#I might do more later or just show it in my little short scribbles later down the line
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Tuggoffelees Headcanons
Sometimes with different interpretations bc Im actually a cat, a dog and a weasel parading as a human, you would probably see me slowly navigate it out bc I alrdy have several clear stories in my brain. Also I do Quaxo is Misto stuff but I still call him Misto usually, I don't like writing the letter Q.
Misto fell first but Tugger fell harder
Childhood friends Misto thought they were alrdy married, he's a "its you, its always going to be you" because we love our horribly platonic girlies (me, I am girlieđ)
Tugger absolutely just went "wait he's so cool, what the hell" when Misto started his Mr Mistoffelees act. Like he was like already slightly in love but suddenly it overflowed and now he doesn't know what to do
He doesn't even know if what Misto does to him is just banter or flirting (Misto's version flirting are basically trust games where he confirms Tugger does in fact, trust him)
Tugger has zero idea how magic works but is a supportive bf
When Misto researches a new trick and needs someone to show it to or help he finds Tugger first
This has been happening since they were young
Tugger has zero idea what is happening but is always hyping Misto up even when he fails
Misto has slight stage fright so when he's performing, he mostly focuses on Tugger because he knows no matter what Tugger will never be disappointed in him
Tugger doesn't realizes this bc he always sits near Old Deut and thinks Misto is just looking at him
Tugger is absolutely terrified of lice since childhood
So do the other maine coons but Tugger is suuuper dramatic about it
He always runs to Misto all distressed and whines to him and asks him to zap them out
But Tugger is also kind of scared of electric so Misto has to slowly calm him down and hold his hand before doing the lightest shock that is required to kill it
and afterwards he has to console him and helps him clean it out
Tugger's owners are still confused as to why he always runs out after getting lice and always comes back all clean with the happiest trot
Misto is super secure about the relationship
Which is why Tugger is still confused if they are in a relationship or not
he is still waiting for Misto to confirm it ;>
Misto doesn't get it and thinks that Tugger is just shy or smth and thinks that its kinda cute
Misto goes non-verbal during performances
I know I broke this one, but I will try and do better and learn some more hand gestures (and hand signs for Victoria, my version is not deaf just selectively mute, Jemima does her talking(she's super fluent!) they'll probably be doing BSL tho bc London)
He requires more focus, esp in his performance form (with the half moon face! bc I realized I couldn't live without it)
Tugger is usually his assistant and helps him with talking when needed
It adds to the mystery part of the Mr Mistoffelees act ( I want to hopefully show how like how terrifying but alluring he is, he's like an elegant Macavity in my eyes )
Misto is actually super direct
Dude is not vague, the dude knows what he wants
He only "insults" Tugger with facts
He does show affection through words but Tugger always goes (in his head) "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN"
His man is dumb, let him be dumb
#I might do more later or just show it in my little short scribbles later down the line#Im not really drawing today bc what I drew is... less than appetizing rn#not in the zone and probably not getting there so Im doing traditional sketches to maybe fuel up some love for art idk#cats the musical#cats musical#rum tum tugger#mr mistoffelees#tuggoffelees
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đ Tell me about an up and coming wip please!
đ§ Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (sebi please?)
đ„ș Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?
ty for sending this, anon!
đ Tell me about an up and coming wip please!
ahhh the only actual wip i have is girl!seb because the others are incoherent scribbles that i've marked down as In Progress... F. so far i think i've finally completed the story from 2005-2010, but from there things kinda fall apart--i'm trying to build up enough of the damage from 2011/2012 so that 2013 will hit harder, but atm those years are kinda falling through, mostly bc i don't know how to write jenson. i might have to re-do 2011 depending on how the rest of writing 2012 goes.
i feel like i keep talking about this project but haven't got anything to show for it so đ here's a snippet!
Indianapolis, USA - June 17, 2007In her Grand Prix weekend debut, Seb goes fourth fastest in her first practice session, qualifies seventh, and nabs eighth place, even after a messy start. She rises out of the car as the second woman in history to score points in Formula Oneâand the first to score a full point. BMW is ecstatic with the achievement, immediately attaching their brand to her moment. Red Bull is right on their heels. To that end, Lewisâ win might as well be overshadowed by the media attention that flocks her way, but he doesnât seem the least bit bothered, pulling her into a friendly handshake and half-hug in congratulations before being swept elsewhere. It feels just as good as a win. Seb is practically soaring, with nothing to kill her mood from the end of the race to the end of the day, even when Scott Speed almost dislocates her shoulder as he struts by, even when the boys try to take her out bar hopping and donât succeed. âIâll head back to the hotel, you stay and have fun,â she says, waving them off as she tucks her ID back into her wallet. An idea is forming in her head on how she can celebrate, anyway. âAre you okay to get back on your own?â Beat looks torn, like he knows the responsible thing to do is accompany her, especially when sheâs dolled up in a thin white shirt and short little tennis skirt, her legs bared to keep cool from the mid-June humidity. But the party is in full swing at the Slippery Noodle. âIâm going to get a ride,â she assures him, and fishes out her phone. . â
ËÌŁ- :Â Twenty minutes later, Mark shows up in a taxi.
(she gives him a lap dance. they fuck nasty.)
đ§ Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (sebi please?)
loathe as i am to call seb a character that i have headcanons for--i do very much find myself enjoying the idea that he can be more calculated (and cold?) than he lets on. similarly i don't know if i really like the whole, yknow, bratty-subby-tearful-cute thing that's popular in fanon? which, sure, it has its own basis, but i personally find it more interesting to see his more deliberate side and dissect him from that angle, kind of like an autopsy of Red Bull Seb, The Frat Bro Who Wasn't. i think charlie @sebrrari nails this in the whole "whether the medicine is enough" series! and though it was very much a reactionary fic, i think i get at the idea in and an and, and an and, and the end.
đ„ș Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?
LOVE CONFESSIONS. i can't do them well but in my head they are sooo emotive. like in the nayq prequel when mark finally says it and the words absolutely destroy seb. or in wrestling in dirt pits when seb and mark admit they're still in love with each other in a moment of weakness. and i'll just spoil a bit of this girl!seb au, they say it after fuji 2007 and it's like the Crux of their entire relationship and not to toot my own horn but it works in the overarching story and i need to bash my head against a wall whenever i think about it. anyway
writer emoji ask game!
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How is your work situation? Still improving?
Yes!!
Well. The main thing that fucked me up is still improving, at least! The coworker who used to be really negative toward me has been nice recently, and I suspect it may be because my new boss has talked to her about it (which I have to assume she has done). The new boss and I have an excellent relationship and we think alike on all the most important stuff. Also a lot of the things I had to do in the past year are now no longer my responsibility which is a huge relief.
However. I may be a tiny bit--ok large bit swamped right now.
See, for the past half year or so I have been working on developing an IT platform for our clients which will replace our old one. (I have built it within another software, so don't go thinking I'm a pro software developer or anything, I've just played with lego basically...) Although some of my coworkers have gotten involved in the later stages, I'm still the main project owner, and I'm the only one who fully knows how everything works.
We have a little over 100 clients to move from the old platform to the new one, it takes somewhere between 1-2 hours minimum to move one of them (as well as 1 hour more for some extra polish), and we might lose access to the old platform on Sept 1st because of... reasons. So we need to move as many as we can before then.
Also I've been stressing around in the past week trying to write the manuscript for/edit informative videos about the new platform (and if it hadn't been for the fact that my partner happens to love recording voice stuff and is also good at it then I might have had to fully record the videos as well, but thank god my boss allowed me to bring in my partner to do it instead, so now I only have to write the script, record the moving pictures and edit the videos together), all while scribbling together a manual for the clients (which I'm giving almost the exact same content as the script for the videos because fuck it) and moving the very first client to the new platform two days ago, while writing an internal manual for my other coworkers who are involved in the project as for how to move a client, and struggling to fix last-second bugs, and tomorrow I'm live-showing all our co-workers who have not been involved so far how to use the new platform, and on Tuesday I'm doing the same for our clients, and... And...
And next week I'm starting up a new client (who will take up 50% of my time until december) while juggling another client (on 25%), and who knows what unexpected issues may occur with the new platform in the meantime, not to mention all the other more sporadic clients which I have barely had time for in the past year, and other internal company stuff I need to do...
... Ok I'm a huge bit swamped.
But tbh I'm much rather swamped as in "too much to do" than treated badly by coworkers. And things will improve in a few months.
(Besides it's partly my own fault anyway that it's this stressful right now, because I've known for over a year that we had the Sept 1st deadline, but because I was swamped by other things and felt horrible at work most of the time and because my adhd happens to thrive on short deadlines, I delayed the project until I basically couldn't delay it any more. I mean, it's not only my fault. It's just. I can't really duck away from all the blame, you know.)
But yes! Things are improving for sure ^_^
#... Holy hell i hadn't realized how much stuff I had to do until I wrote all of that#Someday I will rest I promise#Ask a nerd#Worknag#I was about to go back to editing videos right after posting this#But my partner just came in and told me I am not allowed to work more today#So I guess I will... Do something else?
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So I wanted to show a poem I got my first A on. Inspired by my mum.
The Second Drawer Down
We donât let strangers look in the second drawer down.
The second drawer down is a Pandoraâs box.
The frat boy next door has a long dusty train of unopened condoms
Next to the pile of coins covered in colonisers coppered portraits.
Used only for opening beer bottles, and lame tricks, dude.
The girl across the road has an abstract canvas of makeup powder,
And a bag of a paler variety.
A laptop, damaged and dormant, from her uni days,
Birthday candles, half burned, hair-ties, never used.
ILY, habibi. You got this girl xx
The busy woman, mate moe,
Stressed, with an infant strapped to her chest.
The second drawer down is some dense forest
Of discarded children's books and singing toys that need to retire their career.
Kia kaha, kei te pai ki a koe
The boy down the road, just like any other,
Never outside, a daisy in an otherwise groomed lawn.
His drawer is filled with socks, scribbled drawings done in dry red marker.
LEGO, put together on surprisingly late nights,
A long shoelace, an old phone.
Thereâs a place for you somewhere.
The girl upstairs, sheâs quiet and wears funny clothes,
Though sheâs only silent in hopes you will follow suit.
Her drawer is full of wires, chargers for her headphones, speakers,
And phones that she has long since lost or broken, sometimes on purpose.
Perhaps she should book that therapy sheâs been talking about.
The girl three doors down, hardworking and intelligent,
Her drawer is full of old stationary, often forgotten,
Perhaps she should throw these out, but what if she needs them next year?
Or the year after? Or if someone else needs it?
Another drawer filled with old poems and literary ventures,
Containing the things she doesnât want to say out loud,
In case the other person doesnât want to hear it.
The guy, a short walk from here, I havenât seen him go out in a while.
His drawers, and floors, are filled with unread books,
Filled with loose cash to purchase disposable vapes,
That linger around the room; theyâve become decor at this point.
Another drawer has a bible, and Bob Dylan CDâs, not often played.
Guitars and dirty dishes rest upon these drawers,
Until he gets that inevitable spurt of energy to do something about it.
The man at the top of the hill, heâs always in his garage.
Working on interesting projects, with the door open,
Like heâs performing for someone.
His drawers are filled with screws and bolts,
Sawdust and sandpaper,
And a picture of his family, perhaps to remind himself why heâs working,
Why he tolerates the cuts and burns.
Sheâll be right, mate.
My drawer is filled with broken lighters,
A tupperware of⊠well, leftovers, but not the kind youâd expect.
Guitar picks for a bass, I should really get back into,
Art supplies I bought on a whim, that I wonât use, but I might!
Old essays, Nick Drake CDâs, glasses I thought would make me seem more intelligent.
A cigarette I stole from my mother, well over a year now,
God, why do we keep this stuff?
Wires, dead laptops, ribbons and mismatched chopsticks.
CDâs, old writing, socks with multiple uses,
Drugs and sex toys.
All incredibly incriminating increments of our lives.
Stuff, junk, if it was anywhere other than the second drawer down,
Would paint us as monsters, taken by temptation.
Lucifer gave us the second drawer down, for us to hide his gifts.
Gifts that help us get through modernity.
It is also the place we store our delights,
Family photos, old rulers from our favourite teachers, songs that make us sing,
Little reminders of why we still march on,
In a world sprinting at full speed.
We donât know why we keep the things in the second drawer down,
We always think itâs junk or something for a later date, that may come in handy.
Really it is a diary of our everyday lives,
Recording every small experience, with things that we can glance at or pick up,
Which makes us whisper to ourselves,
âOh yeah, I forgot about thatâ,
With a twinge of embarrassment and perhaps an undertone of joy,
Or despair.
Ashes of pets, medication from a hospital visit, a note from someone,
Who turned out to be less reliable than you thought.
All these can still hide behind the old candles and plasters,
It is how we put the past behind us,
In the most literal form we can comprehend.
-Me. 2022
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Hi!! I hope youâre doing well I really love your writing!! Can I actually request the reader wanting to draw a portrait of Vernon Roche;w;ââ I miss him so so much>w<
A/N: I'm trying to get through some asks in my box and this one just made me so happy! I hope they bring Roche into the show.... but then again they might fuck him up
You tucked the end of the pencil between your lips. Your eyes were glued on the commander of the Blue Stripes.Â
Vernon Roche stood at a table with his hands bracing the edge. He leaned over a map, brown eyes flickering back and forth to different spots on the outstretched parchment. His chaperone rested on the table next to him. Every now and then, he would run a hand over his face and then back through his short dirty blonde hair.Â
Your eyes flickered down to his boots, spotting a detail along the clasp that you had missed earlier. You had moved on from the full body drawing of him and instead, you had been working on a portrait of his face. You made a mental note about the detail in his boot, then continued to add shading to a spot along his jaw.Â
Moments later, you found yourself looking at him once more.Â
âWhy are you staring?â His voice surprised you. Roche had been silent for so long that you didnât expect him to speak.Â
âIâmâŠ. Iâm only looking.â You tore your eyes away from him and looked instead at the book in front of you.Â
He turned his head to look at you, a bit curious about what you were scribbling in your book.
âYou should be in bed.â
âSo should you.â You didnât both looking up as you added a wrinkle to the crows feet beside his eyes.Â
âI canât go to bed yet, not until a plan is made for tomorrow afternoon.â
âWhat if you canât think of a plan?â
âThen I suppose I will not be sleeping tonight.â
âThatâs unfortunate.â You sighed out, putting the pencil down so you could let your head fall to one shoulder. You were tired and wanted to go to bed, but you wouldnât go without him. âI think if we go to sleep now, we can wake up early in the morning and think about the plan then. Perhaps you could form a plan better when you are well rested.â
His eyes met yours briefly, an amused grin pulling at the corner of his lips.Â
âPerhaps, but that is a theory I will have to test another time.â
You let out another annoyed sigh and went back to your drawing.Â
âAll of your plans are shit anyways.â You grumbled under your breath.Â
âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me, Vernon.â You couldnât help the grin that formed on your lips.Â
âPerhaps you should think of going to bed now. That attitude will only get you in trouble.â
âOh, I am quaking in my boots, Commander.â
âThe disrespect you have for me is appalling.â He left the table and began to walk towards you.Â
You quickly closed your book and put your hand over the front of it as he approached. You tilted your head up to look at him as he stopped next to your chair.Â
âWhat were you doing?â
âNothing.â You answered too quickly.Â
Roche braced one hand on the back of your chair and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut at the rare act of intimacy. While you were distracted, Roche pulled the book out from underneath your hand and in the same instant, he stepped away from you.Â
âRoche!â
âI could hear you scribbling in here like your life depended on it.â He flipped open the book to the page that the ribbon bookmark was on.Â
You watched as his features softened, brows furrowing together just slightly.Â
âWhat is this?â
âWhat does it look like?â You leaned back in your seat, tapping your pencil against the table.Â
âMe.â
You nodded softly.Â
âI didnât know you could do this. I-I mean, Iâve seen other things youâve drawnâŠ. But this isâŠ.â
âI can do more than just patch up your little soldiers.â
Roche placed the book down in front of you, his eyes still seemingly glued to the portrait of his face.Â
âI look constipated.â
âThatâs how you always look.â You hummed. Your eyes stayed on him, now admiring the new angle you could see him at since he was almost towering over you. âMy mother always wanted me to be an artist. She always said that I had potential to be grand. Perhaps in another life.â
âIn another life.â Roche repeated quietly. He turned his attention down to you. âArtistry would never suit you. You enjoy stabbing people with those needles of yours far too much.â
âI only enjoy stabbing you.â You teased. He leaned down to kiss your head. âBut you are right. It would never be something I want to do forever. Itâs tooâŠ. boring.â
âBut you are fantastic at it.â His hand found the space between your shoulder blades.Â
âThank you. Now will you come to bed? I am exhausted.â
Taglist: @samuraigrl89 @burningcoffeetimetravel @open--till--midnight @beautifulsweetschaos @gm_abbo @thefirelordm @here4thespice @many-fandoms-lover @one-eyed-captain-kinky @sparrowsparadise @bluscryn @blushingskywalker @buckysxgal @lady-of-glass-and-bone @super-calithehamm @invelda @eddyofthetruth @hc-geralt-23 @persephonehemingway @adhdhufflepuff @Purple-Tsuki @emperorpalpattitay @anastas2904 @wellthisstinks @bitquirkydoe
If you name is in italics, it wouldn't let me tag you :(
#roche x reader#vernon roche x reader#vernon roche fluff#the witcher 3#roche fluff#vernon roche fic#kacey answers
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Mine Again - Harry Styles
a/n: this is something i just thought about after my nap today lol, so enjoy this treat, a classic exlovers to lovers fic!
pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader
word count: 3.4k
masterlist
Seeing an ex is never easy. Whether itâs by your choice or not. Working together with an ex is even harder and now you brought a situation on yourself where this is your reality.
Arriving to the studio of The Late Late show you immediately get escorted to your designated dressing room where a hair and makeup artist are already waiting for you. Today you are here to promote your new movie, Donât Worry Darling with your onscreen lover, Harry Styles, however, what no one else in the building knows is that once the two of you were real life lovers.
Your romance blossomed during filming, having spent so much time together on set, it didnât take long for a relationship to form between you and him, the chemistry you shared was immense and undeniable, anyone could see that and you felt like you were burning in a bonfire of the most intense feelings youâve felt for any man. It was passionate and intoxicating, it felt like something that could only happen in movies, but it was your reality.
However filming ended and you were forced to go your separate ways, you both tried hard to keep what you had and though your feelings never changed, distance brought the worst out of the both of you. Six months after you became an item, you mutually agreed to break it off.
You havenât seen him since then, meaning that itâs been five torturous months without having any contact with him and now that promo has officially kicked in, you are forced to travel around and make appearances with the man you love, yes, still love more than anyone on this Earth. Not even five months and absolutely no contact could change your feelings for him, however he might already be over you at this point, having forgotten about feelings and memories you still hold close to your heart.
How has he been doing? What is he like now? Has he been thinking about you? Does he miss you? What is it going to be like to see him for the first time?
The questions flood your mind as you sit in the chair and let the professionals work their magic on you, covering up the dark circles under your eyes that formed due to the sleepless night you had the day before, nonstop thinking about Harry and what itâll be like to see him for the first time again.
After careful elimination, you choose a dress for the appearance, itâs tight and short, the fabric is covered in glittering sequins down your body and the long sleeves as well and while the dress covers a lot up from the waist, it makes up in the lack of length on your legs as the end of it barely reaches the upper part of your thighs, ending it black feathers that tickle your freshly shaven legs. The nude heels add even more to them, making you appear like you could hit the runway any moment when in reality you are not high enough to be a model.
Thereâs still some time until the taping starts, James drops by to say hello and tell you how excited he is to have you and Harry on tonight and you chit-chat for a little before you go to take a quick business call outside. When youâre done with that, you head back to your dressing room to take a few quick photos to post later, but right as you near your destination, a door swings open down the hallway and Harry steps out, wearing a black suit, of course, head to toe Gucci. The crispy grey shirtâs first few buttons are left undone, allowing you a glimpse of his toned chest and his necklace with the tiny cross pendant on it.
He looks good. No, he looks absolutely stunning, just like he always does and just the sight of him takes your breath away, forcing you to stop in your tracks when you lay your eyes at him. He spots you as well, stopping to take a look at you before you see a small smile on his perfect pink lips.
âY/N, hi! You look⊠gorgeous,â he speaks up lowly, his eyes raking your body up and down.
âI, uhhâThanks!â you breathe out, feeling already flustered. How are you gonna survive the interview, sitting next to him, talking about what it was like to play a married couple?!
His hand moves a bit and thereâs a moment of awkwardness, neither of you really knowing what to do, last time you saw each other you kissed as your hellos, but now itâs not an option, obviously. At last, he moves forward and goes for a hug.
He envelopes you in his arms as you wrap yours around his neck, the warmth of his body bringing you a sense of home and it hits you hard how much youâve missed him in these five months.
You swear he holds you just a second longer than what would be appropriate before his arms fall from around your frame and you force yourself to let go of him, though every fiber in you is protesting against it.
âHowâHow have you been?â he asks, his beautiful green eyes finding yours.
âIâm good. Iâm good,â you nod. âWhat about you?â
âSame. Just the⊠usual stuff.â
âWriting music?â you ask with a soft smile. You still vividly remember those nights you spent together after a long day of filming, crashing at either his or your place and you often found him strumming his guitar in a corner, scribbling words down into his notebook. Sometimes he sang you the songs he came up with, sometimes he kept them to himself.
âYeah, Iâve been writing a lot lately,â he admits with a shy smile.
Someone calls his name down the hallway and his head snaps up before looking back at you.
âI gotta go, but Iâll see you soon, right?â
âYeah,â you nod, stepping aside so he can walk past.
âAnd you really look amazing, Y/N,â he calls after you one last time before jogging down the hallway.
You walk into your dressing room and shutting the door you lean your back against it, huffing heavily as you try to recollect yourself. Somehow, this encounter went really well, because the two of you were civil and respectful, but it was also a painful shock to see him in the flesh again. It was one thing to see pictures of him here and there, but actually meeting him, hugging him, talking to him⊠you need time to process it all.
