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just-call-me-angel · 2 years

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Clever Girl

Chapter 5 - The Power of Killing

Warnings: All chapters after this point will contain spoilers!! graphic depictions of murder, edward is a lil creep who thinks killing is a good form of seduction and i kinda love him bc of that

Author's Note: I apologize that this took so long, I have been sister struggling with this chapter omg I ended up making it more of a filler chapter bc i was struggling so much, I promise the next chapter will be better and will contain smut lol. No riddle this time because my brain hates me :( riddles will continue in the next chapter <3 Good job to everyone who got the last riddle correct btw!! The answer was Power! Ily guys so much and I appreciate the continued support

Summary: It’s a bit of a shock when you hear about the Mayor’s death the day after Halloween, but you couldn’t exactly say you were all that torn up about it. Men like him spent most of their lives getting rich off of killing people like you– it was really only fair if they shared the same fate–hell they probably deserved worse.And worse was exactly what Mayor Mitchell got.

Chapters: || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 ||

Living in Gotham had always been interesting. Though the longer you live in a city like Gotham, the more interesting became plain fucking annoying. And you’d lived in Gotham all your life so you’d pretty much seen all there was to see.

That was until you started talking with Edward Nashton. He made everything interesting. You’d never met someone quite like Edward. You hadn’t yet decided if that was a good thing or not.

But you liked the addition of Edward being in your life. Knowing you got to see him when you got into work gave you something to look forward to. You’d spent most of your living day today out of pure spite but now you had Edward and his riddles to get you out of bed.

It’d be even better if he got you into bed though.

You’d only been talking to the guy for a few weeks and already you wanted him bad. Real bad.

You wanted to believe that he wanted you just as badly. But Edward wasn’t always easy to read. Despite his awkward fumbling, Edward was meticulously careful about what he let you learn about him.

Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse behind his carefully constructed mask.

He’d get frustrated if you didn’t understand one of his riddles and you’d watch as his eyes darkened at you. “You’re not stupid. I know you can figure it out.” You’d blink and he’d be back to his usual self, smiling sweetly as he offered to repeat the riddle.

It probably should have scared you.

Unfortunately, you’d never been a very good judge of character.

Sometimes you felt scared for him though. He’d been saying odd things and giggling to himself and changing the subject with a riddle if you asked him any questions.

He’d disappear for a few days without warning and then come into the diner like he hadn’t been driving you up the wall with worry. Eventually, you gave him your phone number. He’d been so confused when you passed him a little note with your number carefully written beneath your name.

“You’re giving me your number?”

You laughed, despite being a bit annoyed with him, “Yea, maybe shoot me a text next time you decide to disappear without warning.”

He looked confused for a moment and then smiled at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You were worried about me?”

You snorted, “Of course I was… Besides, how am I supposed to solve your riddles if you aren’t even here to ask me them?”

You’d never seen Edward get so red in your life.

At first, he used your number sparingly. Still, you took the chance to message him whenever you could, even when you knew you’d be seeing him later. You asked him about his day, told him about the next-door neighbor who always played his music obnoxiously loud, and sent him pictures of the stray cats that lived in the alleyway next door.

It helped for a while that you could message him when you were taking a different shift or you were taking a day off of work but Edward wasn’t as forthcoming. Most of the time his responses were either one-word responses or his usual cryptic riddles.

He was awful at updating you if he decided not to come into the diner. And you tried hard not to feel hurt by it– he had no commitment to you after all—but it wasn’t easy.

Gotham wasn’t exactly the kindest place to people like him–you knew that firsthand.

So it worries you when you don’t see him for a few days and he stops returning your texts. Normally he’d come in late at least and apologize profusely for keeping you waiting. But you were receiving complete radio silence from him now. You were starting to wonder if you’d done something wrong.

But living in Gotham also meant you didn’t always have time to worry about your own bullshit. You had to work, pay your rent, and try to drown out the constant stream of news stories about poor men, women, and children dying in the streets because of rich pricks who wanted to make a quick buck.

It’s a bit of a shock when you hear about the Mayor’s death the day after Halloween, but you couldn’t exactly say you were all that torn up about it. Men like him spent most of their lives getting rich off of killing people like you– it was really only fair if they shared the same fate–hell they probably deserved worse.

And worse was exactly what Mayor Mitchell got.

It really should have made you feel at least a little horrified to find out he’d been violently murdered in the safety of his home. But it didn’t. In fact, it thrilled some twisted part of you to know he’d suffered.

You almost wished you had been there to see it. Of course, you didn’t say that to Darcy or any of your coworkers when it came on the news that night during your shift.

“Oh that poor family,” Darcy said, shaking her head as she listened to the reporter on TV go over the case. You looked up from where you stood at the counter, trying hard not to roll your eyes when the screen showed Commissioner Pete Savage standing in front of the Mayors home droning on about how terrible it was to have lost a man as incredible as Mitchell.

Darcy pats your back and shuffles past you, “Alright hun, im gonna head on home, do me a favor and ask Chris to walk you home tonight, I don’t want you walking alone knowing there’s some maniac out there.”

This time you did react, snorting, “Do I look like a corrupt official to you?”

Darcy turned back to look at you, brows furrowed, “(Y/N) this isn’t something you should joke about.”

You lower your head, “Sorry Darce.”

She sighs and shakes her head, “Just promise you’ll ask someone to walk you home–for my sake please”

You catch her gaze, and any intention to argue with her leaves you instantly when you recognize the exhaustion and worry in her eyes.

