unconfirmed.

Misinformation About the End of the War in Afghanistan, Debunked

These claims were among the recurring themes of misinformation that we fact-checked as the two-decade war came to a chaotic close.

— By: Samantha Putterman

— September 7, 2021 | Poynter.Org

President Joe Biden speaks about the end of the war in Afghanistan from the State Dining Room of the White House, Tuesday, Aug. 31, 2021, in Washington. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

As President Joe Biden stuck to a deadline for pulling U.S. forces out of Afghanistan, he was criticized for leaving some Americans and thousands of Afghan allies behind and for not responding fast enough to the Taliban’s takeover.

Biden was also lashed over several things he didn’t do or that just didn’t happen.

Influential GOP senators and Fox News promoted false and misleading claims about the scale of U.S. weaponry now in the Taliban’s hands, the abandonment of military K-9s, and Biden’s treatment of the families of 13 U.S. soldiers who died in the Aug. 26 Kabul airport attack, which killed more than 200 people.

These claims were among the recurring themes of misinformation that we fact-checked as the two-decade war came to a chaotic close.

Claim: The Biden administration gifted the Taliban with an $80 billion “arsenal.”

Claims about the U.S. giving Taliban weapons surfaced following reports about Taliban fighters seizing some U.S. attack planes, Black Hawk helicopters and other vehicles and equipment. But trending posts about the Taliban’s new “arsenal” relied on outdated spending and purported to cite precise accounting where there is none yet.

Early on, widely shared Facebook posts inaccurately stated that the Biden administration gifted the Taliban with “$80+ billion” in military weapons.

That estimate is False. The U.S. spent about $88.6 billion on security in Afghanistan over the course of two decades, but just a fraction of it went toward military hardware. Defense expert John Pike, director of GlobalSecurity.org, told us that aircraft and other military equipment remaining are likely worth less than $10 billion.

Another misleading post about weapons in the Taliban’s hands listed 19 categories of military equipment, including 358,530 assault rifles, 22,174 Humvees and 33 UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters.

This is also exaggerated. There has been no accounting of how much military equipment was left in Afghanistan. The figures cited are inflated and outdated, with most of the equipment being provided over many years to the Afghan forces.

The “358,530 assault rifles” figure, for example, appears to be from a 2017 report from the U.S. Government Accountability Office that counted the number of rifles, including AK-47s and sniper rifles, provided from 2004 to 2016.

And none of the figures show how many items remained in Afghanistan and were usable when the Taliban took control in mid-August.

Overall, most of the weaponry and equipment were provided over many years to the Afghan forces that opposed the Taliban, while some remained in control of the U.S. military.

Claim: Biden didn’t attend the ceremony for the 13 U.S. service members killed in Kabul.

We rated this Pants on Fire.

The baseless allegation was made by various conservatives — notably Republican political adviser Blair Brandt, and Buzz Patterson, a GOP candidate for Congress in California. They said in now-deleted tweets that Biden skipped the dignified transfer ceremony at Dover Air Force Base for the remains of the 13 U.S. military service members who died in the Aug. 26 attack.

But the plane carrying the remains of the service members hadn’t yet arrived at the base when the tweets were posted. The ceremony took place the next day, on Aug. 29. Biden attended. He and first lady Jill Biden met with the families of the service members at Dover’s Center for Families of the Fallen.

Claim: The U.S. military left its working dogs in Afghanistan.

A viral photo of dog crates in front of a battered and empty U.S. helicopter sparked outrage among fans of dogs and the military. Prominent Republicans like Sen. Rick Scott, R-Fla., said that they were military dogs abandoned at the Kabul airport during the U.S. evacuation.

But that isn’t right. The federal government said the dogs pictured do not work for the military and that its working dogs were evacuated from the country in mid-August.

“The U.S. military did not leave any dogs in cages at Hamid Karzai International Airport, including the reported military working dogs,” Pentagon spokesman John Kirby tweeted on Aug. 31. “Photos circulating online were animals under the care of the Kabul Small Animal Rescue, not dogs under our care.”

Some of the animals in the images likely belonged to independent defense contractors and could be characterized as “contract working dogs.”

Some animal welfare groups like American Humane dismissed any distinction between the dogs’ contract or military status and called on Congress to start classifying contract dogs the same way it does military dogs.

Multiple groups involved in evacuating the dogs cited a series of setbacks, including chartered flights falling through, unrest at the airport and stringent U.S. safety regulations. Advocates said the dogs are safe, but what happens to them now is uncertain.