Unfortunately, you donât have much of that. Twenty minutes later you are walked to your spot behind the curtains from where youâll walk out when James calls your name. Just as you arrive Harry appears as well, casually talking with one of the camera guys, having a laugh and just as he sees you, his eyes fall down your body again and you swear you see him gulp hard before turning his attention back to the man.
âReady?â he asks upon walking up to you, a hand coming to rest on your lower back. Glancing over your shoulder you look down at his hand, lips parted at the feeling of his welcoming touch. He sees your glance and pulls his hand back quickly. âSorry, itâs a habit, I guess,â he mumbles, blushing softly.
âItâs fine,â you smile. Of course itâs fine, for what you care, he could throw you over his shoulder like a cave man and run out of the building, you wouldnât say a word. You want his touch on your body, youâve been craving it since the moment you last saw him, but are you even allowed to admit it? You have no idea what he is thinking or feeling, you canât just come right at him like that.
Harry fixes the lapels of his suit jacket, but what he doesnât see is that the collar of his shirt is kind of stuck under the jacket.
âYour shirt is⊠let me fix it,â you breathe out and he turns to face you, letting your delicate hands fix his outfit, perfecting the look to the tiniest bit. âThere, you look great,â you smile, your hands sliding down his chest before they fall to your sides again.
âThank you,â he nods smiling back at you before offering an arm that you take gladly. He knows how much you hate high heels and that you are always scared of tripping and falling and being the gentleman that he is, heâll be the support you need.
The taping soon starts and the two of you stand patiently behind the curtain as James introduces you.
âAnd now, please welcome the stars of the upcoming hit movie, Donât Worry Darling! Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles!â
The crowd starts clapping and cheering as the curtain moves and the two of you walk in, arms linked and Harry makes sure to slow down when you walk down the few little stairs. James welcomes the both of you with two kisses before everyone takes their place, James behind his desk, you and Harry sitting on the couch.
âThank you so much for dropping by tonight, guys!â James smiles at the two of you.
âThank you for having us,â Harry nods with a soft smile.
âYou both have been guests on the show separately, but tonight you are here as a pair, since your latest movie, Donât Worry Darling is hitting the theaters this weekend. How are you feeling about that, excited to see the film finally?â
âVery excited,â you nod with a smile. âI canât wait to see the final version, because obviously we only know the version we envisioned while filming, but the actual movie is going to be something else.â
âY/N, your role in the movie was originally handed to Florence Pugh who had to step back because she broke her arm,â James points out and you nod.
âYes, I stepped in her place just about a week before production started and if Iâm being honest I was scared that people would prefer to see her in the role, but I had a talk with her actually and she said she helped Olivia, the director to pick out the person to take her place and she said she instantly knew I would be perfect for it, so I trust her.â
âThatâs amazing to hear, that the two of you didnât have any rivalry going on,â James enthuses.
âShe actually visited set a few times,â Harry chimes in and you nod.
âYeah, we had a great time together.â
âSounds like a lot of fun, the three of you together,â James chuckles. âSo, the two of you play a married couple in the film and if Iâm not mistaken you didnât know each other beforehand. Was it hard to get into the roles with not much background on each other?â
âWe met up a few times before filming started to get to know each other more and I think we hit it off right away, so it wasnât hard for me,â Harry speaks up and you nod along.
âIt was obviously a little different situation than when you meet someone and become friends, because as we got to know each other more, we had to go through scenes that were meant for a couple that was already years into their relationship, but I think it strengthened our friendship,â you answer, hands laid flat on your bare thighs.
No lie has been told, everything you said was the truth. You just left out the part where you become real life lovers and started dating a month into production.
âY/N, youâve been acting for a while now, have quite a few roles under your belt, what did you think of Harryâs acting?â
âI think that he is a wonderful actor and I hope people will give him his much deserved credit for it. He is often still seen as just a silly singer from a former boy band and they donât take him seriously when he really is a very talented man. Youâll see in the movie as well, his role was a tough one, needed a lot of work and a wide range of emotions, but I think he did an amazing job.â
You dare to glance at him at the end of your little speech and for a moment you forget about the audience, James and the cameras. He is looking at you with so much gratitude and thankfulness. You remember every talk you had where he opened up to you about wanting to be taken seriously in the acting business, that he is not trying to be just a joke and another failed attempt of a singer to try himself out in movies. He told you how scared he is of not being good enough when you saw him every day on set and you were blown by his eternal talent and special take on his role. He deserves to be praised, he deserves every bit of it.
âIt was easy, I had a great partner to learn from,â he smiles softly and you feel the heat crawling up your neck.
âYou two really have the chemistry weâve heard so much about, I canât wait to see it on the big screen!â James sighs. âTell me a little about what it was like to film? You guys spent a lot of time together, must have made a lot of memories.â
You take a deep breath as all those memories mentioned flood your mind. You had the best time of your life not just with Harry, but with the whole crew. Leaving after production was wrapped really broke your heart.
âIt didnât even feel like working,â Harry starts. âWe always joked around, had lunch or dinner together, we were like a big family. It was so nice to have so many amazing, talented and hard-working people around you all day.â
âThe jokes never stopped,â you add chuckling.
âI wish I could have been on set!â James laughs wholeheartedly. âThat didnât happen, but we have a little something. The crew has put together a short BTS video of the filming, so letâs have a look at that,â he announces and the video starts playing on every screen in the studio.
Itâs a short little montage, but it captures the vibes of filming just perfectly. Clips shown from set are not just of you and Harry, but all the other cast and crew members. Goofing around, having lots and lots of laughs, dancing on set, which happened quite often and just all of you having a great time. Some of the slips however pain your chest, the ones of you and Harry.
This was very early into your relationship, no one on set even knew you were together, but seeing yourself on the screen you canât deny the sparkles in your eyes every time you were around him.
A clip shows the two of you between two takes, doing a goofy dance in the kitchen of the home that was used as the set of the house of your characters, you are both wearing your costumes, Harry looks great in his suit and your long retro dress is flowing around you with every movement you make. He grabs you by your waist and spins you before you end up in his arms laughing crazily, you were so happy, so carefree. You wish you could go back to that momentâŠ
Another footage was taken in your trailer when Harry took the place of Clare, your makeup artist and tried to do your eyeliner but miserably failed. In the video, he is gently clasping your chin, angling your face for himself as his other hand is working on the line, but itâs wobbly and way too thick, so you both end up just laughing when you check yourself in the mirror.
And there are some small moments of the two of you, moving around on set, lying in bed between takes, sitting in your chairs while eating, just tiny memories you still cherish so much and wish to live through again, but itâs the past. And it wouldnât hurt this much if you knew Harry from the video was still yours.
When the video ends you need to blink a few times as your eyes have watered a little. You catch Harryâs gaze and he looks worried, he clearly wants to ask if youâre okay, make sure it was just the sentimentality of the moment, but he doesnât have the chance, the cameras are still rolling.
âThat looked like so much fun! Next time make sure to invite me on set too!â James jokes and you force a laugh out of yourself.
A few questions are asked about future plans and just generally about your careers before the taping finally ends. You thank James for the invite again and a photo is taken of the three of you, you standing in the middle with the two men on your sides. When everything is settled, you head to your dressing room, using the chance to slip away silently while Harry is still chit-chatting on the set.
In the comfort and silence of the dressing room, you lean onto the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror, finding it ironic that on the outside, you look perfectly fine, healthy and pretty, but on the inside⊠you could scream. You miss Harry so much, you hoped that your feelings for him have toned down a little over these five months, but it was just the same if not even worse.
A faint knock is heard on the door and you quickly fix yourself before calling out to the person outside. The door opens and for your surprise, Harry steps inside, closing the door behind him.
âHey, you disappeared so fast,â he softly says.
âYeah, Iâm just⊠a little tired,â you lie, though you know exactly he can see right through you.
âY/N, I saw that look in your eyes after the videoâŠâ
âWhat look?â you ask with a huff. âWhat do you want me to say, Harry?â
âThe truth,â he answers. âIâm not James, donât bullshit me.â
âYou want the truth? Iâll give it to you, but donât blame me if itâs uncomfortable for you,â you chuckle bitterly, throwing your hands into the air. âIâve been miserable, Harry. I miss you so fucking much, seeing you today was like Hell. I really thought it would be easier, but now Iâm stuck with going from one interview to the other with red carpet events all around the world, seeing you every day when I terribly miss you and it fucking sucks, because you might not even feel the saââ
You donât get to finish, because Harry crosses the distance between the two of you, his hands grab your face and pulls you into a hard and passionate kiss. His lips move perfectly against yours and it feels like he is trying to squeeze every missed moment from the past five months into the kiss, making you melt into his arms completely.
He is everywhere. He is all you can taste, you breathe him in, his hands are everywhere on your body and your chest is pressed tight against his as you wrap your arms around his neck, locking him into your embrace. Your tongues dance, teeth tugging and pulling on lips, itâs a whole mess, but itâs the most perfect mess youâve ever been. He takes your breath away completely and you donât even want it back if it means you canât have him.
Harry pulls away first, both your chests heaving wildly from the heavy make-out session and he looks down at you with hooded eyes.
âIf you think I havenât missed you like crazy⊠you canât be more wrong, baby. I couldnât stop thinking about you, I wanted to call you a thousand times and beg for you to come back to me, but I thought you already moved on.â
âMoving on?!â you huff with a tired smile. âHarry, I could neverâŠâ
âAlright, then Iâm not letting you go again. No way you are walking out of this building without being mine again.â
A shiver runs down your spine at his words as you pull him down for another kiss, needing to feel his lips on yours.
âI never stopped being yours,â you whisper against his lips and he moans weakly before crashing his lips against yours again.Â
-
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#harry#styles#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles au#harry styles fanfic#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one shot#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles x famous!reader#harry styles exlovers to lovers#harry styles blurb
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Harry identified with and reluctantly admired Snape even before âThe Princeâs Taleâ
So, 'Albus Severus' is admittedly is a controversial name in fandom due to Snape's own dubious morality. And people also think that Harry going from hatred to admiration of Snape so quickly is unrealistic. But, that's not true. There's no doubt that Harry hated Snape, but amid that hatred, there was also reluctant admiration and even identification with Snape. Let's see a few examples:
Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be dangerous. He was sure he had just broken into Snapeâs memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snapeâs childhood, and it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes. . . .
Probably the first time Harry is looking at Snape as anything more than his hated Potions professor. But it is still significant considering Harry's own abusive childhood.
His reaction to Snape's Worst Memory:
What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him â it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.
His immediate reaction after watching Snape's memory is to empathise with Snape, because he knows what it's like to be bullied in front of a crowd.
We also get hints of how similar Snape and Harry are. Even Hermione comments on it:
Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff ââ âWell,â said Hermione, âI thought he sounded a bit like you.â
âLike me?â
âYes, when you were telling us what itâs like to face Voldemort. You said it wasnât just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasnât that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?â
Hermione comments on how they both sound similar. Snape and Harry do have a lot in common as we will find out later, but this is one of the first hints of another character noticing it.
But imo, the largest culmination of Harry's reluctant admiration is in the case Snape's old textbook, when he called himself the Half-blood Prince. This is teen Snape; Snape as Lily knew him, Snape without all the baggage that he has with Harry. And what is Harry's opinion of him?
Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behavior, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Harry felt, however, that the Half-Blood Princes copy of Advanced Potion-Making hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how much was in there, not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.
Harry's admiration is practically dripping through the pages. He's staying up at night reading the book, admiring the boy who was so clever.
One of the most interesting lines is also this:
âMy dad used this spell,â said Harry. âI â Lupin told me.â This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be â?
Harry is so attached to Snape's old textbook that he wishes it was his father. Harry is hungry for father figures and the fact that he elevates the Prince to this kind of figure from just his textbook is significant. It shows the lost potential between Harry and Snape. Who is the Prince but a younger Snape? It shows that had Snape been a little less bitter and damaged, he could have been a mentor figure for Harry.
These two have so much in common: their lives are defined by Voldemort and they're not truly free until he's dead, they're both half-bloods who grew up in the muggle world, they both suffered abusive childhoods, they were both bullied, they're both sarcastic and dry, they both can get very vicious (Snape more so obviously), they're both completely loyal to Dumbledore, they're both brave and stubborn as hell. I truly believe that had Snape not been so blind, he could have been a great father figure for Harry simply because of how similar they are and how much they could relate to each other.
He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn â Harryâs stomach churned â how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so muchâŠthe book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happenâŠHe could notâŠ
Harry thinks of the Prince as a friend and guide.
âWill you stop harping on about the book!â snapped Harry. âThe Prince only copied it out! Itâs not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!â
âI donât believe this,â said Hermione. âYouâre actually defending ââ
âIâm not defending what I did!â said Harry quickly. âI wish I hadnât done it, and not just because Iâve got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldnâtâve used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you canât blame the Prince, he hadnât written âtry this out, itâs really goodâ â he was just making notes for himself, wasnât he, not for anyone elseâŠâ
Even after 'Sectumsempra', Harry defends the Prince like this. As a side note, I also think that Harry's relationship with the Prince somewhat mirrors Lily's relationship with Snape. They both admired and loved the boy who was so clever and imaginative and were willing to blind themselves as that boy went deeper into the dark side.
He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself dwelling upon Dumbledoreâs inexcusable trust in SnapeâŠbut as Hermione had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the sameâŠin spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much..
This is after Snape killed Dumbledore, and Harry's primary feeling about the Prince is one of betrayal. Ultimately, I believe Harry's relationship with the Prince is pivotal in his understanding of Snape, and I firmly believe that this also informed his decision to name his son after Snape. After watching Snape's dying memories, Harry's admiration of the Prince returned and merged with his feelings towards Snape. It is no coincidence that the chapter revealing Snape's true allegiance is called 'The Prince's Tale', telling us that Snape truly is the same Prince Harry admired and wished was his father.
Harry's feelings towards Snape after the Prince's tale is obvious. Throughout Snape's memories, he identifies with him, not James. He immediately notices that James has an air of being loved and adored while Snape conspicuously lacks it. He cannot bring himself to watch Snape's Worst Memory again. After watching the memories, he identifies with both Snape and Tom Riddle as 'the abandoned boys' who were outcasts and only found their home in Hogwarts.
In short, I believe Harry's admiration of Snape was not sudden or inexplicable but something he always reluctantly felt. He identified with Snape even when he hated him. Once he saw Snape's memories in his entirety, he understood and identified with them even more because Harry has been in Snape's shoes. He's been a dark-haired, abused, bullied, half-blood outcast. And he knows how hard it is to be brave in those circumstances. While the readers might have trouble understanding why Snape would have a child named after him, Harry doing so is not a surprise.
#severus snape#harry james potter#Albus Severus Potter#Harry Potter#harry potter meta#the half-blood prince#pro snape#name discourse again#harry's feelings towards snape are complicated#and profound#and anyone who paid attention should not be surprised by the name choice
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Fake Fiancée - Part 3
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4
MASTERLIST
NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didnât want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesnât feel rushed!Â
It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!
Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together đ
Love you guys! Enjoy đ„°
***
We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.
If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?
Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch meâmonths later at the same exact bar we'd met inâflirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...
He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.
I was pissed.
Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.
In retrospect, I may have overreacted.
Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.
Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?
Spencer,
I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.
And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.
I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.
But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.
I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other timeâ the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.
When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.
But the thing that always gets me the most is your smileâ even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.
I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.
I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.
But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.
Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.
Yours, Y/N
P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.
***
Y/N,
I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)
And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundingsâ I was simply surrounded by you.
But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook muchâ in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.
But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.
Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.
Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.
I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.
But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.
Yours, Spencer.
P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.
That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.
***
I was definitely way too in my head about this.
It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.
So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?
Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.
I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.
So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.
In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.
Spencer,
Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.
I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.
Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.
Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.
In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.
Yours,
Y/N
***
In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.
Was that pathetic?
I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...
The whine I let out truly was pathetic.
You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...
My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...
Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...
You pathetic, needy little thing...
My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.
Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...
By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.
Holy mother ofâ
The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.
Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.
She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.
Y/N,
I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.
See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...
I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.
I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.
I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.
If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.
That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.
It's the least I can do.
Yours, Spencer.
And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.
My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.
I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.
Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.
My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.
The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see itâ a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.
There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N
I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.
I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.
A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.
My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured handâher handâ was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.
The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.
I tried to imagine it againâ my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.
My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.
You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...
Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.
But she never did.
Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.
Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.
My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.
But then suddenly it was thereâ Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second untilâ
I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.
I'd done it again...
And now we most certainly were not even.
I glanced over at my phoneâplugged into the laptopâand then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.
***
I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.
I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.
But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.
Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.
Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.
Also sorry we're not even anymore.
But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.
***
Dearest Y/N,
I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).
Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.
I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.
I'd do anything to please you.
And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.
Yours, Spencer.
***
The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.
It irked me.
Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.
But I should have known better.
One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.
I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.
Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."
By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.
"Y/N... I... HâHi, you look... incredible."
"OâOh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."
He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!
I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.
Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.
"Is it, uh... What you expected?"
"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.
"My apartment."
"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."
The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.
And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.
I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.
"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."
"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.
Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.
"You're sure?"
"Mhm."
"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."
Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.
He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.
"Don't you dare."
It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.
I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.
His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.
My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.
He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.
Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.
I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...
Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.
"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"
We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."
I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."
He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled backâ Tonight felt... different.
It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.
We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.
"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.
"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."
"Right. No smartphone."
Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.
His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.
"What were you thinking about?"
He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"
Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.
"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."
"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."
"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."
The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.
So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"
I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.
And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.
"Hands?"
Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.
He watched intently as I dropped my skirtâa bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).
I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"
"Uh huh."
The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.
But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.
I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. Â The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.
"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."
The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.
Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.
I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.
Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.
But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.
What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.
Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.
I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.
Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.
I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.
When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.
"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.
"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."
We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.
And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.
Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.
"Wâ" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"
Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."
"You... kept it?"
I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.
"YâYeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember youâWell, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... WâWearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."
"You never take it off?"
I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.
Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.
"No."
"Why?"
My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.
"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."
With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.
"I think I might love you..."
Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.
"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."
Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.
I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.
And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.
He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.
And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.
***
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PREQUEL ARC: PART 2 - THE HOUK
A/N:Â Part 2 is here! First and foremost, can I just say thank you so much for the reception Part 1 received and to those who (gasps!) actually want me to tag them for updates??? I donât know how to react??? Iâm so touched??????? Itâs so motivating and has reminded me why I love sharing my scribbles!
Thereâs a greater focus on world/character building in this chapter so if it feels a bit rambling or description heavy, I do apologise! Like I said, Iâm trying to build some context to the reader-insert before we get to the smut, and I hope that Iâve kept her general enough that she doesnât cross the line too much into OC territory and becomes unrelatable. As always, constructive criticism is welcome! My style of writing leaves much to be desired so I would love to know if something doesnât make sense so I can improve and fix it. But enough of that, on with the show!
Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader
Word Count: 5.2k
Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)
Warnings: Language and slight injury detail.
Plot:Â You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.
AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist
8 ABY, Mynock, Dandoran.
The second time you met him, he had dislocated his shoulder after a nasty clash with a Houk.
Your dealing with the Mandalorian on Klatooine had moved to the back of your mind and you rarely, if ever, thought about it. It was merely another encounter with a rough character that needed some medical attention. You wouldnât have been able to hazard a guess at how many similar characters you saw in a week while you worked at the clinic. Even more so when youâd left Klatooine after becoming disillusioned that the New Republic were actually trying to make a difference.
You had heard stories from the Core and Mid Rim planets. Stories of the investment and progress being made to rebuild after the tyranny of the Empire, of the billions of credits being poured into the development of new ship building centers on Corellia and large, extravagant residencies for government members on Coruscant. Things, you were sure, that were not actually urgent necessities as they were desires. Especially given that the funds you received from that same government to sustain the clinic thinned before drying up completely a few months after your encounter with the Mandalorian.
âŠHemorrhaging more credits than is justified for the benefits weâre seeing in return.
The busybody politician with a colorful title and even more colorful robes waxed poetically, hiding the sentiment of disinterest in ways only a politician could. Half-heartedly trying to distract you by his explanations with empty praise and gratitude for your service during the Rebellion and your humanitarian work now, a true embodiment of what the New Republic stands for. He crowed like the colorful bird he looked like, dressed as he was with fine feathers lining the lapels of his robes.
You bristle at the memory of the hologramâs eyes flickering to look at anything besides you, running down the time you had spent weeks trying to get.
That was when the memory of the Mandalorian surfaced, surprisingly. How the day after you treated him you arrived at the medical center and saw  a familiar pouch of credits sitting innocently behind the check-in desk. When you enquired with the receptionist, she told you it was sitting there once she opened up earlier that morning. The only note left being on one of the datapads behind the desk, the scrawling font reading; to help with your work. You had let out a chuckle to yourself as you checked your schedule, wondering if the brutish male you had treated last night really was as cold as he portrayed himself to be.
The memory had incited a righteous anger that a bounty hunter was more willing to support a voluntary clinic than the government that set it up in the first place was.
I thought the Empire were the ones who put a credit limit on what a life is worth. You had hissed in return, interrupting what you were sure was a well-rehearsed and well used speech, before hanging up. You pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes, taking a shuddering breath as you tried not to be nihilistic in thinking that you had spent nearly half your life thinking you could make a difference, when, you were just serving the Empire in different clothing.
It wasnât a fair comparison; you knew the New Republic was neither as cruel nor as tyrannical and oppressive as itâs predecessor, but you had been made so dreadfully aware that in places like the Outer Rim, people would always be overlooked by those in power because they simply didnât offer enough to be worth looking at.
The realization was a raw wound to your soul. You had lost brothers and friends to the fight for liberation, but it didnât seem as though the grass was much greener on the other side. Maybe elsewhere in the galaxy it was, but where you were needed most, the grass was dehydrated and dying under the relentless sun.
With the clinic penniless, your meagre pension from the Rebellion was not nearly enough to keep it functioning. Add to that the reluctance of the other medics to run the clinic alongside you out of their own pocket and the intergalactic beacon for medical aid that alerted anyone in the parsec of where to go being disengaged, traffic stopped. The native Klatooinians preferred their own healers and very rarely, if ever, sought out medics from the New Republic.
For the first time in your life, your path wasnât clear. If you even had a path anymore.
That was how you found yourself on Dandoran, flying off a week after the last of the medics left Derelkann to the first planet that was habitable to humans. But by the Maker, it was even rougher than Klatooine. The temperate climate and lush greenery were more comfortable for you, but the city you found yourself in, Mynock, was to say the least, undesirable. Having once been Hutt Space, there were still several illegal operations active that kept the city going and you learned early on what areas to avoid and to always carry a blaster with you. But at least where there was activity, there was work for you.
***
You met Biran Sonter the very day you arrived, asking directions to the nearest medical facility, hoping they could use another medic. He was an elderly Mirialan male with a wealth of history behind him, his facial tattoos creased with deep wrinkles and a kindly smile that reminded you of your grandfather.
You were flabbergasted to learn that during the time of the Galactic Republic, he acted as the royal physician to the palace on Naboo.
As you choked on the tea he had kindly made for you at that revelation, you couldnât ask him quickly enough how he ended up here? On an Outer Rim backwater skughole of a planet and his tale had been sobering. When the Republic first fell, anyone who did not immediately surrender to the rising Empire was terminated. Biran had, at the time, only heard word of the death of the beloved former Queen Amidala and blamed the Empire vehemently. Escaping on one of the last shuttles from the Mid Rim planet before legions of clones descended, he arrived on Dandoran where no one, not even the Hutts cared enough to notice him. All they knew, was that he was an excellent doctor who charged little for his services and kept to himself. That was good enough for them. While he treated a vast number of criminals ranging from thieves to bounty hunters, he was not wholly merciful. He somehow managed to avoid or talk his way out of treating anyone in the organized crime syndicates or known traffickers and killers. It may have gone against a physicianâs code to do ones best to save every life, but he like many, made their own code in the Outer Rim.
You fell into a fast and easy friendship with the Mirialan after that, your similar histories of working in the medical field despite being decades apart giving you plenty to talk about. The practice Biran ran in Mynock was always busy and he was only too grateful when you offered to take the weight off his old shoulders and gradually, his clients began to expect to see you most of the day and Biran for a few hours in the early morning. You were never short on work between cantina brawls, accidents and the downright attacks that took place in Mynock and the next eighteen standard months seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, Klatooine a distant memory, as was the Mandalorian you met there.
The night you saw him again, was no different to any other you spent enjoying a quiet drink before heading back to turn in for the night.
You had been in the process of leaving the cantina, recognizing that the later it grew, the rowdier and aggressive the clientele became. You could handle yourself as well as anyone who made their home in Hutt Space, but you knew better than to be blatantly reckless when you were on your own. It wasnât like you had the squadron you stayed with throughout the Rebellion for backup as you once did, and your closest ally would probably break in half if you pushed him too hard. So no, you were not staying late with Mynocks newest resident of a Houk warlord and the company he seemed to attract.
The Houk in question was a cruel and belligerent brute, a former local warlord by the name of Gappo Teff. His reputation for inflicting punishment disproportionate to any slight committed against him or the Empire was one of the many echoes of the former imperial rule that was still being felt in the galaxy nearly three years after its collapse.
The stories of the chokehold he held over Sullust would make even a hardened soldierâs stomach churn. How he managed to escape the liberation of the planet without being dragged to the noxious surface of Sullust to suffer for the pain he had caused so many, was a mystery. But there he was, sitting like a king in the cantina you found yourself in, bellowing laughter ricocheting obnoxiously throughout the space, not a care in the world that he was a wanted felon. Â
It might have been to do with the fact that he was at least seven and a half foot tall, with a mass that could easily fit three of you side by side across him and still not be seen. It might have been to do with the cold, milky blue of his small eyes, sunk into a skull so large it could probably shatter ribs and rupture organs if one were to be headbutted with it. The last thing anyone wanted was those eyes focusing on them. It could have been the heavy artillery modified blaster he kept laying on his lap; the weapon more of a cannon for those of a more regular stature. Whatever the reason, very few bounty hunters and even fewer New Republic guards came to collect him. He was probably one of the most easily found quarries on all Guild registers and New Republic wanted lists and yet, he languished in Mynock as if the Empire had never fallen and his reign was still assured.
Making your way to the entrance, you came up short as someone walked in, your nose coming abruptly close to a reddish-brown durasteel chest-plate. Taking a step back, your eyes did a double take at the familiar unpainted beskar helmet. Subconsciously, you had stepped to the side, the Mandalorian continuing to walk without a word as if you hadnât nearly walked into him. Mandalorians were a rare sight these days, so you could be forgiven for staring. Though, you were most likely staring for entirely different reasons compared to everyone else in the cantina.
The armor was the same, if not a bit more worn, as was the dark boiled woolen cape and pulse rifle strapped to his back. But it was the gait; how could someone walk both gracefully and arrogantly, almost cocky in his self-assurance that he was in control wherever he went. It explained why he was so determined not to let his injury be known by his walk the last time you saw him. Because you had seen him before, there was no doubt in your mind that this was the same irritable reek of a Mandalorian you met in Derelkann years ago.
He stood in the middle of the cantina, assessing the place as his helmet scanned the area. If you didnât know any better, you say he wasâŠ
âOh, you gotta be kidding me.â You muttered to yourself when the helmet stopped on Teff. When you said bounty hunters didnât bother to come after him, you should have been more specific. Smart bounty hunters didnât bother hunting Gappo Teff, which explained why the one you knew of was right there looking for him.
A choice lay before you. Leave now and lock your doors until morning⊠or wait. For what, you couldnât be sure. But if the Mandalorian wasnât killed tonight by Teff, he was going to wish he was with the injuries he would probably sustain.
You let your head fall back on your shoulders as you exhaled. Why were you so soft for lost causes and wayward souls?
The Houks bodyguards left much to be desired, crumbling to the ground before they had even drawn their blasters, smoke rising from the blaster wounds inflicted effortlessly by Din.
The bodyguards werenât what worried Din. Their boss hardly needed protecting, and he wasnât going to go down without a fight.
The groan and screech of the metal table being shoved away by Teff as he stood to his full height made Din grit his teeth, arms open as he boomed, âAh Mando, I was wondering when youâd try your luck at me. Your reputation is becoming rather infamous throughout the parsec.â
A guttural, wet laugh left the purple skinned quarry as Din remained silent and kept his blaster aimed. Damn, but the piece of bantha crap was big. He quickly scanned his peripheral, but it seemed the residents of Mynock had more self-interest than to trade blaster fire over one warlord, the barkeep casually making his was into the backroom of the bar to keep out of harms way.
âWhy donât you hang up that Guild work and let me make you a better offer.â Teff boomed, taking a swing of his drink, streams of the yellow fluid running down the sides of him mouth as those frosty eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter.
Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; negotiations by the quarry were his least favorite reaction to being caught but he knew better than to think he had captured the colossal male yet. Until Teff was either dead or frozen in carbonite, he was a danger. Luckily, the orders were to bring him in dead or alive. Seems the New Republic were fed up with him still breathing. He couldnât say he blamed them.
âNo?â the Houk pushed when Din didnât respond, âToo bad, youâd have made an excellent addition to my collection.â And with more speed than Din had anticipated from the large male, he charged.
You had the good sense to leave the cantina as soon as the first blaster shot was fired, pulling the hood of your dusty grey jacket over your head while you made your way back to the practice to gather a few things. Things that would be completely obsolete if he died but you wouldnât think that far. You were a realist, not a pessimist. The Houk might have had the advantage of height and sheer strength, but the Mandalorian was quicker, possibly smarter, and decked with enough firepower to make a starfighter pilot drool.
So, you put the odds about sixty forty in favor of the Mandalorian. Not that you would ever tell him that.
Teff roared in anger as Din rolled out of the way again, shooting his grappling hook to latch onto the Houks shoulder and yanked hard enough to throw the male off balance. Despite his large size however, Teff was able to slide his foot back to catch himself, putting him in direct line with Din.
He was on his feet in no time as the Houk charged at him, lowering his head so that on contact, Dinâs left shoulder was thrown back into the wall of the cantina. His breath left him as the impact winded him, a dull but growing pain throbbing from his shoulder before Teffâs vile breath permeated even his helmet and a large hand wrapped around Dinâs throat. He could feel his feet leave the floor and the weight of his body pulling downward made the pressure on his windpipe all the heavier.
âOh well, at least you tried.â Teff gloated, his head leaning closer as if to peer into the visor and that distraction was all Din needed to lift his hand and engage his flamethrower, engulfing the Houk in flames. Din gasped in a breath when he was dropped, the squeals of pain coming from Teff disconcerting as he staggered around the cantina, desperately looking for something to extinguish the inferno his clothing and more vulnerable tissue had become.
Din waited a few more measured breaths before lifting the blaster and shooting the quarry in the vulnerable side of the neck, satisfied with the resounding bang the body made as it fell to the ground, flames still burning bright until he picked up the half-drunk tankard on Teffs table to douse the fire lest he be completely unrecognizable upon delivery.
Din looked around, the cantina was empty; the silence suddenly deafening as he looked back down at the body.
Now, how to get him back to the Razor Crest.
Din sighed.
âWe have to stop meeting like this.â
You held up your hands unsurprised when the Mandalorian spun on the ramp of his ship, blaster raised and aimed right at you. He tilted his head slightly, taking you in and you tried not to fidget under the gaze you could feel raking over you despite not being able to see his eyes. What you could see though, was how limp his left arm was hanging to his side.
âThe demon medic from Klatooine.â He muttered, finally placing your face and lowering his blaster slowly while you lowered your arms.
âIâll take that as a compliment.â You snorted before nodding to his arm, âAnd youâll probably be calling me a lot worse when I tell you that that arm needs tending to.â
He shifted slightly, turning his body so you wouldnât be able to see. You just crossed your arms across your chest and stared at him pointedly. He held your gaze and was still as a statue. You could play the silence game too if that was how he wanted to do this. It was only a matter of time before one of you broke and you werenât the one with a dislocated shoulder, so youâd say that the odds were in your favor.
It seemed like time dragged on before, without saying anything, the Mandalorian sighed and turned towards the ship.
You bit down on a smile, but you could still feel it creeping upon your lips as you congratulated yourself on winning. Two nil, you tallied in your head, not bad girl.
The ship⊠well the ship was a fossil and that was being generous. But it was clean and obviously well taken of, if the tidy hull was anything to go by.
Apart from the charred corpse lying in the middle of course, but those were just details. Easily overlooked. The smell however⊠that was a different story, but you held back any comments. You still couldnât fathom how heâd managed to drag a fully grown Houk through the town one-handed, but then you knew that the strength and discipline of the Mandalorians was unrivalled. He could have done it through sheer determination and honestly, you were lucky to have found him at all. But people in Mynock liked to talk, so following the rumors' had let you there relatively easy.
A sigh broke your train of thought, âLetâs get this over with.â
The warrior seemed resigned to his fate as he stepped over the corpse and you followed suit, mind instantly running through the correct procedure and treatment.
âWe have to get the bone in the upper arm into the correct position before it slips back into joint, otherwise the force will just break your arm.â You explained as you moved to stand in front of the large warrior when he sat back on one of the many crates pushed against the wall of the ship. You could barely hear the short exhales coming from the modulator and you could only guess that he was holding back speaking, whether in pain or frustration that you had strong-armed him into accepting treatment again.
âBut hey, look on the bright side.â
His visor tilted slightly to look at you.
âNo droids needed.â You shrugged a shoulder and sent him a grin when he said nothing. When he looked away, you focused your attention back on the problem shoulder; it wasnât immediately clear that it had been dislocated, the pauldron he wore hiding the jutting ball of the joint that was no doubt pressed uncomfortably against his flesh. What you could see was that his left side was hanging just a bit lower than his right, and the inability to move the arm was a dead giveaway.
âAre you just going to stare at it or actually do what you said you would when you barged onto my ship?â The rasp was closer to you as he turned his head, the rumble of his voice decidedly deeper than you remembered last time. Or perhaps it always had been, and you just hadnât been paying enough attention, more focused on the very real threat of having a dead body on your hands as the poison spread. You rolled your eyes; or it was all the short and biting commands he only seemed to know how to give as opposed to actually speaking that made you forget the voice. The man could be attractive, if he wasnât so frustrating.
âI canât see it properly.â You replied, agitated with him again. He got under your skin too easily, and ruined your cool demeanor.
âYou dealt with the problem just fine before.â He snapped back, pain making him cranky.
âYou didnât have a bone out of place last time!â You stopped yourself, sucking in a breath before releasing it to prevent yourself from snapping again.
âAt least,â you bartered, âlet me remove the pauldron. I can feel around the duraweave to get an idea. I wonât see any more of you than I did last time.â
He didnât say anything again for a time and honestly, he was the slowest person youâd ever met at receiving emergency medical care. Half the men you treated during the Rebellion would yell until youâd taken care of the worst of their injuries before they even considered if it was what they wanted or not.
âFine.â Was all he responded, making no move to remove the offending piece so you took that as your cue to feel around the curved metal cautiously, feeling where it attached to his duraweave and releasing it into your hands before placing it down on a separate crate.
âThere, that wasnât so hard, was it?â A warning growl echoed in the hull, turning you back to your task with a hum.
It seemed the joint had popped forward, no doubt from caving in as Teff collided with Mandoâs shoulder. You leaned forward, your fingers feeling around the area as gently as you could while his breathing came out a little shorter. You sent him an apologetic smile.
âIâm going to have to ask you to stay still, okay? Usually Iâd have someone to holdââ
âI can keep myself still, just do it.â He snapped finally, turning to look at you before he looked away again. You said nothing more as you took his gloved hand in yours, turning the forearm over and feeling the hand clench in yours when he hissed.
âShh, nearly there.â You soothed, moving your hand under his elbow to lift it so it was aligned with Mandoâs shoulder. You stood, keeping the arm in place and twisting yourself to stand facing his side.
You were definitely out to get him. There was no other explanation for why he only seemed to be seriously injured in your presence. Din tried to tell himself he was being over-dramatic and irrational, that you hadnât even been on the same planet when he was injured the first time, but then you opened your mouth and he felt justified in his petulant thoughts.
âOn three.â He heard you warn and all he could offer was a single nod; the sooner he got this over with the better.
âOneâŠâ You jerked the arm forward and slipped the joint back into place quickly with a sickening crack and searing pain took his breath away before it began to ebb immediately.
âDANKâŠ. FERRICK!â Din yelled as his good arm reached across to grip his left, bending forward as he breathed through the flash of pain. You moved out of his way, waiting for him to look back up at you through the helmet, deep pants making his chest heave. You cocked your head to the side when his eyes found yours, a clear question there.
He groaned as he sat back, leaning his head against the hull, âIt⊠doesnât hurt as much anymore.â He admitted, thinking that the smile you gave him was somewhat worth the knock to his ego at having to admit such a thing in the first place. And like last time, before he could even worry about the concerning direction that thought had led to, you were fluttering about opening crates and bins as if you owned the place.
âWhat the hellââ he made to stand indignantly.
âDo you have any spare cloth?â You interrupted, âYour arm needs to be bound for a few days. If you have bacta it might reduce the healing time a bit but honestly, I donât think dislocations can be rushed despite recent studies. Rushing back to heavily lifting or activity for at least six weeks is a sure way to hurt yourself again.â
You were rambling now as you set a pile of disused yet clean cloth you found on your lap, sitting across from him as he just blinked at this enigma of a woman. Giving him orders in his own ship, were you daft?
Your eyes sharpened and shot to his and he was suddenly glad you couldnât see behind his mask. His eyes had widened guiltily at the thought that you had read his mind.
âYou will do what youâre told, understand Mando?â You warned as your fingers tied a loose sling from strips of cloth youâd pulled apart without even having to look at it, deft fingers looping the material and strengthening it with several more layers woven in for good measure.
âIf you insist on getting injured so often, you live with the consequences. And the consequences are doing what youâre fucking told and being happy about it, got it? Sulk if you want, so long as you keep the arm bound and donât take on any jobs for at least two months.â
He opened his mouth a few times at the audacity, did she have a death wish? He couldnât remember the last time anyone had spoken to him as if he were no more than a child and it made his blood boil. But just as quickly as the anger arose, it simmered as she muttered while watching her fingers tie off the sling,
âYou donât actually seem like a bad guy, and the galaxy canât afford to lose anymore⊠not bad guys.â She seemed unsure of giving out even this level of praise but then again, she only had their first encounter to go by.
He grunted; not sure how to respond. And when Din was uncomfortable, he resorted to silence.
You got to your feet once the sling was suitably strong enough to support the weight of his arm without unravelling or breaking and you indicated to him, âMay I?â
He jerked his head up in affirmation and you maneuvered the sling to sit correctly under his elbow and forearm, coaxing him to lift it slightly with a tap before you looped the tied end over his helmet, adjusting the length slightly to fit against him.
âYou left Klatooine.â the statement rose from the warrior, his tone quieter than youâd heard him all day. Was he... trying to make conversation? Din told himself that it was merely out of curiosity from seeing you by chance on two totally different planets.
Blinking in surprise, you sat back on the crate in front of him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on one of your hands, âNew Republic stopped funding the clinic and I realized that theyâre all the same when it comes to the Outer Rim.â
He snorted in agreement, honestly, he wasnât surprised to hear the New Republic had cut their losses on charity. It wasnât in their nature to funnel money away from the Core planets.
âBut itâs not all bad,â you continued, âI work with a doctor here. Heâs old now so he should be enjoying his retirement. Iâm kept busy andâŠâ
He watched you while he waited for you to finish, surely there was more? But when you just shrugged and sent him a tight smile, he felt an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his neck, a familiarity that made him almost want to smile back even if you couldnât see it. Almost. But not quite. He was unnerved at the⊠empathy he had for your situation. He too just⊠kept busy. It wasnât towards any end beyond supporting the covert and the foundlings there. But for himself, he just kept working towards some translucent, non-existent goal, one job ended, and another began.
Something in your eyes told him you were doing the exact same thing. It unnerved him to think about.
âEchoyâlaâŠâ the word left him without knowing and you blinked,
âHm?â
He shook his head and stood, grunting a bit at the ache in his shoulder when it jostled a bit, âNothing. It seems I owe you my thanks again, demon medic.â
âI do have a name you know.â You snorted, letting the previous topic go as it seemed to just make him more awkward and grumpy than he already was. You packed away the medikit and replaced the unused cloth back where you found it.
âSomehow I donât think itâll be as fitting.â
âWhatever, sunshine.â You looked over your shoulder at him, the sling looking so out of place as he hooked a thumb in the utility belt he wore. It was amazing that he could still look as intimidating as he did. You gathered your things and started down the ramp leisurely. He followed you silently until he was standing at the entrance to the ship.
âDemon or not⊠thank you.â He called out as your feet hit the dusty ground of Mynock once again. You looked back over your shoulder and gave a single wave, calling something back to him that did make him smile behind his helmet this time.
As you disappeared into the streets of Mynock, he tested the name you had thrown back to him, rolling the syllables, and testing the vowels as he repeated it to himself.
Pity, he thought. He hated being wrong about anything, but somehow, your name was a much better fit than demon medic.
Not that he would ever admit that to you, of course.
Taglist:
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#the mandalorian fic#the mandalorian fanfic#din djarin fanfic#din djarin fic#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#mando x you#mando x reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian#mando#din djarin#din djarin imagine#mando imagine#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal fic
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iâve been looking through a lot of my old writing recently, and i decided to rewrite this oneshot that i did way back in the potato anon days. i wrote this for fun, so thereâs a lot of references to my other works in here!Â
(keep in mind: this is not betaâd whatsoever.)
(also: i have no godly idea how the legal system works)
Sally was an attorney before she moved to Radiator Springs, and a damn good one at that; she had a knack for winning most of the cases she took, even right out of law school. Losing was not in her vocabulary, and sheâd be damned to hell if this was any different.
It was mid-August when the New Mexico state police rolled into town: all crisp, black suits and perpetually frowning faces. Fillmore had gone missing over three months earlier-- and, knowing him, nobody really thought it was a big deal. It was never uncommon for him to wander off for a while, only to turn up a few days later unharmed. As weeks turned into months, though⊠there was no longer any kind of plausible deniability that something bad might have happened. Missing posters were hung throughout the county (though, knowing Fillmore, he could be quite literally anywhere in the world, right now), and calls were made to the âguys running the show,â as Sheriff liked to call them.
Really, the only person to remain unconcerned through all of this was Sarge. Somehow.
âTell me again, Sergeant Jones,â Detective Holden Parker said, putting out his cigarette in the pristine silver ashtray, âWhere were you on the night of May fifteenth?â
âOut,â Sarge grumbled. Sally cursed silently to herself, and wished he would not give such short and aggressive answers. That would only lead to his arrest.
âCare to be a little more descriptive?â
âNo.â
The detective grunted, and scribbled something down on his notepad. He underlined it twice, and gently set his pen down on the paper. Then, he asked, âWhat was your relationship to Fillmore Callahan?â
âWe wereâŠâ Sarge paused, as though he was withholding something. He finishes his answer steadily: âFriends.â
âFriends,â The detective repeats, âAnd, how did you become friends, Sergeant Jones?â
âGot to talking, one day. One thing led to another.â
âReally? Thatâs it?â
Sarge opened his mouth to retaliate-- to defend himself, perhapsâ but Sally interjected before he got the chance: âDetective Parker. I believe this was an interview, not an interrogation?â
The detective shot her a rather rude glance, before continuing on: âA lot of people seemed to think you argued a lot. Any reason for that?â
âDifferent political beliefs,â Sarge replied, âAnd, it wasnât arguing.â
âOh?â The detective said, âIf not arguing, what was it?â
âJust⊠conversations.â
Detective Parker raised one thick, black eyebrow, and wrote something else down on his notepad. âDid you⊠argue with him for any other reasons?â
Sarge sat silently for a moment, fingers tapping on his leg. He answered with a short âNo.â
âSo, you didnât have any reason to want to harm your neighbor?â
Sarge sighed, exasperated, âDetective, if you think I was the one who killed himââ
âKill? Why do you say kill?â
âHe wasnât very agreeable.â
âDid you argue about that?â
âDetective,â Sally interrupted, once again, âI think our time here is up.â
Detective Parker glanced at the clock on the wall, and said, âRight.â
. . .