Claim: Video shows the Taliban executed someone by hanging them from a helicopter.

Conservative bloggers, pundits and politicians like Texas Sen. Ted Cruz shared a short, blurry video of a helicopter flying with a person dangling from a rope.

“This horrifying image encapsulates Joe Biden’s Afghanistan catastrophe: The Taliban hanging a man from an American Blackhawk helicopter,” Cruz tweeted.

That explanation is False. Various other images and videos reviewed by PolitiFact show that the person dangling from the chopper was alive, moving and waving his arms. The person was suspended by a harness that wrapped under his arms, not a noose around the neck.

Several news outlets and fact-checkers reached the same conclusion, determining that the video did not depict an execution, and that the person had been tasked with trying to fix a flag on a public building.

Aśvaka News Agency, an Afghan news outlet, later confirmed to PolitiFact that the person was controlled and was hanging from the helicopter to fix the flag at the governor’s building in Kandahar, Afghanistan’s second-largest city.

Cruz later acknowledged that his tweet “may be inaccurate” and deleted it. But others, like Fox News host Sean Hannity, continued to give the false story air after it was widely debunked.

NOT REAL NEWS: A Look at What Didn’t Happen this Week

— By The Associated Press | August 20, 2021

— Tom Kertscher, Gabrielle Settles and Bill McCarthy contributed reporting.

This February 2003 photo provided by photographer Murat Düzyol shows three women walking behind a man in Erbil, Iraq. A version of this original image was manipulated to digitally add chains on the women's ankles, with a caption erroneously claiming it was made in Afghanistan after the Taliban took control of the country in August 2021. (Murat Düzyol via AP)

A roundup of some of the most popular but completely untrue stories and visuals of the week. None of these are legit, even though they were shared widely on social media. The Associated Press checked them out. Here are the facts:

Photo from Iraq altered to create fake image of chained Afghan women

CLAIM: A photo shows three Afghan women chained to one another, walking behind a man who holds the end of the chain.

THE FACTS: The photo is fake. It was based on an old photo, and the chains were digitally added. Photographer Murat Düzyol told The Associated Press he took the original photo in Erbil, Iraq, in February 2003. Tweets sharing the altered photo were among several misleading social media posts that began to emerge after the Taliban seized power in Afghanistan on Sunday. Twitter users posted the manipulated photo and suggested that it showed women in Afghanistan walking behind a man. In the edited photo, chains were digitally added onto the ankles of the women, with the man holding the chain. There was no chain in the original photo. Also, it was taken in Iraq, not Afghanistan. “#AfghanWomen. God protect women and children because an institution like the United Nations has become impotent,” said a Twitter user who tweeted the altered photo. Over the years, the photo has been misrepresented and posted multiple times. One blog falsely stated the photo was taken in Afghanistan and said it showed an example of women walking about five paces behind their husbands. Düzyol, who lives in Istanbul, told AP he took the photo in 2003. Around that time, he often visited Iraq and took photos. The day the photo was taken, there was a ceremony commemorating Iraqi civilians who were killed in the city of Erbil, he said. “As people were returning to their homes after the ceremony, such a composition randomly appeared on the street. It’s a completely instant snapshot and completely natural,” Düzyol explained in an email. “The women obviously knew each other, but I’m not sure they knew the man.” Many fear the Taliban will reimpose a strict interpretation of Islamic law that was practiced when they ran Afghanistan from 1996 to 2001. At the time, women were barred from attending school and having jobs outside the home. They had to wear burqas and be accompanied by a male relative when they were in public. After taking over, the Taliban said they promise to honor women’s rights within the norms of Islamic law, but many Afghans are skeptical. — Associated Press writer Arijeta Lajka in New York contributed this report.

Afghan citizens pack inside a U.S. Air Force C-17 Globemaster III, as they are transported from Hamid Karzai International Airport in Afghanistan, Sunday, Aug. 15, 2021. On Friday, Aug. 20, 2021, The Associated Press reported on stories circulating online incorrectly claiming another photo showed a plane full of Afghan refugees being evacuated from the country this week, with not a single woman or child among them. In fact, that photo, which appeared online as early as 2018, shows Afghan refugees being sent back to their country from Turkey, according to a story at the time from Turkey’s state-run news agency, the Anadolu Agency. Photos captured this week show that hundreds of Afghan men, women and children have been evacuated from Afghanistan since the Taliban takeover. (Capt. Chris Herbert/U.S. Air Force via AP)

Photo of Afghan men on plane is from 2018

CLAIM: A photo shows a plane full of Afghan refugees being evacuated from the country this week, with not a single woman or child among them.