âYou canât be vague like that,â Sally said, the better part of an hour later as they were on their way home. Her knuckles were white on the pristine steering wheel of her Porsche. âIt makes you seem suspicious.â
Sarge didnât reply. He hadnât actually stopped to consider that Fillmore might actually be gone for good; no goodbye, no phone call⊠nothing. He was with Fillmore, on the night of May fifteenth; they had gone out to one of the lookouts to smoke together, and had some drinks afterward. Sarge was positive that Fillmore would have said something to him, given him any indication that heâd be leaving⊠Disparagingly, he begins to think that maybe, after all this time, Fillmore had decided to leave for good.Â
The radio droned, unhelpful: âsince youâve been gone, since youâve been gone...â
âDo you really think heâs dead?â Sally asked, suddenly. Her voice was much smaller than it had been before.
âI⊠donât know,â Sarge replied, âI donât want to think about it like that.â
âYeah⊠me either.â
Sally turned the radio up, as if to end the conversation. For that, Sarge was thankful.
. . .
The victimâs name was Fillmore Callahan. He was fifty-nine years old, and ran a dive bar in Radiator Springs called the Taste-In, which sold different kinds of homemade moonshine. He had been reported missing on August tenth, three months after he had gone missing. Apparently, the guy disappearing for a day or two wasnât that uncommon.
Detective Parker found himself at his breaking point the minute he exited the interrogation room. There was no crime scene, no leads, no suspects. He was beginning to think that the victim had actually run off somewhere, and would be back eventually. As far as anyone seemed to know, he had just left one morning.
âGo home, Parker,â his partner, Detective Grant, said as he passed by his desk. Night had long since fallen, and the graveyard shift was just getting started.Â
Parker ignored him, and continued flipping through his stack of papers. âIt doesnât make any sense,â he said, âNobody knows anything, and the people who do aren't willing to talkâŠâ
Grant groaned, falling into the chair across from his desk. âParker, please, this case is like, consuming your life,â he implored, âDoesnât your wife miss you?â
âSomeone in that town was the one to do it. They canât all be innocent,â Parker replied, âThatâs all I'm saying.â
âJesus, Parker, have you ever heard of someone killing off their friend for no reason? Wait, nevermind, donât answer that. Point isââ
âWhat about that Sergeant guy?â Parker interrupted, flicking through his papers, âHe was pretty suspicious in the interviewâŠâ
âWhat?â Grant snorted, âYou think that the army guy did it? Please, he looked the most worried out of everyone.â
âHowâd you read that on him?â
âJust his vibe, you know how it is,â Grant waved tiredly at him, and collected his briefcase, âLater, Parker. Donât overwork yourself with this one.â
Parker scoffed, and turned back to his paperwork. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Grant leave.
. . .Â
âWhere were you on the night of May fifteenth?â The detective asked. Flo scooted closer to her husband.
âAt home, man,â Ramone replied, âWe closed the shops for the day, and headed home.â
âDid everyone else do the same?â
âEveryone except Fillmore and Sarge, I suppose,â Flo said, âTheyâd always spend time with one another at the end of the day. Itâs always been like that.â
âDo you know where they were?âÂ
âNo, man,â Ramone said.
Flo added: âWe try not to pry into other peopleâs business.â
The detective nodded, and scribbled something down. âDo you know of any reason that Sergeant Jones would want to hurt him?â
Floâs hand flew to her mouth. âWhat? No!âÂ
âListen, friend,â Ramone said, voice dangerously low, âIf you think that Sarge would ever hurt him, then you are looking in the wrong places. He would never.â
The detective frowned, and circled something on his notepad.
. . .Â
âLighting McQueen,â Parker said, âGood to finally meet you. Huge fan.â
McQueen remained unfazed; a flat, emotionless expression glued to his face. His arms were crossed, and his eyes flickered around the room as though he was unsure about something.
Parker coughed, and frowned. âUm⊠Where were you on the night of May fifteenth?â
âAt home,â McQueen replied, like all of the others.
âAlrightâŠâ Parker trailed off. âWould you happen to know where Sergeant Jones was that night?â
McQueen shrugged, shaking his head. âProbably with Fillmore.â
âIs it⊠normal for them to be spending so much time together?â
âYeah.â
Parker turned back to his notepad, and drew an arrow to the note he had circled upwards of ten times: âJONES DID IT.â
âAnd⊠they were friends, right?â
âMm-hm.â McQueen replied, âActually, they argued a lot. But I donât think that would change anything.â
âWhy do you think that?â
âI dunno, theyâŠâ McQueen sighed, exasperated, squeezing his eyes shut. He was very pale. âSarge wouldnât hurt him. He wouldnât do that.â
Parker frowns, and draws another arrow. âThank you for your time,â he says quickly, ushering him out of the room.
. . .Â
Lizzie didnât know why she was in a police station, nor did she know why the man in front of her was getting so frustrated.
âTell me again,â The detective said, âWhere was Jones on the night of May fifteenth?â
âHow should I know?â Lizzie repeated, âHe keeps to himself, that man. I was out with my Stanleyââ
âYes, I know,â the detective interrupted through gritted teeth,â Youâve told me where you were.â
âI suppose I have.â
âWhat about Fillmore? Where was he?â
Lizzie hummed. That was a tricky question. Hadnât he gone to another protest in DCâŠ? No, wait, that was last week. âWell, he was with Sarge, wasnât he? I swear, those boys are inseparableâŠâ
She watched a grim look come across the detectiveâs face. âThank you, maâam,â he said, drawing an arrow on his notepad, âThatâs all I needed to know.â
. . .Â
Sarge was brought in for questioning a second time on the morning of August fourteenth.Â
âI want you to tell me where you were on the night of May fifteenth,â Detective Parker said, âI want to know everything, hour by hour.â
Sarge glared at him. The detective glared back.
âFour oâclock,â the detective said, challengingly.
âAt Floâs.â
âFive oâclock.â
âAt Floâs.â
âSix oâclock.â
âAt Floâs.
âSeven oâclock.â
âWe went to a lookout,â Sarge said, âHe has a friend in California who sells him pot every so often, and he invited me to smoke with him.â
Detective Parker raised an eyebrow. âSo, what lookout were you at?âÂ
âI donât think it has a name,â Sarge replied, âFillmore just told me it was one of his old spots, one that Sheriff didnât know about.â
He watches as Detective Parker writes something down on his notepad. âEight oâclock.â
âStill at the lookout.â
âNine oâclock.â
âWe went back down the mountain to have some drinks together.â
âWhere were you drinking?â
âHis place.â
The detective wrote something else down. âTen oâclock.â
âI went home.â
Itâs silent for a moment, the only sound being the gentle ticking of the wall clock. Detective Parker studied his notes for a moment.
âI want you to tell me your relationship to Fillmore Callahan,â He said, âHow did you meet him?â
âItâs a long story--â
âTell me.â
Sarge sighed. âIt was the sixties. Fillmore was big into the protest thing, and he wanted a demonstration in Radiator Springs. Sheriff allowed a permit for under fifty people, but there were hundreds out there⊠I owed him a favor, so I took leave and headed in to help keep it under control,â Under the table, he kneaded one hand into the leg of his slacks. âI was still in the military at the time, so I was just there to intimidate them into leaving.â
âOn your record, it says you were dishonorably discharged from the military on July 10th, 1967, under Article 133. Is this related to what happened at the demonstration?â
Sarge frowned. âI plead the fifth.â
Detective Parker frowned, and wrote something down on his notepad. âSo, you got discharged and moved to Radiator Springs. Correct?â
âCorrect.â
âAnd, Iâm meant to believe that you and Fillmore were good friends from then on out?â
âYes.â
âThank you for your time, Sergeant Jones,â Detective Parker said, âThis was very⊠enlightening.â
. . .Â
âI have a theory,â Parker said, throwing his file-folders down on Grantâs desk.
âOh, boy. Here we go.â
âYou know how Jones got kicked out of the military?â Parker said, gesturing wildly, âI think that Callahan had something to do with it.â
âParker⊠what?â
âSo, if Callahan had something to do with Jones getting kicked out of the army, then itâs not unreasonable to think that heâs still angry about it!â Parker said, âFor Godâs sake, Grant, he goes by the nickname Sarge! This guy loves the army!âÂ
âSo⊠let me get this straight,â Grant said, puzzled. âYou think that Jones killed himâ or, at the very least, kidnapped himâ because he was discharged forty years ago?â
âYes! He obviously did it!â
Grant glared back at him. âHow many times do these poor people have to tell you, Parker, they were friends.â
âAre you sure about that?â Parker said, âIs anyone sure about that?!â
Grant just shook his head. Parker was losing his mind, thatâs for goddamn sure. Too many all-nighters.Â
. . .Â
âYou have absolutely no right to come in here and search my--â
âWe have a warrant, Sergeant Jones, please calm down.â
Sarge seethed as he watched state police officers rifle through his belongings. Things were moved around, tossed about, thrown haphazardly to one side or the other. âYou wonât find anything,â he said, âI didnât kill him, I didnât do anything!â
Detective Parker, who had been supervising the whole ordeal, shot him a dangerous glance. Sarge was too close to taking him down out of anger. He could take the guy, he was half his sizeâŠ.
âWhatâs this?â
Sarge snapped his attention to one of the officers, who had busied himself with pulling a long, wooden box from the utility closet.Â
âMy shotgun,â Sarge said, matter-of-fact, âI have a foid card, in case youâre looking to arrest me for that, too.â
âHave you used it recently, Sergeant?â
âOf course not, why would I need to use it?â
âWhy do you have it?â
Sarge glared at the detective.Â
Detective Parker glared right back.Â
Sarge sees red. He thinks, Oh-ho, this is a fucking challenge. He WANTS to arrest me.Â
âPut that in an evidence bag, willya?â The detective said, breaking eye contact.Â
âWe found something in here!â An officer said, two rooms down in his bedroom. He rushed out, an old Chuck Taylor shoe box tucked under his armâŠ
⊠and, in that moment, Sarge felt a wave of panic behind his eyes. The officer pulled the top off of the shoebox, revealing those god-forsaken photographs that Sarge knew he shouldâve thrown away years ago. He remembered buying that disposable camera, way back in the summer of â67.Â
The Detective flipped through them briefly, and Sarge knew he had been completely exposed. Fillmore laughing, smiling, mock-frowning at the camera; and, by some stroke of misfortune, one with his lips pressed to Sargeâs smiling cheek, half-cropped out of frame.
âCare to explain, Sergeant?â
He met the Detectiveâs eyes, and knew his fate would not be favorable.
. . . .Â
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding me!âÂ
Sally coughed, and avoided the gazes of onlookers that her outburst had attracted. She hissed, âDid you not think that would beâ oh, I dunnoâ fucking imporatnt to tell them?!â
âIt wasnât important!â Sarge was completely pale as he said it, nearly pulling his own graying hair from his skull. It didnât seem like he was able to sit still, under the gaze of the correctional officer that observed their conversation. âThat was all years ago!â
âYou didnât think to mention it in the hundreds of times youâve been asked âhowâd you meet himâ?â
âI donât like to talk about all of thatâ/â
âJesus Christ. Fillmore is missing, and now youâve been arrested for something you didnât do.â Sally pinched the bridge of her nose, trying desperately hard to stay collected. âYouâd better start praying that heâs alive somewhere.â
Sarge did not reply, instead leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.
. . .Â
âHow did you meet Fillmore Callahan?â Detective Grant asked, smoothing a wrinkle out of his pristine notepad. âDonât worry, I wonât grill you like Parker does. I just want to know the truth.â
Grant offered Sergeant Jones and his lawyer a comforting smile. Neither of them offered one back.Â
âIt was summer. 1967, I think,â Jones replied, completely pale. âHe hated the war in Vietnam. He had a permit to protest out at Willyâs Butte with a crowd of under fifty people, but hundreds turned up. Sheriff called me up one day, and asked me to come keep it under control.â
Grant hummed, remembering that Parker had been obsessed with that. âIt doesnât make sense, with how different they areâŠâÂ
âHereâs a better question,â Grant finally said, âHow did your affair with Mr. Callahan start and end, Sergeant Jones?â
Somehow, Jones got paler. âItâs, um⊠difficult to talk about.â
âTake your time.â
Jones was silent for a long while, looking pointedly down at the table.Â
âIt was the fourth of July, just a couple of weeks after that demonstration. I had taken leave to visit with Sheriff that weekendâ me and him were old army buddies, you seeâ and Fillmore was in town at the time, too.â Jones rested his head in one hand, absently pulling at a strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead. âHe just⊠got into my head, if you know what I mean.â
âIâm not sure I do,â Grant replied, âElaborate on that?â
âHe just⊠I donât know how to describe it, really,â Jones replied, a look of vague discomfort on his face, as though he were remembering something he didnât want to. âWe went to Willyâs Butte together to watch the fireworks, and⊠one thing led to another, I suppose.â
âYou hooked up with him?â
Jones met his eye only to look away quickly, embarrassed. âNot that night, no.â
Grant turned to his notepad, and carefully wrote: Willyâs Butte. Fourth of July.
âYour file says you were dishonorably discharged from the army on July 10th, 1967,â Grant said, watching Jones flinch slightly. âAm I right in assuming that these events were correlated?â
âYes.â
âNow for the second part of that question, Sergeant Jones,â Grant said, keeping his tone even, âHow did your affair with him end?â
âThatâs erm⊠difficult to say,â Jones sighed, eyes locked on his now-interlaced fingers. âIt was very start-and-stop, for a while.â
âWell, letâs just go through all of it, really quick,â Grant turned to a new page in his notepad, writing a quick âbreakup #1â at the top of the page.Â
The lawyer checked her watch, frowning. Grant offered her a smile, âDonât worry, Ms. Carrera, it wonât take much longer.â
She smiled back at him easily, swatting one perfectly-manicured hand at him in an overly dismissive way, âIâm just keeping track of the time, donât mind me.â
âNo worries,â Grant replied. He turned back to Jones, whose eyes remained locked on his fingers. âSergeant Jones, when was the first time you and Mr. Callahan split?â
â1968,â Jones said, without hesitation. âIt was right after the road was abandoned.â
âSo⊠what happened?â
Jones had an overtly dark expression on his face as he spoke, sounding grim. âHe wanted me to move out to San Francisco with him. It wouldâve been⊠six months after my discharge. I didnât want to uproot my life again.â He paused, a look of despair briefly flickering across his face. âIt was just⊠a stupid argument, I guess. We got back together maybe six months after that.â
âAnd the next breakup?â
âA couple years later.â
âAnd, you said it was like this for a long time?â
âThe better part of fifteen years, maybe.â
Grant studied Jones for a moment, how genuinely lost he looked. His eyes were strangely empty, as he stared absently down at the table.
âJust a couple more questions, Sergeant,â Grant said, âWhat was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Callahan?â
âFriends,â Jones replied, flatly. He seemed to study his hands for a moment, the frown on his face growing deeper. âBut⊠we had decided that it was about time we try again, with all of it.â
âWith your relationship?â
âYes.â
âWhen did you make this decision with him, Sergeant Jones?â
âAbout a week before he, uh⊠left.â
At the bottom of his notepad, Grant wrote, Current romantic interest. No motive. He looked to the mirror on one end of the room for a moment, certain that Parker was listening in to the questioning. He looked back at Jones, who absently rubbed at the back of his neck.
âLast one,â Grant said, trying to be gentile, âI want you to answer completely honestly.â
âSure.â Jones replied, readily.
âDid you kidnap, kill, or do anything else to harm Fillmore Callahan?â
âI would never do that. Not to him,â Jonesâs voice cracked as the word escaped him. He had a far-away look in his eye as he spoke next: âI loved him.â
Jones swallowed, as though to regain his composure. His attempt was completely fruitless, however, as his voice remained weak as he said, âSo, Detective Grant, with all due respect, itâs completely insulting that you think I was the one that killed him.â
Grant raised his eyebrows, and drew an arrow on his notepad. Jones didnât do it.
âThank you for your time, Sergeant Jones,â Grant said, âIâm really not supposed to tell you this, but⊠I donât think youâll be spending the night in jail tonight.â
Sergeant Jones had a vaguely triumphant look on his face as he replied, âThank you, Detective.â
. . .Â
Grant found Parker leant against a table just outside, looking absently through the window overlooking the interrogation room. âI donât believe a second of it,â Parker said, âHeâs a good actor though.â
âParker, please,â Grant returned, âYouâve spent enough time with Jones to know he wouldnât come up with an excuse like that.â
âI still think heâs lying,â Parker crossed his arms, âThose pictures are creepy, and you know it.â
Grant glanced through the window briefly, finding Sergeant Jones with his head in his hands.Â
âSarge? You okay?â The lawyer asked, resting one hand on his shoulder.
âI never actually told him that,â Jones replied, voice hoarse. âI never told him I loved him.â
The lawyer looked to the mirror, and Grant felt as though she could see through it. She turned back to Jones, and said quietly, âItâs okay. I know you didnât want to tell anyone that stuff, but⊠You did the right thing.â
Grant jabbed a finger at the window. âYou really think heâs faking that?â
Parker shrugged, un-crossing and re-crossing his arms. âHe knows weâre listening.â
Grant shook his head, opting to leave the room rather than get into a fight over it. Youâre fucking crazy, he thought.Â
. . .
Fillmore did not mean to stay away for long. Heâd been planning a weekend trip to San Francisco for the better part of two months; you know, the whole thing with leaving early in the morning and driving til he could see the skyline. Like the good old days.
He didnât mean for one weekend to turn into two, or for two weekends to turn into two months. Time just kind of slips away from him, like that. He tried to call, every now and again⊠but the lines always seemed to be busy, and Sarge never picked up anymore.Â
It was November when he finally went home, seven new bumper stickers on the back of his battered old Volkswagen. He turned up at Floâs around nine in the morning, like he usually did, and duly noted that Sarge was nowhere to be seen. Odd. Maybe he was sleeping in, for once in his life. That would be good for him, to get some extra sleep.
Though, he began to think that Sarge wasnât asleep as the diner went dead silent, and every single townsperson turned in their seat to stare at him. The silence only lasted about half a second, after which the noise in the room could be equated to the explosion of an atomic bomb.
âWhere the hell have you been?â
â... Didnât even call!â
âWorried sick!â
Fillmore raised both hands in surrender, grinning. âSorry, guys, I didnât mean to stay away,â he said, âWhat did I miss?â
Everyone seemed to glance among themselves, a plain look of disbelief on their faces.
Sheriff deadpanned, before anyone else had the chance to: âSarge has been arrested for your kidnap and murder. Heâs been in the county jail for a month.â
Fillmore laughed. Oh, this was all a joke. They mustâve gotten wind that he was coming back, and then decided to play a prank on him.Â
The diner remained silent. Fillmore stopped laughing. âWait, youâre serious?â
. . .
Lightning McQueen was thankful that Sheriff let him drive, for once. He spoke fast as he merged into the left lane on I-40, âSo, you went missing, right? And, Sarge was acting really suspicious in all of his interviews.â
âThatâs an understatement,â Sally interjected.
âYeah, anyways, they searched his house and found this box of pictures of you guys. Like, you and him. And now itâs getting out that you guys had an affair, way back when.âÂ
McQueen glanced in the rear-view mirror, and found Fillmore holding on for dear life in the back seat. He had a brief look of confusion mixed with remorse on his face, and he met McQueenâs gaze in the mirror. âSo⊠you guys know about that now.â
Sheriff, who was sitting in the passenger seat (and also holding on for dear life), groaned exasperatedly. âFillmore, some of us have known the whole damn time.â
âWell, yeah, I know that you knew, Sheriff, but--â
âLet me finish the story,â McQueen interrupted, âSo, because he still had all those old photos, he was arrested. So, basically, the official story is that he was a jaded ex-lover who killed you out of spite for getting him kicked out of the military.â
Fillmore had a look on his face as though he were struggling to process it all. âBut⊠that was forty years ago. Thatâs stupid.â
âTell me about it,â Sally said.
. . .Â
Grant was having a good morning. He kissed his wife and daughter as they left the house, he got to work on time, and he was busy looking over Jonesâ case file again, at Parkerâs request.
He happened to glance out the window around quarter-till-ten, only to find that the sixty-year-old Radiator Springs police cruiser was skidding to a harsh stop into a parking spot right out front. He watched in vague disbelief as Lightning McQueen got out of the driver's side, and as the Sheriff got out of the passenger seat.Â
âSon of a bitch,â Grant said, as he continued to watch. âParker, you better get your sorry ass out here!â
Parkerâs voice sounded very far away as he responded, âWhat, did you find Mr. Novackâs cat?â
Grant turned from the window, saying, âNo, jackass, look out the damn window!â
It seemed that Parker had already seen it, however, as he dropped the stack of papers heâd been carrying. âSon of a bitch.â
. . .Â
âYouâre going for a walk, Sergeant Jones,â Detective Grant was saying, a shit-eating grin on his face. He unlocked the door to the cell hastily, and motioned for him to stand.
âWhat, are you going to question me again, or something?â Sarge asked. He followed Detective Grant out of the cell, and down the hall.Â
âNo, not at all!â Grant replied, âActually, I just got all of your charges dismissed.â
âWell, um. Thatâs good,â Sarge said, confused.
In the span of five minutes, he was returned the clothes that he had been arrested in and sent to change. Sarge didnât know exactly what was going on, but he was sure glad for itâ maybe Sally was a better lawyer than he gave her credit for.
Detective Grant was waiting for him as he finished, that shit-eating grin still on his face. âSergeant Jones, itâs been a pleasure to know you,â he said, leading Sarge down a long hallway. âFor the record, I never thought you killed him.â
âI donât understand whatâs happening, could you expl--â
His sentence fell short as they rounded a corner, and he spotted Fillmore on the opposite end of the room; Fillmore offered an apologetic and slightly terrified smile, waving one ring-adorned hand at him.Â
If Sarge didnât kill him before, he might have to now.
. . .Â
âIâm in for it, man,â Fillmore said, through gritted teeth, âHeâs gonna kill me for real this time.â
âNo, heâs not,â Sally said, next to him. âHe was more worried than the rest of us.â
Sarge stood on the opposite end of the room, apparently stunned into a silence. He had a look on his face that was somewhere between exasperation, anger, and strange relief. Fillmore raised one hand in an awkward wave, and Sarge advanced.
He was talking before he even made it across the room, pointing one, thin finger in Fillmore's direction as though he were threatening him. âDo you know how worried we were? How worried I was?â Sarge seethes, âI thought you were gone for good, you son of a bitch!âÂ
âListen, man, I tried calling you, but you never picked upââ
âI was in prison!â Sarge punched him squarely in the left shoulder, not hard enough to leave a bruise. âI thought you were dead, Fillmore,â he said, deflating.
âIâm sorry,â Fillmore said, a little helplessly.
Sarge looked up at him, as though he were trying to stay angry. He raised one fist, as though he were going to punch Fillmore in the shoulder again, but let it fall back to his side.Â
Fillmore gasped in half-surprise as Sarge then pulled him into a hug. Stunned, he put his arms around him in turn; weirdly, no one else looked half as shocked as him.
âItâs good to see you,â Sarge muttered. âDonât ever do that again.â
All at once, Fillmore felt the anxiety drop off of his shoulders. âItâs good to see you too, Sarge.â
. . .Â
âMr. Callahan, where were you on the night of May fifteenth?â Detective Parker asked, irritated. He could practically feel the smug, shit-eating look on Grantâs face, next to him.
âOh, umâŠâ Fillmore Callahan laughed nervously; he absently toyed with the amethyst that hung around his neck, twisting it between his index finger and thumb. âSarge and I went out for a smoke. Thereâs an old lookout up there, I donât think Sheriff ever found out about it.â
âAnd, is it true that Sergeant Jones joined you for a drink that evening?â
âSure is.â
Parker looked at Grant, who motioned to carry on. Parker sighed, and continued: âMr. Callahan, where were you between May fifteenth and September eighth?â
âSan Francisco.â
Of course you were, Parker thought.
âThank you for your time, Mr. Callahan,â Parker said, eager to get this all over with. âYou and Sergeant Jones are free to go.â
Mr. Callahan ushered himself out of the interrogation room after that. Parker could not help but put his head in his hands, groaning.
âTold you so,â Grant hummed.
âPlease, shut up,â Parker said, âI hope I never have to work a case like that again.â
âYeah, well⊠donât keep your hopes high.â
âHow about this: I hope I never have to speak to anyone from that god-forsaken town again.â
âThatâs better.â
the end... i guess.
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Ask Me to Stop (My Hero Academia)
Primary Universe
So this went from a "how to tickle Deku" lesson to "let's wreck Deku together" real quick, but I think the outcome is absolutely adorable! I love the competitiveness of this whole silly experiment. Enjoy! ^^
~
Sometimes, Deku honestly had no idea how he found himself in these kinds of situations. One minute he was watching TV with Bakugou and Kirishima, and the next they were talking about him as if he werenât there, making it obvious that if he so much as shifted into a new sitting position theyâd pounce on him.
âYou have to go for his worst spot first,â Bakugou said casually, as though discussing what they were watching on the screen. âBreak down any resistance he might try to put up right away, then leave it alone until he gets desperate, then end there again to prove your point. Itâs a tried and true method, spiky hair. Donât question it.â
âOkay, but everyone always goes for his worst spot first,â Kiri argued, grinning. âI feel like there are more methodical ways to get him to give in, if you really want to mess with him. Be a little more creative, Bakugou.â
âIâm plenty creative,â the blonde shot back. âI can still get him to beg faster than you can.â
âSays who? We never actually tested that. For all we know, I might be able to get him to beg faster.â
Dekuâs heart was racing at this point. He knew they were going to get him, it was just a matter of timeâ
Bakugou looked at Kiri. Kirishima looked at Bakugou. The both of them smirked, then got up from their places on the couch.
There it was. Deku yelped and used One For Allâs power to boost himself out of his seat and towards the dorms slightly ahead of the two of them, hearing their angry (Bakugou) and playful (Kirishima) shouts from behind him as he went.
âMidoriya~â
âWeâll catch you sooner or later, you stupid nerd!â
Thank goodness his room was on the first floor! Deku skidded to a stop in front of his door just long enough to shove it open, but that brief pause was enough for his pursuers to catch up and tackle him inside. He squealed, kicking and squirming even before theyâd started.
Kirishima laughed at him. âWhy are you running away from us? Donât you know that only means weâll make it worse now?â
âW-Wait, wait, I d-didnât ask to be part of this!â Deku squeaked, already grinning widely as they wrestled him over to his bed and pinned him down on it. âPlease!â
âHey, now, you canât beg yet.â
âYeah, nerd,â Bakugou agreed, straddling his waist with a wicked smirk. âWeâve got to test this out for real, see which one of us can tickle you better.â
âB-B-ButâŠbut e-everyone t-tickles me differently and itâs all effective in d-different ways!â Deku protested, holding back a whine when Kirishima pulled his arms above his head and sat on them, completely immobilizing him. Truthfully, he was excited to see how this would play out, knowing how competitive each of them could be.
Kiri grinned down at him. âCome on, Midoriya. You know youâre having just as much fun as we are.â
Dekuâs face went beet red. He averted his eyes and mumbled, âYou donât have to call me out on itâŠâ
âAll right, spiky hair,â Bakugou said, getting started without any warning whatsoever. âLet me show you how itâs done.â
âNononono wait â WAHAHAHAHAIT!!â Deku cried, laughter bubbling out of him with the slightest press into his hip bones. âKahahahahahacchan, wait!â
âWait for what, exactly?â Bakugou grumbled, but he was smirking. âWe donât have all day to figure this out, you know.â
âYeah, Midoriya. Weâve got to get on with it,â Kiri added, beginning to scribble lightly in his underarms.
Deku jerked beneath them, giggles and laughter mixing together in a kind of musical way. âP-Plehehehehease, nohohohohohoho!â
âStop begging so fast!â Bakugou kneaded even deeper into his worst spot, making him screech. âHow are we supposed to know whoâs winning if youâre such a pleading mess all the time?â
âI cahahahahahahanât hehehehehelp it!â
Kiri hummed thoughtfully. âAll right, how about this â you can only ask one of us to stop. Whichever one it is will be the winner, since they made you beg first. Sound good?â
Bakugou answered for him, searching out the hollows of Dekuâs hips and kneading. âFine by me. Letâs hear it, Deku. We both know you canât take it here for long.â
âHey, no fair!â Kiri exclaimed, digging into his underarms as well. âYou got his worst spot, and a head start! How is this a fair fight?â
âGuess you were just too slow, spiky hair.â
âAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!â Deku laughed, squirming as much as he could while his two worst spots were attacked in tandem. âPLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! THIHIHIHIHIHIHIS ISNâT FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!!â
âWhat isnât fair?â Bakugou demanded.
âI DIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIDNâT AHAHAHAHAHAHASK FOR THIS!!â
âBut youâre enjoying it, though,â Kiri teased, poking his cheek with a finger. âArenât you, Midoriya?â
âSH-SHUT UHUHUHUHUP!!â
The redhead gasped mockingly. âWow, so rude!â
âYou keep making this worse for yourself, nerd. You must want us to tickle you to death.â
âN-NOHOHOHOHOHOHO, NO, IâM SOHOHOHOHOHORRYEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!â Deku tossed his head back and nearly screamed when they both doubled their efforts. âAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!â
âYouâre not playing fair, Bakugou,â Kiri pouted. âYouâve got his worst spot! Of course I canât compete with that.â
âWell Iâm not leaving it now. Youâve got his second worst. Thatâll put you at an advantage.â
âWhy donât we both find a new spot, then? That way weâve got an equal chance.â
âFine.â
Deku was relieved when they let up on his worst spots and darted to a different location on his torso, but it was short lived, since they each went for his ribs and kept bumping into each other.
âBack off, spiky hair! I was here first!â
âThereâs plenty of ribs to go around!â
âFind somewhere else to tickle him! This is my spot!â
Kirishima grumbled, but finally settled on scribbling his fingers over Dekuâs neck and ears, pleasantly surprised when he squeaked and tried to scrunch his shoulders, tossing his head back and forth.
âNohohohohohohoho! Plehehehehehease, thahahahahat tihihihihickles!â
âDoes it, now?â Kiri shot Bakugou a triumphant smirk. âAll you have to do is ask me to stop~â
âDonât even think about it!â Bakugou started pinching up and down his sides. âAsk me to stop.â
This was the silliest thing Deku had ever experienced in his life, and he had no problem laughing about it, thanks to the two determined boys on top of him. He bit his lip to try and stifle himself, shaking his head defiantly. They wanted to experiment on him? That was fine. But heâd make them work for it. Honestly, he was a bit curious about the outcome himself.
âTch, you want to be stubborn like that? Fine. I know another weak spot.â Bakugou readjusted himself so he was straddling Dekuâs knees, then scribbled lightly over his thighs. âTickle, tickle, Deku.â
âP-Plehehehehehease! Ahahahahahahaha!â Deku squealed, unable to even kick his legs anymore thanks to this new positioning. âGah â Kacchan â stahaânohohohohohohohoho!â
âAha! There it was!â Bakugou sounded triumphant, scribbling a little faster. âYou were about to say stop, werenât you, nerd? Go on. Spit it out!â
âNo way!â Kiri declared, reaching over him to scribble patterns along his belly and sides, digging in a little more here and there. âNuh-uh! He wins against you all the time â are you really going to let him beat you again, Midoriya?â
âButt out, Kiri!â
Deku squealed, his face bright red and his smile uncontrollable. âPlehehehehehease, you guhuhuhuhuys, youâre b-bohohohohoth tihihihihihickling me so muhuhuhuhuhuch! I cahahahahahanât decide whahahahahatâs worse!â
âWell, youâd better make up your mind quick. Give it up, Deku â you know Iâm better at tickling you. Just admit it.â
âAgain â not fair! I havenât had the years of experience or whatever, but I know how to make him laugh, at least!â
âAnyone can make him laugh,â Bakugou growled. âItâs Deku.â
âI cahahahahahahahanât chohohohohohohoose!â Deku whined pleadingly. âYouâre bohohohohoth gohohohohohood ticklers!â
Bakugou had had just about enough of this beating around the bush. He growled, then shot up to his hips again and drilled. He didnât care about fairness at this point. âBut whoâs better?â
âNAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!â
âHey â knock it off! No hot spots!â Kiri protested. When Bakugou ignored him, he climbed off of their target and shoved the blonde away, one hand grabbing Dekuâs hip while the other went for his best friendâs ribs. âLook, Bakugou; I can tickle you both at once! That must mean Iâm better than you!â
âGAH!! Get â gehehehehehet off!â Bakugou yelled around his giggles, digging into Kiriâs side while reaching for Dekuâs other hip at the same time. âBig deal! I can tickle you both at once, too!â
Deku was laughing so hard from the tickling and the silliness of it all he could hardly breathe, but at the same time, he didnât want any of it to end, no matter how much he fought his attackerâs hands out of pure instinct. âPLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, GUHUHUHUHUHUYS!!â
All of a sudden and without actually speaking, Bakugou and Kirishima seemed to come to a conclusion and each grabbed one of Dekuâs wrists, forcing them above his head while grabbing at his hips with their free hands. They were both going to town on his worst spot at the same time, as a team, and thatâs what ultimately broke him.
âBOHOHOHOHOHOHOTH!! BOTH OF YOHOHOHOHOHOU!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!â
âWhoâs better, Deku?â Bakugou demanded.
âYou can only ask one of us to stop,â Kiri reminded him.
In a frantic daze of ticklish sensations and uncontrollable laughter, all Deku could think was that of the two of them, only one might show mercy without nearly killing him first. Really, when he was forced to make a decision like this, the answer was clear.
âSTAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, KACCHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN!!â
âHa!â Bakugou did stop, throwing his tickling hand into the air in victory. âTold you, spiky hair! Iâm just better at tickling than you are.â
âYeah? Well â well I can make you beg, at least!â Kiri declared, quickly tackling Bakugou onto the mattress in Dekuâs place and drilling into his worst spot. âCome on, Midoriya; help me take him down!â
Bakugou was screeching with laughter already, limbs flailing uselessly as Deku tried to snatch his wrists and pin them above his head while catching his breath and giggling at the same time.
âDEKU!! DEHEHEHEHEKU DONâT YOU DARE â NOHOHOHOHOHO!! KIRI IâLL KIHIHIHIHIHILL YOU!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!â
Together with Deku, Kiri made good on his claim of being able to make Bakugou beg for mercy, and when that was over, the two childhood friends teamed up on Kirishima as revenge, and when that was over, all three of them lay either on the mattress or the floor of the bedroom, giggling, out of breath, completely spent â and closer than ever before.
#fanfiction#tickle fic#boku no hero#my hero academia#bnha#mha#izuku#midoriya#deku#katsuki#bakugou#kacchan#eijirou#kirishima#kiribakudeku#tickle fight#experiment#playful#fun#fluff#cute#teasing#competitive#tickling#ticklish#tickle
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Critical Role: The Importance of Timing, Ch 1
<<chapter navigation TBA>>
(Read on AO3)
Rating: Gen
Summary:Â Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.âFour is pret-ty bad, you guys.â
Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. âI think we need to punish them, Fjord!â
Caleb and Essek make the mistake of overworking themselves right before the Mighty Nein are scheduled for a reunion. Lessons are learned.
Wordcount: 3.6k (yeah, this oneâs going to take a while)
A/N: making some more progress on my backlog of prompts (this one happens to be both from the most recent vote and this lovely anon prompt)! cross your fingers that this is going to be my first finished chapter fic lol
---
Caleb hardly remembers it, later.
It was evening - not particularly late, but after three near-sleepless nights time stretched into its own kind of viscous liquidity. Like a soup.
He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it, too tired for more than the barest expense of breath. Essek would know better than he, of course - he turned to him, intending to share the thought, and found a sheaf of notes thrust mere inches from his face.
âHere,â Essek said brusquely. Exhaustion did not lend itself to the usual smoothness of his speech. âI think I have it, finally - if we engrave it this way, the spell will replenish itself without interrupting conversation, yes?â
âOh.â He took the papers, looking them over blearily - his eyes widened, a brief rush of vigor returning. âOh, this is - oh, this is good! Let me just fabricate the surface smooth again and we can try-â
There was a crash from a location beyond the lab and therefore currently unimportant. Neither of them looked up.
The interruption, then, arrived unexpectedly.
âHel-loooo!âcame a lilting Nicodranian accent from the hall. âWe got here early and you didnât answer your door so we used our super cool magic powers to come in, and we should to-tally make a hammock themed room in the mansion tonight because I think Fjord is kind of land sick - Caleb, look at me, why do you look so terrible?â
Caleb knew the consequences of ignoring that voice. He looked up.
After hours of gazing at runes, his eyes refused to fully adjust and take in the three figures in the doorway. He squinted and managed to make out a bit of blue. âJester?â
âThey look tired right out, the poor things,â a purple blob pronounced from Jesterâs right. âWe havenât missed out on an adventure, have we?â
âNo,â Jester said, âEssek would never go out with his hair looking like that. Right, Essek? Arenât you, like, super embarrassed that your hairâs all floppy right now?â
Sitting shoulder to shoulder with the floppy-haired drow in question, Caleb could just barely hear him hiss in protest at the interruption. âLeave, then, if it disturbs you so.â
Caleb blinked, starting to fumble together a sentence to dull the reprimand, and suddenly the remaining green blob resolved into Fjord as he put a hand on Calebâs forehead and crouched to look into his eyes. âAll right, itâs bedtime for you two. Jes, can you get Essek?â
âWait-â Caleb grabbed weakly for the table, for his notes at least, but he was already being swept up in Fjordâs arms and carried bodily from the room. Essek sounded much more awake - and irate, frankly - behind him, trying to explain something, but it had been far too long since he had been anywhere near horizontal - with his head pillowed against Fjordâs bicep, he was asleep before they reached the stairs.
---
Waking is a slow process.
He is not alone - thereâs a weight to being tangled up in someone else, the warm scent of closeness, and even without his eidetic memory he does not think he can ever forget the stony, moon-soaked smell of having his face buried in the crook of Essekâs shoulder.
He yawns lazily. Essek must be very tired, if Caleb is awake and he is not, and he is the better cook of the two of them anyway - although of course neither of them have any comparison to Caduceus, or Yasha now that itâs been several months since her last poisoning incident. He presses a gentle kiss to Essekâs jaw and rolls out of bed to get started with breakfast.
Or tries to, at least. His top half makes it out of bed easily enough, but the rest of him does not seem inclined to follow.
Something clanks at the foot of the bed as he narrowly hauls himself up from a quick trip to the floor. He props himself up on an elbow, halfway through another yawn, and finds himself staring down a pair of manacles hooked around his ankles.
He kicks cautiously. The chain threaded through his bed posts clanks again.
Panic begins to stir low in his gut. âEssek!â
Thereâs a sleepy murmur next to him. He twists to find Essek blinking awake - thereâs not much else he can do, with his arms shackled above his head and his legs chained below in similar fashion. The cuffs are padded at least, stuffed with what looks to be worn handkerchiefs, and theyâre both fully dressed in sleep clothes - their captors donât want to hurt them, then, not yet.
Caleb scans the room frantically. The book he has been reading is still propped open on the bedside table, the door knob Essek had pried from an Aeorian ruin after Caleb had commented on its sparkle still proudly adorns the bathroom door, Kingsley is still leaning against the window-
He grins smugly as Calebâs gaze snaps back to him. âOh, good, youâre both awake. Comfy watch, but itâs ever so much more boring without the-â He pulls his hands from his pockets and rocks them back and forth. âOh, and also the fish folk trying to kill us, those are great.â
âKingsley?â Caleb demands. Next to him, Essek makes a shocked sound as he presumably recognizes that he cannot move any of his limbs. âWhat is this?â
âOh, I canât rightly say.â Kingsley saunters over and swings himself neatly up onto the mattress, worming between him and Essek to sit cross-legged at the center of the bed. âWasnât my idea, at any rate-â
âJester and Fjord were here too,â Essek interrupts. âIs this - this is a prank, is it not?â
âHush, you,â Kingsley smirks. âAll Iâve got is that Iâm to ensure you donât make your way free with any spellcasting before Fjord and Jester get back. And to that endâŠâ
He breaks the pause with a dramatic flourish of his arms, spreading them wide before laying a palm down lightly on each of their bellies. âIâm told this should do just fine, if the two of you care to demonstrate?â
Caleb connects the dots just a moment too late to throw himself back off the edge of the bed. âKingsley - wait - ah!â
There was a time when it would take minutes for his mind to link the intruding sensation of touch to anything but wariness. Now, the instant Kingsleyâs fingers start scribbling heâs flat on his back, pushing weakly at the offending limb and doing his best not to collapse into hysterical snickering at how much it - it -
âTickle, tickle, magic man,â Kingsley teases, pupilless eyes aflame with mischief. âNo, no, donât bother fighting it. Iâve heard tales about those ribs of yours, you know. Especially how much you love letting Jester play with them, hm?â
âN-nein, thatâs not-â Caleb tries to protest, but heâs already giggling just at the thought - Fjord and Jester are here, and heâs stuck, and Kingsley wonât stop tickling him-
Kingsleyâs grin grows another satisfied inch as he turns back to Essek. âAnd you, stubborn - oh, are you trying to cast something? Is that what that face means?â
Essek is struggling, jaw working and face scrunched as his entire body trembles in time with the claw vibrating its way into his belly. Caleb can practically see the Misty Step brewing on his tongue, just a few short words between him and freedom if only he can get them out without laughing.
Until Jester tracks him down, that is. He hasnât - theyâve been apart, and then in Aeor, and then working on their big project for the past few weeks, and Caleb hasnât exactly gotten around to admitting that he might like Essek to - admitting anything, really. Or telling Essek that now that Jester knows heâs ticklish and doesnât entirely mind it, any attempt to escape will only end in more retribution.
An oversight, in retrospect.
Kingsley purrs, apparently entirely delighted with his victimâs predicament. âOh, come on now, you can do it! Itâs been a while since Iâve seen a good magic show.â Essek shakes his head frantically, lips pressed together even as his cheeks puff with repressed giggles, and Kingsley grins all the wider. âNo? Letâs see how long you last when I really start pressing your buttons, then.â
On his side and snickering helplessly, Caleb cannot help but feel a little jealous as he watches Kingsley tug up Essekâs shirt and wait for his eyes to widen in terrible anticipation. âOne last chance, then? Cause I think this is really going to tickle.â
Caleb wants him to succeed, really, he does - but watching Essek try as hard as he can to curl in on himself as a single fingertip starts to rub at his navel, squirming and squeezing his eyes shut and finally barking out the first two syllables of his incantation before the third succumbs to high, squeaking laughter holds its own considerable charm. âAhahaaaa - nooo, hehe! - wh -â He laughs a little more, shoulders shaking, and barely manages to gasp out the words. âFjord - Jester - where -â
âCouldnât take it? Oh, you are a ticklish thing,â Kingsley tells him, laughing when Essekâs attempt at protesting collapses into a breathless snort. âYouâre wondering where they are? Really, I couldnât say. Maybe theyâll be gone for hours, and Iâll just have to keep tickling and tickling-â
Heâs focused in on Essek now, taking his other hand off Caleb to wiggle it menacingly over a defenseless armpit - Essek takes one look at the new threat and screams. âCaleb!â
Kingsleyâs replaced his hand with his tail squeezing around Calebâs thigh, and it tickles so badly and unexpectedly that Caleb would like to curl up in a ball and do some screaming of his own, but with Essek pleading for his help thereâs no other choice.