THE FACTS: In fact, this photo appeared online as early as 2018. It shows Afghan refugees being sent back to their country from Turkey, according to a story at the time from Turkey’s state-run news agency, the Anadolu Agency. The photo looks down the aisle of an airplane filled with men, some of them waving at the camera. Social media users are sharing it as new this week with claims it shows only men, with no women and children, being evacuated from Kabul after the Taliban seized power in Afghanistan. “And not a single woman or child among them!” one Facebook user wrote alongside the picture. “As if the invasion of our southern border weren’t enough of a challenge. Now the biden Administration is flying in hardened, fighting-aged men from Afghanistan.” Another Facebook user wrote, “Another wave of ‘refugees’ is already heading to Europe, this time from Afghanistan.” But a reverse-image search reveals the picture does not show recent evacuation efforts from Afghanistan. The photo showed some 324 Afghan refugees who had entered Turkish territory illegally and were detained and sent back to Afghanistan in April 2018, according to an article on the Spanish-language version of the Anadolu Agency’s website. Photos captured this week show that hundreds of Afghan men, women and children have been evacuated from Afghanistan since the Taliban takeover. — Associated Press writer Ali Swenson in New York contributed this report.

FILE - The Afghan flag flies atop the presidential palace in Kabul, Afghanistan, Tuesday, Aug. 17, 2021. On Friday, Aug. 20, 2021, The Associated Press reported on a photo circulating online that was digitally altered to make it appear that the Taliban flag was flying on the tower of the palace in Kabul on Sunday, Aug. 15, 2021. (AP Photo/Rahmat Gul, File)

Photo digitally altered to show Taliban flag on Afghan presidential palace

CLAIM: A photo shows the Taliban flag flying on the tower of the Afghanistan presidential palace in Kabul on Sunday night.

THE FACTS: The photo is fake — an old photo was digitally altered to make it appear that the Taliban flag was flying above the palace. On Sunday, Taliban forces seized the presidential palace. The Associated Press took photos and video Tuesday showing that the Afghan flag was still flying from the building. The photo that was manipulated was first shared in 2020 and originally showed the palace adorned with Afghan flags. In the manipulated version, the Taliban flag replaces the Afghan flag. It looks clearly altered -- the flag appears too rectilinear and the script too flat to be on a moving flag. The edited photo was shared across social media and by some media outlets, with captions saying it showed the fall of Afghanistan. The Taliban took over Afghanistan two weeks before the U.S. was supposed to fully withdraw its troops from the country. President Ashraf Ghani has fled the country. AP photos showed the Taliban inside the presidential palace on Sunday.

Video claiming to show Taliban fighters on trampoline is more than a year old

CLAIM: A video shows Taliban fighters jumping on a trampoline this week as they celebrate their return to power in Afghanistan.

THE FACTS: This video is not current and has circulated online for more than a year. In the days since the Taliban seized power across Afghanistan, capturing all major cities in less than a week, social media users have shared videos of the insurgents allegedly celebrating their victory in gyms, amusement parks and presidential suites. One such video, which social media users claim shows Taliban fighters rejoicing on a trampoline, has circulated since at least March 2020. The video of four men jumping on an expansive trampoline and one standing to the side was shared with captions like “Taliban’s terrorists right now” and “Taliban fighters celebrating their takeover of Kabul by Jumping on a Trampoline.” But it appeared on Facebook as early as March 31, 2020. It was also shared on YouTube on Aug. 28, 2020, with the caption, “Taliban first time trampoline.” It wasn’t clear who captured the original video or who was featured in it. — Ali Swenson

Video showing shaking house is from Alaska, not Haiti

CLAIM: Video from a camera inside a home shows the house shaking from a 7.2-magnitude earthquake that struck Haiti on Saturday.