He pulls himself back onto his elbows and flops into Kingsleyâs lap as best he can with his legs chained, reaching blindly for ticklish spots that used to belong to Mollymauk - gasping through a new wave of laughter as the spade of Kingsleyâs tail starts to poke at the soft back of his knee, he crowds his fingernails against the small of Kingsleyâs back and yelps in preemptive terror as Kingsley starts to laugh and reaches for him instead. âFjord! Jester!â he shouts. âHelp!â
âGah - oh, fuck, thahatâs - haaaa-â Kingsley flails for a moment, legs kicking out as he tries to shimmy away, but in the next moment his fingers are tickling mercilessly under Calebâs arms and Caleb can hardly breathe, let alone keep tickling him. He flails to escape, trying to wrap his arms around himself and use them to drag himself away at the same time, but really that just means that Kingsleyâs hands are stuck in his armpits now and heâs going to die-
âRight, right, Iâve learned my lesson, no ganging up on our little star,â Kingsley grumbles. Caleb gasps in breathless relief as Kingsley works his hands free - heâs facedown on the mattress, but he hears Essek shout for Fjord and Jester too before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Presumably Kingsleyâs putting his tail to good use somewhere.
A hand grabs his shoulder, and heâs rolled over onto his back with his legs untwisting beneath him. He blinks up into Kingsleyâs gaze, eyebrows raised in apparent dudgeon. âYou, on the other hand,â Kingsley growls, as if his lips werenât curving up into a fanged smile already, âI am absolutely going to need both hands for what Iâm about to do to your ribs.â
âMist,â Caleb sputters reflexively, and then, louder, âFjord! Jester! FJORD!â
Kingsleyâs eyebrows rise even higher. âOh, itâs sweet that you think theyâre going to help you. Unless - oh, did you want more hands?â
Caleb hardly hears the approaching footsteps over his own anticipatory squeal as he watches Kingsleyâs fingers start to wander back down towards his ribs. âNein! - eheeheh, oh gods, nein-â
But then, suddenly, blessedly, the fingers ghost lightly over his ribs and settle for spidering across his tummy instead. He wheezes in relief - half of it comes out as giggles, his nerves still on high alert, but he fully intends to enjoy breathing while he can.
He flops tiredly back, eyes tracking to the doorway as Fjord and Jester stroll in. âSorry for the wait,â Fjord says politely. âJester and I were just finishing up lunch. Because itâs lunchtime.â
âNo rush, Captain!â Kingsley practically chirps. âWeâre having a wonderful time, arenât we, boys?â
Fjord looks completely unsurprised to find the two of them in chains. Jester is practically bouncing beside him. Caleb imagines this does not bode well for them.
Essek pipes up from behind him, metal clanking as he tries to move to see around Kingsley. âDid - heh - did we oversleep? I think the shackles are a bit uncalled for-â
âOh,â Fjord says, low and dangerous. Heâs not smiling, not yet, but Caleb can see it in his eyes and that is even worse. âDonât mind those. It would be a shame to let the two of you leave your bedroom so soon when you havenât seen it in days and days, wouldnât it?â
With Kingsley still tickling at his waist, Caleb canât even begin to coax his stomach muscles to let him sit up as Fjord and Jester cross to the bed and loom over the both of them. Jester claps her hands together, looking dangerously pleased with herself. âDo you like them?â she enthuses. âWe got them from a pirate raid, because someone put our other set on a fish person that jumped right back into the ocean.â
âThey were getting rusted anyway - I donât think we collected a single one of those at sea, theyâre not even waterproofed.â Fjord grumbles amiably. âThese, though-â
He hooks one finger delicately through the chain connecting Calebâs ankles to the bedpost and tugs, dragging one helpless foot just close enough to scoop up in a waiting hand. âNow these are made for some real seafaring shit. Could hold a body for as long as you want, as long as they arenât inclined to use any magic tricks.â
Caleb tries to yank his foot back. Fjord just chuckles and leans over to stare him down, his yellow eyes warm and amused. âIsnât that right, Caleb.â
âNo magic tricks,â he gasps out through another fit of giggles as Fjord rubs a warning thumb over his sole. Itâs hardly a concession - between that and Kingsley, he hardly has the breath to try anything.
âGood,â Fjord says encouragingly. He puts Calebâs foot gently down and turns to Essek. âNow you.â
Caleb turns to look at him - from what little of Essekâs body language he can read, he looks wholly confused. âYouâre not going to let us go?â
Fjord crosses his arms. âOh, Iâm sure we can come to some kind of agreement. Just consider this a friendly reminder that Jester, Kingsley and I are quite capable of following any⊠magical exits.â
Essek visibly rallies at the mention of magic, quirking an eyebrow. âI wasnât aware you had learned how to Teleport.â
âEssek,â Caleb hisses. Fjord shushes him and stalks a single step forward, just close enough to start tickling lightly at the bottom of one purple foot.
Essekâs superior expression lasts all of a moment before his entire body starts flailing to escape the single point of contact. âAh! No, nohoho, wahahait, I didnât - ahaha, stop that!â
âYouâre right, I canât Teleport,â Fjord says conversationally. âGood catch, Iâd kind of forgotten about that one. Jes, weâve got some antimagic stuff on the ship, right?â
Jester interrupts herself from making increasingly dramatic faces at Essek to answer. âI think so? You know, just in case if we meet someone icky like you know who.â
âPerfect. Maybe you and Kingsley can keep Essek busy, and Iâll head back to the ship and root around for it?â He looks calmly down at Essek, kicking as frantically as he can with the few inches of leeway the shackles afford him and still completely unable to avoid Fjordâs fingers. âItâll take a while, mind you.â
Jester perks up, dancing over and reaching for Essekâs other foot. âYes! Kingsley, did you try his ears yet? They get all flappy and itâs really really-â
âNo!â Essek rushes out, squeaking in harried protest when they still donât stop tickling up his arches. âI - wait,â he pleads. âNo! I wonât cast, I wonât!â
Fjord grins. âThat wasnât so hard, was it? Alright, Kingsley, can we give them a moment?â
Kingsley removes his hands from both of them rather reluctantly. Fjord claps his shoulder in silent thanks. âNow, would either of you like to explain why we found the two of you half-dead from sleep deprivation?â
âYeah, you guys, we were so worried!â Jester adds. âYou canât do that when weâre not around to take care of you! You guys havenât been doing this all year, have you?â
âWeâve only met up in the last few months,â Caleb adds, wincing a little as their eyes turn to him. He sits up slowly, wincing apologetically in the direction of Essekâs wrist shackles. âBut no, we have not, we are just working on this project - it is a real ficker, there are so many moving pieces - and we are nearly done, we meant to sleep last night.â
âHow many days?â Fjord asks. âOne? Two?â
When neither of them answer, sharing a silent look, he hovers a hand threateningly over each of their trapped feet. âBelieve me, you really donât want us to pick a number.â
âFour,â Essek says warily. âBut Caleb slept for at least an hour each night, and I donât need to-â
âOh, fourâs a lot,â Kingsley cuts in. âDid you not learn how to sleep in shifts, not being on the ocean, or do you just enjoy each otherâs company that much?â
Essek turns bright red. Calebâs pretty sure he turns even redder. Even Fjord looks a little embarrassed as Jester and Kingsley collapse into laughter.
Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.âFour is pret-ty bad, you guys.â
Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. âI think we need to punish them, Fjord!â
Caleb can easily guess what this punishment will entail. âWait a moment,â he says hastily, âwe have not even told you about this project-â
âIt will be worth it,â Essek adds. âIf you would just let us-â
Fjord nods thoughtfully, ignoring their protests. âWhat do you say, a minute for each hour they should have been sleeping?â
âNo-â Caleb starts.
âSo thatâs sixteen for Essek, and - Calebâs been napping on and off, sounds like, so weâll round it down to a neat half hour for him.â
Caleb gapes fearfully. A half hour of tickling, after months and months - he can admit to himself that he missed it a little, but- âThatâs too much,â he blurts. âBitte, youâll kill me-â
âReally, this is unnecessary,â Essek adds, surprisingly dignified for the way heâs trying helplessly to press his feet against the bed. âJust - we are well rested now, we only need a few hours more to finish the project, there is no need!â
Jester pouts. âOh, Essek, donât you want to hang out with us?â
Essek flounders at that, and Caleb canât help the soft smile that slips out of him. âI would like nothing more,â he assures her, âbut being chained up and - and tortured - was not quite on my mind-â
âWell then, you shouldnât have been so dumb, Essek,â she says cheerily. âCaleb, do you want me or Fjord to tickle you?â
His mouth goes dry. Jester will be - Fjord teases, but he is gentle at least, and Jester is - Jester-
He looks over at Essek, wide-eyed and eyes flicking between all of them in some strange combination of bewilderment and anticipation, and braces himself. âJester.â
Kingsley laughs, delighted. âOh, he must really love you,â he tells Essek. âHeâs gone and given you the better option by far.â
Essek looks at Caleb, gaze softening. âReally?â
Caleb grimaces back at him, a little embarrassed by himself. âHeâs exaggerating. And besides, I am not the one laid flat out here.â
Essek frowns. âYes, about that.â
âCaleb doesnât like having his wrists pinned down,â Jester says easily, scrambling up onto the bed and into Calebâs lap. âThough you should know that already if you two are boning-â
âJester,â Caleb pleads. Kingsley starts to laugh again.
She beams at him, darting in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. âHi, Caleb!â
Itâs impossible not to smile back. âHallo, blueberry.â
He looks around her to see Fjord walk over and settle on Essekâs side of the bed, patting his shoulder companionably. âItâs good to see you two, really.â
Essek just sighs.
Kingsley prods at his belly, earning a hasty yelp. âHeâs in a mood, it seems. You want some help with him?â
His stomach grumbles, just then, and Fjord laughs. âWhy donât you get some lunch instead,â he suggests. âWeâd have brought something up, but the screaming sounded rather urgent.â
âAye-aye, Captain,â Kingsley cocks a loose salute and swings back off the bed with one more tickle under each of their arms, snorting in amusement as Caleb and Essek both squirm and protest. âThe others should be arriving soon, Iâll keep a weather eye on the door.â
âYes, do that,â Fjord says, waiting for him to round the corner and start down the stairs. âThat guy is really into sea lingo.â
âKingsley is great,â Jester enthuses. âDonât you guys think he looks so much prettier now that heâs all tan?â
Sheâs not wrong. âJa, sure.â Caleb says. âBy the way, what exactly did the two of you tell him about-â He flushes. âAbout my ribs?â
âOh, you know, just some stuff!â Jester says cheerfully. âMost of it is definitely not true by now, probably, since itâs been a super long time since weâve seen you.â
She puts both of her hands on Calebâs shoulders and presses, sending him flat on his back and leaning over with a mischievous smile. âGood thing we have a whole half hour to catch up, huh?â
Caleb gulps.
#tickling#critical role#shadowgast#caleb widogast#essek thelyss#kingsley tealeaf#fjord#jester lavorre#chocfic
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Can I request undatables headcanons where they lend/borrow notes and the undatables sees silly little doodles in between the class work?
The Undateables React to an MC who Doodles on Their Class Work
AN: I love this so much ;u; I work in a school and sometimes the kids will doodle little things in the margin, and its always so entertaining to see what they draw - multiple times its been little doodles of me, which is so sweet!!
Anyway, sorry that this headcanon isnât very detailed, Iâm still not quite comfortable with how I portray the Undateables and struggled to place them in this scenario ;u;
Diavolo
He borrowed the notes to check over them and see how you were getting on and if you needed help with anything. Heâs flicking over the pages, skimming through it all and then sees the drawings start on one page and continue over the next few.
Diavolo sits down at his desk and spreads the pages out, careful not to disturb the order of them but wanting to see all of the drawings at once. It was clear that they were rushed in between taking notes, just casual little drawings, but he finds himself grinning as he looks over them.
When he hands the note back, he grins at you and says âI loved the little drawings you did!â In a teasing tone, he adds, âIâm not sure how they help with the classwork, but they really made my day.â He laughs if you seem flustered at all, but finds himself glancing over at you more often when heâs supervising classes to see if youâre doodling.
Barbatos
Like Diavolo, his intention is more to look over the notes and get an idea of where youâre at in terms of schoolwork than to copy them. When he sees the first drawing, he pauses. Its not detailed and stuck right in the middle of the work, your writing moving to accommodate for the doodle.
It confuses Barbatos, more-so when he turns to the next page and there are even more drawings, but he decides itâs not really any of his business and continues checking over the notes, efficient as ever. He finds it endearing but he has too much work to do to focus on it.
He does watch you when youâre doodling in future, covers a smile with a gloved hand when you scribble notes around the drawing, but he wonât really comment much on it. If he thinks youâre doing it because youâre starting to lose focus after a certain amount of time, heâll try to find accommodations for it, but otherwise he just lets you be.
The only thing he does out of the ordinary for him is that he doesnât report it back to Diavolo unless it seems necessary. He keeps the information to himself, like a little treat, something only he knows about (other than you, of course).
Solomon
There was an issue at Purgatory Hall so Solomon, Simeon, and Luke all missed a class and needed to catch up. Since Solomon couldnât borrow either of their notes, the next best person to ask was you - he didnât feel up to asking one of the brothers, knowing their notes would either be useless, theyâd downright refuse him, or theyâd be annoying about it.
Heâs working on writing everything down when he turns the page, sees a drawing, and stops. Stars trail down the margin of the paper and he leans his head on his hand, smiling into his palm as he flicks through the pages. The entire notebook is decorated with doodles here and there, throughout all of the notes.
Solomon doesnât mention the doodles to anyone and just hands your notes back the next day. When he remembers it, he smiles to himself, but generally its not something that ever gets brought up. Heâll pretend he never noticed if you decide to ask him if he saw them.
Simeon
Like Solomon, he missed class because of some issue at Purgatory Hall. He considered asking Lucifer first, but bumped into you in the hallway and decided he might as well just use your notes.
He heads to the library between classes to catch up so that he can return them right away. He notices the doodles halfway through photocopying the notes and snorts before covering his mouth, overly aware of just how loud that was in the silent library. He quickly copies the other pages and tucks the book away in his bag.
âAh, MC, there you are! I just wanted to return your book,â Simeon calls, holding up your notebook. He pauses, holding it just out of your reach, and flicks it open. âI just have one question, sorry. What does this mean?â Simeon smiles innocently as he holds out the book, pointing directly at scribbled drawings along the margin of one page. âI just couldnât seem to figure it out by myself.â
Bonus: Simeon keeps the photocopied notes, even though he copied them up into his book himself. He finds the doodles really cute.
Luke
Also missed class and needed to borrow your notes to catch up - there was no way he was going to go without doing so, and he also didnât want to ask one of the demon brothers because there was no way in the Devildom that he was going to copy notes from some demon.
Heâs anxious as he asks if he can borrow your notes, just for a little bit so he can copy them? You agree right away and hand over your book and he promises heâll return it with a treat later. Luke heads back to Purgatory Hall to catch up, and when he notices the doodles he puffs out his cheeks and keeps writing, all too aware that Simeon is also in the room and will notice if he reacts at all. (Simeon does see him blush, and smirks but doesnât say anything).
Luke brings over some pastries he made for you to try when he returns your notes that evening, and he flushes as he hands over your notebook. You canât figure out why until he pulls out his own and shows you the doodles along the pages. You recognise a few - Lucifer glaring, horns and demon tail scribbled out in a red pen. One of Beel eating something or other, and one of Simeon smiling. And one of you, too, smiling with a halo over your head.
You ruffle his hair and Luke pouts and puts his book away, but he seems happy. âI was worried Iâd get in trouble, but if youâre doing it too, then those brothers wonât say anything.â
Heâs the sweetest little brother in the world.
AN: Hope these are okay! Theyâre a bit short and messy, I struggled with this ;u;
#Anonymous#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me simeon#obey me luke#obey me solomon#obey me headcanons#my headcanons#my writings#request#ask
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Hey lmao how are you? I was wondering if I could have a Draco x Fem!Reader where someone is having a party on the lake of Hogwarts and the reader usually is really sassy and energetic, but she's really scared of water and doesn't know how to swim?
Best friend
Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Fem!Reader
Summary - Hufflepuffs, the kindest of all four houses, has hosted a lake-side party for all the houses and the beautiful result out of it is understanding of friendship and perhaps love.
Warnings - Speak of trauma, near-drowning experience (like once) and fear of water. Cursing. And lmk if anything else!
A/N Hello!! I am great. Hope you are having a good day/night! I really hope I stuck to the description of the reader cause I am not sassy and energetic so...the reader wasn't much of those. Anyways, have a happy read!
"Did you know?â Your friend, fretted as she sat down at the Slytherin table for breakfast, âthe Hufflepuffs are hosting a âpartyâ near the black lake. Itâs going to be like a day where you just âenjoyâ and do things near the lake? Whole Hogwarts is invited,â
âWhat is up with you and your finger quotes?â You chuckled, taking a sip of your pumpkin juice.
She rolled her eyes, âJust- are we going?â
âDo you want to go?â You asked her back.
âI mean,â she shrugged and frowned, âIf you are going,â
You giggled shaking your head, âEven a frog is more decisive than you,â
âI am not being indecisive, I just have a tough time weighing the pros and cons,â she said and blushed as you burst out laughing, âOh, shut it,â
âI canât,â You said among your giggles.
She rolled her eyes and tugged you by the arm, âWe are getting late for class, come on. Stand up, you twat!â
You stumbled to your feet and allowed her arm to link around yours. âNow, tell me - are we going?â
âYou said the whole Hogwarts is gonna be there,â you said, looking at her pointedly.
She rolled her eyes and slapped your arm, âYou know that was an over-exaggeration,â
âWho all are gonna be there?â You asked, âAnswer honestly without exaggeration,â
âFifth year and above in all houses,â She mumbled, monotonously.
âAlright then, you reckon we can go?â you asked again.
âOh, I donât know, you say!â
âFine, fine. Merlin, calm down,â The two of you reached the Potions classroom and took your seat on the opposite ends of the classroom. You, next to Malfoy and your best friend next to Potter.
Draco moved his textbooks that were scattered across your shared table to his side, giving you some space. He then proceeded to lean against his arm and idly flip the pages of his textbook, completely ignoring your presence.
You took a seat next to him. Looking around the classroom you realised, Professor Slughorn was nowhere to be found, âWhere is Slughorn?â you asked him.
He shrugged, âHow would I know?â
âRight, my bad,â You said through gritted teeth, turning to face the empty blackboard the thought of the party your friend had mentioned surfaced your thoughts. You masked the scare for water as hatred. The trauma those had given you were a bewildering amount, the near-drowning situation you had been in was not something you would like to experience again. The mere thought of water made you shiver in fright and consequently, you had never learnt swimming.
But you had to think of your best friend, she was a lover of water - lake, sea, beach, all of them - and the black lake was her comfort spot and a party right by it was a gift to her and the all houses thing was something she could condemn as heaven.
Letting out a deep breath, you tore a tiny piece of parchment and roughly scribbled âShould we attend the party?â and hissed for Dracoâs attention.
Rolling his eyes, he turned to look at you, âWhat do you want?â
You gritted your teeth to stop yourself from saying anything, âCan you pass this to the girl sitting next to Potter?â
He looked around to spot Harry and after finding he whipped his head to look at you, âYou want me to pass a tiny little note to someone across the class?!â
âUse your brain, Malfoy, just pass it, you know,â you motioned with your hand.
He glared at you with a clenched jaw but did it nonetheless. He whispered in a hushed voice to the next girl and you watched as the note reached your friend, who narrowed her eyes at you and then determinedly scribbled something.
She took out her wand and levitated the note to reach you. Draco, who watched the scene intently with crossed arms, scoffed.
âPiss off, Malfoy,â you mumbled, unfolding the note that read We are going and thatâs final!
You grimaced, oh shit.
âWhat are you gonna wear!?â Your friend yelled as she burst into your dorm, startling you.
âMerlinâs underpants!â you yell, clutching your chest and taking deep breaths.
âThatâs a weird one to wear,â she scrunched her nose in disgust, âNow tell me what are you gonna wear?â
Fetching the book you were reading that laid open at the foot of your bed, you said, âIs wearing a hoodie a choice?â
âNo,â she said, sternly.
You grinned at her, âI am wearing that. Especially that black hoodie with the skull design,â
âI donât even know why you like it,â she said, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, pushing your legs.
âBecause it suits my aesthetic,â you said, flipping your messy hair dramatically.
She scoffed, âYou are like a golden retriever thatâs high,â
You blinked twice, âI love how you are trying to tell I am cute without telling I am cute but no,â
She rolled her eyes, âI will get you a dress,â
Two days later, your friend never showed you the dress, always smiling cheekily and shaking her head saying âitâs a surpriseâ. On the day of the party, she rushed to you, with a bag behind her back. She ushered you to stand in front of the floor-length mirror and asked you to close your eyes.
âI trusted your fashion sense so that dress better not be looking weird,â you said, your eyes still closed as you heard some ruffling behind you.
âOpen your eyes,â she gushed. You chuckled when you saw the excitement in her eyes as your turned around.
You gasped, âthat is so beautiful,â you breathed taking the dress in your hands. It was of a soft yellow colour dress, reaching till shins with floral print all over the dress. It was casual yet so beautiful.
âI know right!â you squealed, âput it on,â
After an hour or so you found yourself walking to the black lake and you had to chuckle as you found the overly energetic teens littered across the area, cups of juices in their hands, some in their swimsuit, some wearing casual cotton clothes such as yourself.Â
Your eyes fell on a certain Slytherin, hanging out with his group. Draco had dark green shorts on, a white tee that hung loosely on his body. He wove his fingers into the platinum blonde hair that fell in strands with a wide grin on his face.
âThe love of your life,â she said, smirking.
âEnough of watching your prince charming,â your best friend said, tugging on your arm.
You rolled your eyes, âYeah, my knight in shining armour,â
âEver heard of something named sarcasm?â
âYou ever heard of something named teasing?â
âYes, and I do not claim to like it much,â
She rolled her eyes.
By the end of the evening, the students were slowly disappearing, the mass of the students at the time of the raging party was completely dissipated with just a few older students standing next to the lake, or sitting against the bark of trees. You, yourself were leaning against one of the trees, the energy you had at the beginning all gone with the laughter and fear. Almost everyone who attended the party jumped into the lake at least once, playing around, splashing water on each other and swimming but you hadnât even gone near the lake, rather reserved to the ground and entertaining the students who either refused to go in or those who already did.
âHey,â You heard someone say. Draco sat down next, âWhere is your best friend?â
âSomewhere in that mass,â you motioned collectively to one side.
He chuckled, âDitched you?â
âExcuse you, Malfoy, but not all the best friends are the same,â you said, smirking at him.
He looked at you, an impressed expression on his face and chuckled, shaking his head, âMaybe,â
âYour not wrong,â he stated simply.
You breathed in relief, âYou know for a minute I thought you would get that wrong,â
He ran a hand through his hair. This was totally unlike the Draco Malfoy that was usually seen, he looked different like he enjoyed himself instead of the ever stoic he and you found this side of him endearing. You find all of his sides endearing. A voice said, loudly.
âWhat?â you asked, confused and slightly scared.
âYou know, about that best friends. Not all of them are same, indeed,â he said, looking at you by the corner of his eyes. His breath was taken away the moment his eyes landed on you when you arrived in the beautiful dress you had worn, he simply had no words to express how he felt at that moment, how you looked at that moment stunned by your beauty beyond recognition that he could barely form a coherent thought.
âPerhaps, but at times we have best friends who even we donât know are,â you said, looking at him.
âIs that so?â he asked, turning to look at you.
You hummed, âNow, think about it,â you looked around the lake and found two students, quite blatantly a couple, âSee there, that couple. Now, say the girl doesnât have a friend,â you looked at him, checking if he is listening and continued once he nodded, âSo, he consecutively becomes her best friend and boyfriend, and she might not even recognize it.â
âIt could be anyone like that?â he asked.
âAnyone - a professor, your mother, father, sibling. At times even pets,â you said, âSometimes this little thing is what forms love, and it necessarily isnât romantic,â
âYou do give beautiful philosophy lessons, donât you?â he said, leaning back against the trunk.
You chuckled, shaking your head, âIf I really were to give philosophy lessons, you wouldnât always find me with a group of people,â
Draco grinned and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence before he asked a question, âYou never came near the water. Why?â
âYou noticed?â you said, looking shocked.
âI mean, yeah,â he shrugged.
âI donât really like water,â You said, playing with your fingers. Getting on the hint about your discomfort on the topic he remained silent.
âCan someone who neither you nor they know much about be your best friend?â he asked, after staring at the moon for so long.
âWhat do âtheyâ do to you?â you asked. Dracoâs eyes skittered through the water, âProvide some-some sort of comfort at the same time making me feelâŠweird. Have the effect on me like their smile would make my day and their laugh, its the most beautiful, makes me feel...s-safe,â
âDraco,â you breathed, and chuckled, disregarding the feeling your stomach, âYou are in love,â
He whipped his head to look at you, âLove?â
âYep,â you said, shortly.
âI am?â he said, letting out a sharp breath.
âSeems to be,â you said, âI think itâs about time. I need to leave to my dorm,â you stood up from your place to leave.
âNo, wait,â Draco scrambled to his feet, taking hold of your wrist, âWould you-would you like to spend the next Hogsmeade trip with me?â
You were physically taken aback by his question. Why would he want to spend it with you? âMe?â
âYeah,â he gulped. You had never seen him get nervous.
âLike on a date?â
âIf you donât mind that is,â
âWhat about that person?â
âWhich person?â
âThe one you were talking about, you know the one you like,â
âWhy, of course,â You said, chuckling, âBut I am choosing the location,â
Draco looked at you shocked for a minute before bursting out laughing. He pulled you closer once his laughter started to subside, holding your face between his hands, âIt is you,â
âOh,â your eyes widened. Not allowing you to think or react he once again asked his question, âWould you like to go on a date with me?â
âNuh huh, already got the dream date set up in my mind,â
âThat better not have anything to do with water,â you warned.
âWeâll see about it,â Draco said, chuckling as he pulled you closer by your waist.
âDraco!â
#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x reader#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy x fem!reader#draco malfoy x slytherin!reader#draco malfoy x y/n#Draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy fic#draco x reader#draco x you#draco x y/n#draco x slytherin!reader#draco fluff#draco fanfiction#draco fic#harry potter
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hello i adore your fics <33 could you write something during the war where newt & hermann sleep/cuddle in each other's beds whenever they're stressed (but are still incredibly repressed)? no pressure obv!!
SURE THING!! getting back in the prompt game!!! been working on longer fics and some regular work this summer so sorry ive been spotty with writing đ I'm aiming to get through a bunch of these at 1k words each
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Newt isn't necessarily expecting the knock on his door a little bit past midnight, but he can't really say it surprises him. Hermann was more on edge today than usual, getting pissed at Newt for stupid little things (like finishing off the coffee creamer that Hermann doesnât even like in the lab fridge, or humming along a little too loudly to his iPod), discreetly taking ibuprofen for what Newt knew was a bad headache, swearing under his breath and erasing his entire chalkboard every time he made the tiniest calculation error. Itâs the culmination, Newt knows, of a majorly stressful weekâanother kaiju attack, multiple mandatory Shatterdome personnel meetings about the kaiju attach, reports on the kaiju attack and the mandatory meeting due, Hermann hoarding the weight of where the deployed jaeger failed and pushing himself to fix it all, immediately. Newtâs not sure he saw Hermann have a full meal (ie, something more substantial than black tea and a cigarette) once all throughout all of it. Heâs not sure he saw Hermann sleep somewhere other than his desk either, or even change his clothes.
So, no, Newt isnât expecting it, because expecting it means itâs something they do (which they one hundred percent donât), but he showers early that night, and he changes into a big t-shirt along with his boxers instead of just the latter, and he makes sure his spare pillow is fluffed and placed delicately on his bed. Just in case. And all of it in time for the timid knocking at 12:13 am.
Knocking which isnât even finished before Newt swings open his door. âHey, dude,â he says, leaning casually against his doorframe.
Hermann stands in front of him in pajamas, his pillow tucked under his right arm, his toothbrush clenched tight in his left fist. His pajamas are old and clearly well-loved: blue plaid, hanging slightly off his frame, missing the third button from the top. He hasnât worn this pair over to Newtâs bunk yet. Newt recognizes his thick wool socks, though. He teases Hermann for wearing socks to bed every single time. (Not that Newt is keeping track of what Hermann wears on the super and totally random times he comes over.) âGood evening, Newton,â Hermann says with a terse, polite nod, like they just bumped into each other on the street, or itâs pure coincidence that Newt happened to be behind this very door that he decided to knock on. He peers around Newt into his bunk. âOh, have you tidied up?â
âI picked my dirty laundry up,â Newt says, by which he means he dumped it all onto his desk chair to deal with later.
âItâs a sight better than it usually is,â Hermann says. "I can actually see your floor."
He clears his throat.
âI hope I didnât wake you,â he continues. âI know itâs rather late.â
âNah, not at all, Iâm always up now," Newt says. It's kind of a lie. He's asleep by now on normal nights (barring when he really needs to pull an all-nighter in the lab), but he kind of had an inkling he'd need to stay up an extra hour or so. It's weird how well he knows Hermann sometimes.
"I was taking a walk and thought I might stop by," Hermann says.
Hermannâs eyes drift over Newtâs shoulder, over to Newtâs bed. Newt made sure that his sheets were fresh, too, and he's stripped his bedspread back enough for them to peek out invitingly. Newtâs become shockingly more hygienic since this became a whole totally not-thing. Hermann shifts his weight a little more heavily to his cane. âVery good,â he says. âEr. Well. Considering weâre both awake, I wonder if I might come in toâtalk. Or some such thing. Iâm havingâŠdifficulty sleeping.â He clears his throat again. âInsomnia.â
Newt feigns surprise. âOh, man, really? Of course, totally come in!â He opens his door wider. âMy electric kettle is already boiling if you want tea or something. I meanâI turned it on so I could have tea, but thereâs enough water for two people. I wanted a lot of tea,â he adds.
(Newt bought the kettle for Hermann after he almost had an aneurysm when Newt tried to heat up water in the microwave for him.)
âTea would be nice,â Hermann says.
While Hermann shows himself in, Newt steps over to his bookcase and begins rifling through his tea collection for some of the herbal decaffeinated stuff he keeps on hand for the completely random occasions Hermann drops in. Honestly, though, all of Newtâs tea collection is also kind of for Hermann. Newt is generally more of a coffee sort of guy (barring boba tea, which rocks), so his tea collection kind of just sits there gathering dust when Hermannâs not there. He quickly fixes a cup of herbal tea in Hermannâs favorite of Newtâs mugs (a sturdy old MIT mug, big enough to fit two regular cups) and turns to find that Hermann has already made himself at home in Newtâs bed. âThank you very much,â Hermann says.
Hermann is taking up the right side of the bed, his own pillow and Newtâs spare propped up beneath him, his cane propped against the wall. Itâs the side he always takes. Newt has started thinking of it as Hermannâs side, actually, and has stopped bothering to return items that Hermann routinely leaves on the bedside table because of itâhis spare glasses cleaning cloth, a half-finished book heâll let Newt read along with him over his shoulder, a notepad heâll sometimes scribble random equations down in. Newtâs own stuff (a lamp, his alarm clock, his glasses) looks barren without Hermannâs at this point. Newtâs kind of afraid to decide what that means.
He hits the light and slips into the left side of the bed. He tries very hard not to look at Hermann's delicately crossed ankles, because it's cute and it makes him feel disgustingly warm and affectionate inside, which is totally not how he should be thinking about his fussy lab partner. âDid you want to talk about anything?â he says.
âMm,â Hermann says. His arms are crossed across his chest, too, very prim-and-proper. âNot particularly. Itâs been a miserable week, is all.â
He drinks his fill of the tea, then sets both his mug and his glasses onto Newtâs side table. Newt doesnât have to be asked to pull back the bedcovers for him or to gently drape them over Hermann when Hermann makes himself sufficiently comfortable on the mattress. He especially doesn't have to be asked to wind his arm around Hermannâs side, nudge his knee between Hermann's legs to prop up his left, and draw him snug up against his chest. Hermann showered, tooâhe smells like the same PPDC-standard soap Newt uses, and his short hair is still damp and tickles Newtâs nose. Immediately Hermann sags against him, like all the tension is leaving his body. Newt feels him sigh softly. A moment later, Hermann squeezes his hand. âThank you, Newt,â he says. It's so quiet Newt thinks he imagined it for a second.
âSure,â Newt says.
Maybe theyâll talk about it eventuallyâNewt knows they probably wonâtâbut the truth is that Newt never sleeps as well as he does with Hermann in his bed, too.
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break the glass {in case of emergency} || t.s.
SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto needs help, so he hires a nanny. More specifically, he hires you.Â
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
â§ïœ„ïŸ: *â§ïœ„ïŸ:* TAG LIST *:ïŸâ§*:ïŸâ§ is at the end of this post!
AUTHORâS 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 sheâs been my hype lady! i hope this lives up to everyoneâs expectations because wow has it been a wild ride âĄ
if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!
Shoutoâs 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 canât whimper, canât 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.
âDaddy?â
Shouto blinks harshly to bring himself out of the vortex of his trepid thoughts, âHey, love, what are you doing awake?â
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 sheâs 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.
âDid you have a bad dream?â 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 doesnât answer, hiccupping cries making her whole body shake as she clutches onto him.
âHey,â Shouto presses his lips to the crown of her head before coaxing her head backward. He tucks his thumb underneath her chin, âTalk to me.â
The little girlâs lower lip is wobbling, eyes doe-like and full of tears, thick white eyelashes dense with the little saltine droplets. She palms at Shoutoâs face with one hand, seeming ancient when she whispers, âWhy did they take mommy from me?â
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, âSometimes the world just isnât fair, love. I wish I had a better answer for you, but thereâs not always a perfect explanation.â
Her bejeweled turquoise eyes behold him, thumbs against his mouth as she stares up at him. Glassy irises are blown wide by frightened pupils, âI miss her.â
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.
âI miss her too,â Shouto murmurs into the childâs 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 Shoutoâs 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, âGood night, Hana.â
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 canât close them, though, because heâs afraid he might miss a moment of his daughterâs 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.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
âI can handle this on my own.â
âThis isnât just another assignment. This is your daughter, Shouto.â
His nostrils flare, âYeah, and?â
Fuyumi rolls her eyes, containing herself by taking a deep breath through the nose. Shoutoâs eyes wander as Hana teeters around the kitchen with a few crayons and a plush rabbit.
âThereâs no reason to keep yourself from admitting you need help, Shouto,â Fuyumi grits her teeth and attempts to appear somehow cheerful, even if just for Hanaâs sake. She flexes her jaw, âThis is an insanely large house, brother. You could use the extra hands.â
Shouto narrows his eyes, the scar over his left side appearing even more intimidating when his expression shifts, âYouâre not moving in here, âUmi. Iâll figure something else out.â
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, âListen, will you at least call her? Sheâs great with kids, and sheâs between jobs right now. It could at least turn into a short-term benefit for the both of you.â
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.
âIâll call her.â
âThank you,â Fuyumiâs chest deflates, releasing a pent-up breath she had been holding in unexpectedly. She sifts her fingers through Hanaâs hair, thumbing at her ear gingerly, âI know you hate that I loom over you like another mother, but I just want to make sure that youâre both taken care of.â
Shoutoâs 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, âIâll be okay, âUmi. I promise.â
Fuyumi allows herself a moment to take in the sight of Shoutoâs 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, âI 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.â
âI will be a good father,â 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, âI wonât turn out like dad.â
Holding her hands up in mock-surrender, Fuyumi takes a step back, âI know, Shouto. Trust me, I know.â 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, âYouâre the furthest thing from our father. Which is why I think you should seriously consider reaching out, getting another pair of hands on deck.â
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 heâs 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.
âIâll call her,â he repeats his words from earlier. âI will.â
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 sisterâs smaller frame.
As his sister is leaving, Hanaâs eyes focus on the door. Todoroki canât 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 Fuyumiâs figure, forcing a silhouette onto the floorboards of the entryway. If he were to squint the right way, itâs 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.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
Later that evening, when Shouto has his daughter resting in the crook of his arm, an educational childrenâs 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 â caring, gentle, organized â 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 â the anatomy of a potential candidate.
Itâs 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, âHello?â
âH-Hi there,â Shoutoâs 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, âWhat can I do for you?â
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
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 wonât 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. Heâs 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. Itâs 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, Shoutoâs ankles lock and his fingers still against metal.
âTodoroki Shouto?â
The sound of your voice, completely unadulterated from the natural static of a phone, makes Shoutoâs head spin. He nods, swallowing so hard his throat bobs, âYes, please come in.â
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 arenât 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, âThank you for meeting me.â
âI appreciate you interviewing me,â you answer him, reaching forward to meet his handshake. Youâre grinning when he makes eye contact with you, cheeks round with your smile. âI know that your schedule is very hectic.â
Shouto canât think about it too much or it makes his brain throb within his skull. He grits his teeth, âYes, 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.â
âI can respect that.â 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 itâs tucked between your body. A nervous laugh parts your lips as your feet shuffle, âI wouldnât want to get too attached to her if you didnât like me.â
Shouto chuckles, his eyes darting to his toes, âOh, itâs not you I would be afraid of being incompatible. Hana can be very picky.â
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 Todorokiâs gaze from the floor.
âYouâd be surprised,â your left eye dropping in a wink. âI have quite the effect on people. Especially those who stand three feet and shorter.â
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, âIâve been doing this a long time, Mr. Todoroki. Usually children are withdrawn from their caretakers because they fear weâre trying to replace someone more important in their lives.â
You are closer to him now as you stride across the tile. Todoroki feels his chest constrict when you speak, âIâm 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. Iâm here to do as much or as little as you need of me.â
It takes him a moment to recuperate, faltering before he replies, âI appreciate that. I-Iâve never done this before. I wasnât planning on it.â
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, âNo, thatâs not, I just-â
A sigh parts his lips and he looks back down at his feet, but youâre careening forward to save the day before he can dig himself further into a hole heâs already drowning in. You chuckle, âI donât 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 donât 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.â
Oh yes, Todoroki thinks to himself with a smirk on his lips, hand outstretched towards you again, Heâs going to like you just fine.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
You did not imagine your initial meeting with Todoroki Hana to go like this.
Shoutoâs 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.
âItâs okay,â you try to remain calm in spite of his fear, praying that your clear head can help him to unwind. âIâm sure sheâs fine, Mr. Todoroki. Iâm already in the car, on the way to the daycare right now. Iâll go pick her up and call you as soon as I have my eyes on her.â
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, âIt will only take me twenty minutes. Until then, try to keep yourself busy, okay?â
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 Todorokiâs words about Hanaâs 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 thereâs 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. Itâs 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, youâd 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, âHi, Iâm here to pick up Todoroki Hana.â
Itâs 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, âWeâll need a copy of your ID. Mr. Todoroki called ahead to let us know youâd be coming, but weâd just like confirmation. For Hanaâs safety.â
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 youâre 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.
âHana, it looks like your-â
âNanny,â 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, âI work for Mr. Todoroki.â
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 hadnât told you the extent of her injuries, just that she had an accident on the playground, and someone needed to pick her up immediately.
âHi Hana,â you squat down so you can appear to her at eye-level, an effort to put her at ease. âYour daddy heard you took a fall outside with your friends and he wanted me to come pick you up. Are you okay?â
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.
âHow bad is it?â 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, âIt doesnât look like itâs bleeding too much now, and sheâs rather calm. Was her eye directly injured?â
âNo, itâs just around the orbital,â her teacher runs fingertips through Hanaâs hair, âI donât think sheâll need stitches, but she will definitely need this wound cleaned up by a professional. I know Mr. Todoroki has a nurse he usually calls.â
Itâs 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 heâd 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.
âHana?â
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 youâre interacting with the daycare staff. She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her forearm, careful of her injured eye, âY-Yes maâam?â
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, âI think we ought to go have that nurse of your dadâs check out your eye, what do you think?â
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 donât want to clue her in to the fact that, at the end of the day, itâs not really her choice to make â that plight between staying here and going somewhere else has been completely left up to you.
âYou know,â youâre whispering now, dramatically hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand, pretending that that others standing around canât hear you. âI think that I saw this cool ice cream shop on the way here. You think you could help me try a new flavor?â
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, âWh-What flavor?â
You grin, warmth seeping into your chest as a giggle bubbles up in her throat, âI was thinking bubblegum, or maybe cotton candy?â
Hanaâs nose scrunches at the suggestion, âNo way!â
âWell,â you stand to your full height, hands on your hips as you pout, âwhat would you rather have then?â
She is full-on smiling now, cheeks drawn upward so her dimples can dip into her cheeks on either side, âI like mint w-with choco-chips in it!â
You hold your hand out again, praying that now, after divulging your favorite ice cream flavors, she wonât 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, âY-You really mean it?! Ice cream?â
âI donât see why not,â you shrug, wriggling your fingers as the other women watch on in amazement as your connection to the child. âI think you deserve it after that nasty fall you took.â
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 sheâs tried, and what they taste like, and the last time she had ice cream was oh so long agoâŠ
âSee you later, ladies,â you wave over your shoulder, unable to hide the satisfied smirk making your mouth crooked, âI guess weâre going to get ice cream.â
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
Hana knows how to buckle herself in, so sheâs 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.
âI-I can do it!â she insists, eyes misted. âI-Iâm a big girl!â
âOh, no doubt,â you shake your head in reassurance, pursing your lips as you hold your hands up in midair, palms facing her. âIâm just trying to help so we can get to our ice cream just a tad faster.â
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 youâre 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 youâre 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.
âDaddy!â
A relieved sigh sounds from the other end of the receiver, and you canât help the warmth that blooms in your belly when you grin. Shouto coughs thickly, clearing his throat, âHey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?â
âIâm okay!â Hana twirls her fingers in midair, watching around like Todoroki may appear out of thin air like his voice echoing in the car. âWeâre going to get ice cream!â
âIce cream?â his voice sounds slightly judgmental, but you try to push it off and pretend it means nothing. You spare a glance over your shoulder, âTell him what flavor youâre getting, Hana.â
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 sheâll 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, âI was actually thinking about a milkshake. How does that sound?â
âOoh,â her eyes grow wider, chubby little hands curling into fists in her lap. Sheâs practically buzzing at just the thought of it all, âThat sounds like fun!â
You chuckle, hand on the gearshift, âOh, I meant to ask, have you already scheduled the nurse to be at the house? I wasnât sure if youâd rather it be someone personal to look after her, or if youâd want me to take her to a general hospital.â
âIâll call Masuyo and have her meet you at the house.â Todorokiâs voice is muffled as he turns to speak with someone else in his office, hand over the receiver. You hear him cough, voice tense, âS-Sheâs okay, though. Right?â
âI think sheâs a strong girl,â you make your voice confident, straightening your spine, âsheâll be fine once we get her cleaned up. Right, Hana?â
You spare one final look at the little girl in the backseat, all bright eyes and buzzing fingertips. Sheâs 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 whatâs to come next.
âYes!â She leans forward in her seat, getting closer to his voice, âI canât wait until you get home, daddy. Weâll play prince and princess, right?â
You can sense the hesitation on Todorokiâs 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.
âIâm not sure, love. Iâll have to see. Itâs very busy this afternoon.â
Hana allows her expression to fall for a mere moment. You honestly would not have caught the change in her demeanor if it werenât 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. Itâs like she is reconstructing a mask that she feels pressured to wear in order to keep her father satiated and undisturbed.
âOh, thatâs okay, daddy,â Hanaâs 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, âI played princess at school anyway.â
Your heart continues to crack as she says her final line, âI love you, Daddy.â
Shouto exhales, voice breathy when he repeats the sentiment, âI love you more.â
âI love you most.â Hanaâs 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 didnât 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 Hanaâs 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 Hanaâs glazed eyes unable to focus on one thing in particular. Sheâs 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, âThere you go.â
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 sheâll 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 passengerâs side headrest and look her in the eye â 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 lifeâs confusing questions.
âHana?â Your voice calls her from whatever lull she was in, eyes blinking slow as she connects back to this version of reality. A vague, âYes?â is uttered from her lips, but she isnât 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.