THE FACTS: The video being shared online shows an earthquake that struck nearly three years ago in Alaska, not Haiti. As images and videos emerged from Haiti following Saturday’s earthquake, social media users began misrepresenting the Alaska video from 2018 to suggest it showed the earthquake rumbling through a home in Haiti. More than 2,000 people have been reported dead in Haiti following the earthquake that struck the southwestern part of the Island. In 2010, an earthquake of similar magnitude left more than 300,000 dead in the country. Posts online Saturday shared the video showing the Alaska earthquake, with wording that suggested it showed the power of the earthquake in Haiti. The posts sharing the video said to pray for Haiti. The original video was shared to Twitter by James Easton on Nov. 30, 2018, when Alaska was hit with a 7.0-magnitude earthquake. At the time, The Associated Press reported that the earthquake left thousands without power and buckled roadways in some places. Easton told the AP via email that the video showed his home in Alaska. Easton tweeted the video, saying that he was “just a little bit shaken” by the earthquake. The video showed the house violently shaking and the camera footage soon being cut off by the quake. “It’s amusing to see the video pop up every so often, but the focus should really be on the actual damage in Haiti,” he said. — Associated Press writer Beatrice Dupuy in New York contributed this report.

[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.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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[thegeminisage]

i know it’s really weird to say without context “the devil’s half-human kid” jack so let me add some context to this. this was originally going to be a post about season 13′s opening but there’s too much explanation involved so we have to recap the end of s12 first (non non-mary parts, which, frankly, every piece of television ever written is inferior to the mary parts of supernatural)

so to recap:

during season 12, during the non-mary parts that weren’t important and again don’t really matter, lucifer, who escaped hell’s cage in season 11, decides to have himself a kid with a human woman to create an archangel’s nephilim, which would be more power than any being that ever existed besides god. he also possessed the president to do this but that’s horrible writing and UTTERLY besides the point. i am focusing on the good parts here

the woman lucifer impregnated (her name is kelly kline) tries to kill herself in order to the baby bc hello it’s the antichrist

(they did rip off this whole antichrist thing from @cambionverse​ they were READING OUR FIC i know only 12 people have read our fic but i know this in my heart. sorry anyway)

but ANYWAY then the unborn baby SAVES HER LIFE by healing her wounds and she realizes there might be good in the child after all and that he might be able to help her

this sounds like pro-life propaganda but i was actually a big fan of their execution on this - til now she had basically been used as a human incubator with no agency at all, and suddenly she has the world’s most unexpected ally in this unborn kid who didn’t ask to be here anymore than she did

so together kelly and her unborn child manage to escape the demons and run into castiel, who had been looking for lucifer’s baby mama in order to uh. take care of that whole situation. and when the bad guys catch up to them the kid decides he likes cas, cas is good people, and he lets him borrow a little power (angels all got nerfed back in s9) to smoke the holy hell out of them. and cas also realizes this kid is Good, or has the potential to be good, and he decides to run off with kelly to protect her from both lucifer and his demons and also the winchesters who are UH ALSO LOOKING TO TAKE CARE OF THAT WHOLE SITUATION

dean is PISSED at cas and he thinks the baby is brainwashing cas and kelly both and is only acting to protect its own life and that it’s definitely going to be evil and kill everyone. if you heard about dean and cas almost getting divorced in season 12, this is why. it’s like. peak d*stiel content imo. also this is after cas’s no-homo “i love you......all”

anyway the baby has a bunch of omens happening to herald his birth, like storms and shit, and one such omen is that he tears a rip in the fabric of space-time, opening a portal to a world where john was never brought back to life and mary never had kids and so they could never save the world from the apocalypse in s5. this is important to mention for later

so the winchesters and lucifer catch up to cas and kelly at the same time, right as she’s having her baby. the birth kills her because lol classic sexist horror trope, but in the fight, castiel gets killed (shanked by lucifer right in front of dean’s eyes), and while mary DOES get to punch the devil in the face, she winds up jumping through the portal with lucifer into this alternate dimension right as it closes, trapping them both there

so the season ends with the baby being born, and cas’s body getting cold on the ground, mary and lucifer GONE, and sam has to leave dean alone with cas to go upstairs and check on the antichrist. pan to EXTREMELY ominous glowing eyes, cut to black, credits. that’s the season

and then the season 13 trailer looks like this:

TELL ME this doesn’t look like classic spn and scary as shit. you can’t. this is such a fucking sexy trailer. like, the big question of that particular part of season 12 is: is this kid gonna be dangerous? is he gonna fucking kill us? we are dealing with the antichrist here!

and then we go into season 13 with dean on the brink of despair, half his family dead, and sam and dean dealing with this antichrist kid all alone and uuugh i’m going to make a separate post this has gotten too long but listen to me. look me in the eyes. it’s good. no one believes me but it’s good