âDid something upset you?â you ask, your hand wrung around the headrest again. âOr do you just not want your milkshake?â
âI dunno,â Hana admits quickly, eyes downturned once she realizes sheâs let the emotion slip from her voice. It makes the edges of her words raw and ragged, âI guess I just donâ wanâ it anymore.â
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 youâre failing.
âWas it what your dad said?â Your question is asked in a low tone, something youâre 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, âAbout not being home to play?â
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, âDaddy is just always working. It makes me sad sometimes.â
You arenât 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, thereâs truth in what sheâs saying, a vulnerability that you werenât 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, âWhatâid you get?â
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.
âI got cookie dough,â you say as you take an over-dramatic sip, crossing your eyes at the sensation of cool ice cream flowing down your throat, âWhat did you get?â
Her face scrunches inward, nose wrinkling at the bridge, âY-You know what I got, donâ you? You ordered it for me!â
You make an exaggerated face of confusion, tilting your head backward and tapping your fingertip against your chin. âHmm,â you nod, agreeing with her accusation, âI guess youâre right, huh?â
âYouâre silly,â 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, âThis is good!â
âGreat,â 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, âWeâre home?â
You unbuckle yourself from your seat and answer her, hopping down from the car to open her door. Sheâs already working at her buckles, undone the top half, but still struggling with the bottom. By the time youâve 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, sheâs 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 Hanaâs wound. Itâs another thirty minutes before you start to sear meat on the stovetop when you hear the garage door rattle open unexpectedly. Todoroki shouldnât be home until later this evening, he texted you after youâd been in line for ice cream to tell you as such.
And yet, when the door opens to reveal his familiar frame, you canât help the way your jaw unhinges.
âYouâre home early,â you mention, flipping the steak pieces in the pan to sear the other side. âEverything okay?â
Todoroki is stunned by how grossly domestic the sight of you in his kitchen is and heâs 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, âYes, well. I decided that my daughterâs health was more important than some paperwork. I had a few of the first-years handle it.â
That is how it starts. Your first day as the new nanny of the Todoroki household.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
âAre you sure you got the right color plates?â
âYes.â
âAnd what about the cake?â
âOrdered it three weeks ago.â
âHow about the-â
âShouto.â
He turns to look you in the eyes, breath frantic, âWhat?â
You canât 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, âIâve got it all handled, okay? Her birthday party isnât for another week, Shouto. Are you ready for the zoo?â
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, âDid you need me to pack the bag?â
âNo,â 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, âWeâre leaving in half an hour.â
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 Todorokiâs calf like an animal, âDaddy!â
Shouto bends at the waist to pluck her up, hands careful under her armpits when he tucks her into his side, âYes, love, Iâm going to the zoo. But it looks like you need a change of clothes.â
âI already laid some out on her dresser,â you pipe up from behind the sink, âbut youâll need to spray her down with sunscreen first, itâs not very cloudy outside today.â
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 Todorokiâs beautifully carved body and stellar facial features. He is built perfectly for the type of Pro Hero that he is â thick muscles wrapped around dense bones, and yet still a relatively lean frame to hold it all into place. Shoutoâs 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. Heâs 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 youâre done, you make your way upstairs towards Hanaâs 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 Hanaâs head. Her arms are stuck in the wrong spots and you can already tell that itâs somehow inside out, but none of that pushes you to step forward and take over.
Itâs only when Hana spots you spying in the doorway that youâre coerced into treading into her bedroom. She pouts and Todoroki doesnât look much happier. He chuckles, âI swear Iâm better at this than I look.â
âOh, I know youâre helpless,â 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, âDaddy is helpless, isnât he?â
You are too busy fussing over Hanaâs 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 â 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 heâs already begun to question his earlier statement.
Itâs just the way she is with Hana, he tries to convince himself. I am kidding myself into believing sheâs here for us, not just because itâs 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.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
The day of Hanaâs party comes quicker than expected.
Youâre 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, âExcuse me, nanny, would you mind filling my glass?â
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 thatâs 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.
âAre you okay?â 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 heâs thinning the air within a few feet of his body, making it difficult to breathe.
âIâm fine,â 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, âShouto.â
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.
âShouto,â you mumble his name again. âSâokay, alright?â
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 Shoutoâs 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, âIâm sorry they were bossing you around. Youâre not here to take care of them.â
âItâs okay, really,â you pat your hand on his chest as if solidifying your statement, smiling enough to sell it. Â
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 youâre eye-to-eye with him, you wish you wouldnât 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 youâre intoxicated, and every inhibition of yours has been forgotten like dust in the wind.
âDaddy!â
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 Todorokiâs 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. Todorokiâs neck prickles at the impending awareness that he might be in for a crude awakening soon.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
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 â 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 sheâs 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, âIâm home.â
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.
âHey,â you whisper, careful to cradle Hanaâs head as you sit up. âSorry, itâs been an eventful day.â
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, âNo, Iâm sorry. I should have been home hours ago. I know you were making dinner.â
âI make dinner every night,â a laugh parts your lips and you run your fingers through Hanaâs hair to try and keep her asleep despite the noise. âSo, itâs nothing new, Todoroki. Let me go put her down and Iâll head out.â
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, youâre 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 youâre 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?
âShouto?â you call, padding forward, toes sifting through the carpet. âIs everything okay?â
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, âYes, everything is fine. I just have something Iâd like to ask you.â
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.
âI was wondering if you might consider moving in.â
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 â 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 heâs 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 wonât look like a dead fish.
âThatâs a pretty permanent decision, Shouto.â Your words hold weight and he knows it, heâs 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. âI donât mind, but I just want to make sure that youâve really thought this through.â
He nods, stepping closer so heâs almost flush with you now, âI feel awful having you drive so early and so late. Your hours would not change, your responsibilities wouldnât change. You would have your own room and privacy, and I donât expect to lessen your pay just because you live here. Itâs just-â
âShouto,â youâre laughing now, shaking your head as you look down at your toes, âI donât expect everything to stay the same if I move in. Iâm prepared, are you?â
Truly, heâs 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 heâs not ready for that yet. And yet, his body betrays his mind as he reaches forward to brush his thumb over your cheek, âI think I can handle it.â
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 itâs the sleep-muddled brain youâre 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.
âWell,â your voice shatters the fragile moment, âI guess I better get home and start packing.â
Shouto releases you and something shifts in his irises, but it is gone as soon as it appears, and you donât 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, âWhat have I just agreed to?â
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
âIâm telling you - Red Riot is going to give you a run for your money.â
âThat blockhead?â Shouto chuckles, swirling his glass, âI doubt it.â
You tilt your head, âAnd what about Ground Zero? Heâs got his own agency now, doesnât he?â
Shouto rolls his eyes, âGod, can we please leave Bakugou out of this conversation?â
Another swig of the rum and coke slides down your throat, burning in the best way. Your head feels hazy, but you donât mind, taking advantage of Hanaâs early bedtime for the first time in a few weeks. You push your mostly empty glass towards him, âBartender?â
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, âYou and the other big players all went to Yuuei together, right? Ground Zero, Deku, Red Riot?â
Shouto nods, âYes, we did.â
âWow, to have gone to Yuuei,â 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, âYou donât have a quirk, do you?â
âNo,â your answer is quick, curt. You swallow thickly, shards of shame sticking in your throat. âI was born without one. Youâve seen my shoes.â
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, âI didnât fully know who you were when I took this job. Itâs kind of embarrassing that I donât have a quirk, and youâre some superhero saving people with ice and fire.â
Shouto holds out his left palm, face up, and ignites a small flame, âI hated this side of my body for so long. It comes with a burden Iâm glad you do not have to bear.â
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.
âWhat does it feel like?â 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 itâs 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 â 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, âWow, Shouto, thatâs amazing!â
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 isnât his quirk affecting you. Your grip tightens but he doesnât seem to notice, his eyesight directed to your lips, zeroed in on the way that you gnaw at them when youâre 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 youâve been beholden to him, despite the utter denial youâve been bathing in to hide the confession.
âTodoroki, I-â
Your voice is cut off by a blazing hand drifting beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dipping against your spine, âI hate it when you call me that.â
Your eyes go wide but heâs 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 canât 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, âShouto, please-â
Todorokiâs 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, âGod, youâre so damn pretty, yâknow?â
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.
âSo pretty,â 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 youâre 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 canât 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 canât 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, âLast chance.â
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, âFuck me, Shouto. Now.â
Your shirt is yanked over your head unceremoniously, but you donât care. Your eyes are wandering, begging for him to be nearly as naked as you. You donât have to ask, because heâs already stepping away from you to remove the offensive piece of clothing, baring his body to you.
Youâve 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 heâs 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. Youâre sure to put pressure back against him, the tip of his cock bulging on your thigh.
âShoâ,â 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 donât have enough dignity to care. All that is on your mind is how he can take you on the countertop, and if youâll be able to keep quiet enough not to wake the sleeping girl up the flight of stairs.
âShit,â heâs cursing when your hand finds his bulge, âsweetheart, I-â
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 heâs 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.
âIf you smell this good, I can only imagine how wonderful you taste,â 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, âSit still, Princess.â
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 youâre 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.
âShoâ, please,â 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 youâd 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. Shoutoâs 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 youâve 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. Heâs 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.
âSo fuckinâ tight,â 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, âCâmere, love,â and then heâs 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, Shoutoâs 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 Shoutoâs briefs down so his cock can spring free. Youâre 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 youâre 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 youâre honestly not sure if it even matters if you come, he should be able to slip right between your tight heat with ease.
âSâpretty,â 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.
âWhat is it?â he asks, borderline patronizing. âAre you gonna come on my fingers?â
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, âP-Please, Shouto, I-â
âI want you to come,â 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, âCâmon, love, I want to see you come. Make a pretty little face for me, yeah?â
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 youâre in such a realm of fevered phrenzy that you canât make out heâs even speaking English.
âSh-Shouto, I-Iâm close,â 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, âCâmon, darling, I know you can do it. Come for me, yeah?â
Itâs 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.
âAtta girl,â 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.
âYour turn.â
Youâre pushing your way off the countertop when the creaking of the stairs makes your heart still within your chest.
Shoutoâs stare flickers from you to the staircase, jaw hung open as he analyzes the sound. When another step echoes in the hallway, heâs 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.
Youâve just gotten your pants buttoned when Hanaâs teetering figure creates a shadow on the kitchen floor.
âDaddy?â 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, âHey, love,â the sound of the nickname makes something stir within your belly, âwhatâre you doing awake?â
Hana swallows a hiccup, âI-I had a bad dream.â
You step forward, pressing your hand to Shoutoâs shoulder, offering a gentle nudge of comfort. Hana blinks up at you, jeweled irises focused on your face, âM-Momma?â
The title holds a weight you had not prepared to carry.
Sheâs 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 donât have time to wonder whether sheâs cognizant enough to realize that sheâs 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.
âYouâre not leaving, right?â Hana whimpers, âI-I had a dream that you left.â
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, âOf course not, sweetheart. Youâre stuck with me.â
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 fatherâs bones, and brush your nose against hers in an eskimo kiss.
âIt was just a dream, babe,â 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, âHana, thereâs no need to worry, love.â
âI already lost one mommy,â Hana sounds ancient when she speaks, voice far away and intelligent beyond her young years, âI donât wanna lose another one.â
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 Hanaâs armpits, separating her from you so he can cradle her body against his chest, âYouâre not losing anyone, sweetheart. Letâs get you back to bed.â
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.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
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, heâs 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 itâs 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 Todorokiâs 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 thatâs 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, youâve had enough.
Even though heâs decided to spend the weekend at home for the first time in a few weeks, youâve never felt more on edge. Hana is extremely irritable, nightmares plaguing her mind during the time sheâs 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 Shoutoâs 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 youâve managed to sustain in spite of the dayâs events.
âHey, uh-â Todorokiâs voice is strained as he stands in the archway of the kitchen, âWould you mind making us a couple of sandwiches? I think Hana is getting hungry.â
The warmth from the dishwater gives you something other than his irises to focus on, your eyesight directed downward, âSure. What would you like?â
âLetâs just do peanut butter and jelly,â Shouto shrugs nonchalantly. âGrape, if we have it.â
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 itâs obvious that Shouto is otherwise unknowing.
âGrape?â you echo, pulling your hands from the dishwater to wipe them on your hand towel. âYou think thatâs a smart choice?â
Shouto scoffs and it stings so much that you turn your head away from him, eyes now focused on the floor beneath your feet, âYes, Iâm sure. Why does it matter anyway?â
âOh, no reason.â 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 youâre waving the knife in his direction before he can stride across the tile, âYou listen to me, Todoroki. And you listen good.â
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 heâs come into contact with.
âWe donât have any grape jelly because your daughter is allergic to grapes.â
Your knuckles turn white as you grip the butter knife in your hand, âAnd if you were ever here you might notice a thing or two, such as an allergy to something that could, I dunno, kill her?!â
The sound of your voice raising an octave or two reverberates off of the walls and thrums at Shoutoâs heartstrings. He swallows thickly, but youâre not done tearing into him just yet.
âThis little charade youâve got going on has got to end.â Your voice is desperate, unhinged, and you feel the honesty scrape against the front of your throat, âYour daughter is turning into someone you can barely recognize, and youâre not far behind her.â
Silence envelopes the room, and the only thing youâre 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, âIf you want me gone, all you had to do was ask. I thought we respected one another enough for that.â
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. Youâre unable to look at him any longer, not sure if itâs 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 canât breathe.
The tumultuous roll of emotions scrapes away at your chest, and youâre surprised that there isnât 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 arenât sure how long you stay this way, crumbled against your door with the heat of disappointment building smoke in your lungs. Itâs difficult to breathe, a dizziness taking over your mind that youâve 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, âY-Yes?â
âCan-Can I come in?â
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.
âListen, I think thereâs just-â
âNo,â you interrupt, a short breath filling your lungs, âIâm going first.â
Todorokiâs 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.
âIf you donât want me here, you could have just said so.â You wring your hands together, knuckles knocking against one another as you twist your fingers. You close your eyelids and inhale a deep breath, âWhat happened, u-us kissing, wasnât professional, and I apologize. But what youâre doing to Hana?â
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, âYouâre never here, Shouto. You missed her ballet recital last week, then you forgot she was allergic to grapes, and now youâre not seeing whatâs directly in front of you!â
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 didnât 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.
âHana deserves better than this, and you know it, Todoroki. So if you donât get your head out of your ass,â your lower lip wobbles and you reach forward to poke him directly in the chest, index finger dug into the space between his pectorals, âyouâre going to lose your daughter.â
Youâre shaking your head and your fist as the next sentence comes tumbling from your lips, heart strings fully wound as you speak, âListen, I donât know what your problem is, but if itâs me, then Iâll leave.â
Shoutoâs brow furrows as he looks down his nose at you, âAre you finished?â
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.
âFuck you, Todoroki.â
You go to turn away from him, your hand falling from his chest, when he snatches you by the wrist, repeating his question, âAre you finished?â
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, itâs possible you wonât have another job ever again.
âI donât want you to quit,â his voice is breathless, an octave higher than normal; he almost sounds sick, âbut there is a problem.â
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 itâs pulled away from his body.
âI think Iâm in love with you.â
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.
âYouâre right,â he barges in on your internal monologue of self-hatred, eyes boring into your soul, âIâve been a shitty father, which is painful for me to admit. But itâs the truth.â
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, heâs 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, âI tried to distance myself from you to get a better grasp on the way I was feeling.â
His palm grazes down the column of your throat, his eyes careful not to stray to close to your lips or else heâll 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.
âFor the longest time, I believed I would never love anyone again after my wife passed away.â 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, âI 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 youâd been here the whole time. You managed to win Hana over in a day and now she canât stop talking about you. And then, when Hana called you mom, it threw me.â
Shoutoâs 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.
âIt was easier for me to dive into work because I knew Iâd have you here to pick up the pieces,â Shouto admits, his gaze finally breaking away from your face to narrow focus to his sock-clad feet. âI was so weak for you that I couldnât bear it. And then you and Hana both suffered for my cowardice.â
A wave of destiny washes over you, looming like a shadow, begging you to make a decision.
âTodoroki, this is-â
âI told you,â his thumb grazes your cheekbone, ânot to call me that.â
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, âI-I canât, Shouto. Iâm not right for you and Hana, Iâm not-oh.â
His mouth slots against yours, angled perfectly to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. Shoutoâs hands are on your face, holding you in place so you canât run from him, despite how every cell under your skin is screaming to bolt from your place.
As he parts from you, youâre left in a daze of euphoria, eyes half-lidded, mouth still pursed as you chase after him, pleading for more.
âYou canât tell me you donât feel the same way,â he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip before retreating to trace your jawline.
And you know that you canât; 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.
Shoutoâs 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.
âYour lips are really warm.â
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.
Heâs 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 heâs 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, âH-Hana? Is she-â
Shouto chuckles, âSheâs laid down for her nap. We have about two hours.â
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.
âSh-Shouto, please,â youâre panting and he hasnât even undressed you yet, âneed you.â
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, âTell me what you need, darling.â
âNeed you.â
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.
âMore specific,â 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, âPlease, Shouto, I want to feel you.â
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. Shoutoâs palm that isnât 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.
âYou are feeling me, sweetheart,â 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, âShoâ, wanâ your cock. Please.â
Youâre 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. Youâd use your tongue on every part of him if heâd let you, but right now youâre 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 donât miss a second.
âCâmon, baby, take your clothes off for me.â
At his command, youâre stripping down until youâre 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.
âHi,â 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 Shoutoâs attention, eyes dragging over each inch of your body, mesmerized by your beauty.
Todoroki shakes his head, âYouâre beautiful, you know?â
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.
âShoâ,â youâre 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 â 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.
âSuch a good girl,â Shouto murmurs into the thin skin of your throat, tongue delving from between his lips to lavish your jugular. âSo pretty, laid out just for me.â
You nod your head as best you can, eyes wide as you drink in his praise. Your mouth bobs open but you canât 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.
âHave you been thinking about this as long as I have?â 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, âIâve wanted to take you against every damn surface in this house for months.â
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 heâs 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, âYou think you can come for me, love? I want to feel you come all over my cock.â
âY-Yes, Shouto, I-Iâm getting there, almost,â 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, âA-Are you gonna-fuck-want you to come in me.â
Itâs a simple sentence, but the weight of it makes Todorokiâs heart stop. He knows youâre on preventatives, heâs had to stay home with Hana to cover during the day for your doctorâs 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 youâre 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 heâs making you feel, Shouto recognizes the fragile box surrounding his heart, guarding it from the world, has begun to shatter.
âShouto, please,â you are begging him now, glassy eyes and pitched tone designed just for him, âNeed to feel you, everywhere.â
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 heâs bruising you but he canât 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.
âI love you, Shouto, I love you too.â
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.
âShit,â 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, âSh-Shoâ, Iâm close.â
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.
âCâmon, darling,â he coos into your ear, folding your thighs upward so youâre fully pressed into the mattress, âI want you to come for me, yeah? I want you to coat my cock. You can do it, youâre close, I can feel it.â
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.
âFuck, you feel good.â 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. Heâs 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, âPlease, Shouto, want to feel you come in me. I want you to pump me full of your hot load, stuff me-ah.â
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.
âI love you,â he whispers into the curve of your earlobe, nipping at the skin as his hips still. âFuck, I love you.â
You smile, pressing a kiss to the curve of his scalp, âI love you too.â
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 heâs moaning into your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin.
âUnless you want to go again, I suggest you put an end to that,â he warns, but there is no intent behind it.
You laugh, rubbing your ankle against his calf, âWeâve got a little one about to wake from her nap. Maybe later.â
And that is a promise you fully intend to keep.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
âMomma?â
You turn your head, pancakes on the griddle in front of you, âYes, honey?â
Hana bounces towards you, white chiffon dress bubbling out at her knees, âWhen is breakfast ready?â
âWhen daddy gets back from his run,â you answer her, squatting in front of her to smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of her dress. âI made yours with choco-chips.â
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, âYou canât tell daddy!â
âOh, I wonât,â 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. âYour secret is safe with me.â
âDonât tell daddy what?â
Hana squeals, turning on her heels to sprint towards the garage door. Sheâs on Shoutoâs 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.
âWe canât tell you or else it wonât be a secret, duh!â Hana sticks her tongue out as she pokes Shoutoâs leg, rolling her eyes like it should be obvious. âLook, Mommaâs making pancakes!â
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 itâs even more infatuated than the last, his love for you only growing as time passes.
âIs she?â 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 heâs close enough that you can reach him but far enough that he canât burn Hana on the griddle.
âYouâre back quicker than I expected,â you admit, pouring batter out onto the stovetop. You grab the spatula, prepared to flip once they look done enough, âDid you pull something?â
Shouto shakes his head, leaning forward to intercept you with a kiss to the lips, âI just missed you.â
âEw, gross! Kissing means cooties!â 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.
âWell, that means you have time to shower before we eat,â you squeeze his arm and return to your station at the griddle, flipping the next set of pancakes. âIâve still got to make eggs and bacon, and some hash browns for the princess.â
Hana is beaming, bright smile tugging on the strings of your heart, âMomma makes the best hash browns.â
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.
âAre you sure youâre okay? You never-ooh.â
Heâs 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, âSmooth one, Todoroki.â
Shouto pinches your hip, growing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, âYou. Me. Nap time.â
âOh?â you ask as he unwinds himself from you, nudging your body back towards the griddle.
âAnd Iâm not talking about sleeping.â
Todoroki disappears from around the corner, slipping up the stairs to your now shared bedroom.
You canât 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 youâve 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 youâre wearing, one of Shoutoâs 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, âHereâs to tomorrow, little one. May it always be just a little better than today.â
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, âSmells good, love.â
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 canât quite make it out; maybe itâs 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.
âHey,â Shouto calls you from your stupor, âyour choco-chip pancakes are going cold.â
You blink slowly, returning your gaze to him, a gentle smile on your face.
At least youâll get to spend the rest of your life with someone as mindful and kind as Todoroki Shouto.
â« ââââ âȘâąâŠ â âŠâąâ« ââââ âȘ
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