You muster up a smile and nod, “I promise.” It's a lie–just like all the times you’d promised to quit smoking–a lie she readily accepts with a tired smile as she moves towards the door, gathering her purse against her hip as she does.

“Maybe ask that sweet boy you seem so smitten with to walk you home.”

You stumble, just barely catching yourself from falling. You hear her chuckle, and the bell of the door chime, and by the time you look up, she’s already out of your sight leaving you huffing as you stare at the puddle of coffee that you’d spilled onto the floor.

Of course, she knew teasing you about Edward would get you all flustered. You couldn’t hide anything from Darcy, no matter how hard you tried.

You sigh looking around, thanking your lucky stars that there aren’t many customers left in the diner this late at night. You grab the closest towel and set the half-empty coffee pot aside on the counter as you slowly sink to your knees to clean up the mess.

The bell chimes and you almost expect to hear Darcy’s honey-sweet drawl. Instead, you hear the quiet tap of shoes on the tiled floor and the rustle of paper against the counter. A customer—Great.

You don’t look up as you continue cleaning up the spill, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” you call behind you, receiving no response except silence at first.

You grab another dish towel, bending forward a bit more to mop up the last of the spill. You can feel someone watching you and ---fuck you really should have worn a longer skirt to work.

“People make me, save me, change me, raise me. What am I?”

Shit—

You yelp, scrambling to stand up, face bright red as you look up at Edward. He tilts his head at you, giving you a teasing smile. You huff at him, crossing your arms, “Edward!-- give a girl a warning before you sneak up on her.”

He laughs a bit, “Sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you.��

Fucking liar.

You can feel his eyes dragging down your body, catching on your exposed thighs beneath your slightly bunched-up skirt. It’s stupid but you let your hands fall to your skirt, fingers toying with the hem of it for a moment, and—fuck—the way Edward’s breath catches in his throat has you feeling a little dizzy. His cheeks go pink when you finally brush your hands over your skirt to flatten it back over your thighs.

You stare at him for a moment just taking in the sight of him. He looks nervously up at you, cheeks flushed as he gives you a small smile. You fight the urge to smile back at him, reminding yourself that you hadn’t seen him in a few days and he’d been avoiding answering your texts.

You cross your arms, “Where have you been anyway?”

His smile falls and he bows his head sheepishly. After a minute he takes a breath and looks up at you again, smiling, “People make me, save me, change me, raise me. What am I?”

You raise a brow at him, placing a curled fist over your hip, “Edward come on you had me worried–”

Edward shakes his head, clicking his tongue, “Answer the riddle and I’ll explain” You pout at him but don’t argue, rolling your eyes a bit at Edward’s cryptic nature. God, you really wish it was easier to stay annoyed with Edward.

With a sigh, you grab a clean mug and set it down in front of him, carefully pouring coffee into the mug, “You want a slice of pie again? We still have some of your favorite left from the morning crowd.”

He nods, quietly thanking you and you shuffle off to the kitchen. Chris is sitting on an upside-down crate screwing around on his phone and nearly jumps out of his skin when you tap his shoulder.

“Fucking hell– (Y/N) I thought you were Darcy coming to kick my ass.” He pouts when you laugh at him, patting his arm and shaking your head at him.

“Chill out, Darce went home a little bit ago, I just came to get a slice of pie for Edward”

He nods, passing you a clean plate to put the pie on, “Edward? You mean that freaky guy who's always doing puzzles and shit?”

“Edward’s not a freak, don’t be an asshole Christopher.” You hiss, cutting a slightly larger slice of pie and placing it on the plate for Edward.

Chris laughs, leaning back against the counter, “I didn’t realize you two were on a first-name basis with the guy” He pauses to open the fridge, allowing you to grab the whipped cream, “Ya know if you keep spoiling the guy with extra pie and shit you’re gonna give him the wrong idea.”

You shrug, trying to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Shut up or I’ll tell Darcy you’ve been joining me on smoke breaks again.”

He snorts, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Jeez no need for the threats (Y/N)” he pauses for a moment and then his eyes go wide as if he’s realized something important, “Holy shit–you like him don’t you?”

You nearly drop the plate, turning around to look at him, “What–no–”

He shakes his head, laughing, “No no– don’t deny it now (Y/N), you like him– I never pegged you for the girl to go for guys like him.”

You pout, crossing your arms, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He raises a brow at you and snorts, “Come on– you are way out of that guys league–and besides he’s kind of creepy– the guy is always staring at you.” You glare at him, grabbing the plate and shoving past him.

He stumbles a bit and sighs, “Wait come on– (Y/N) I’m sorry–I didn’t mean it” you pause at the door to look at him, “I’m just being an ass. I’m sure Ed’s a cool guy–”

“Edward” you correct with a stern look.

“Right–” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, “Just be careful, there’s a lot of creeps in Gotham ya know?”

You sigh and manage a smile, “I appreciate your concern Chris–really I do—I’ve lived in Gotham long enough that I think I can handle myself, okay?”

He nods, “I know you can” he pauses and offers you a sheepish smile, “We cool?”

You take a minute, resting the plate against your hip and pressing your index finger to your chin as if deep in thought for a moment before grinning at him, “We’re cool–just quit being such an asshole all the time, yea?”

He gives you a cheeky grin, “ You’ve got yourself a deal if you let me bum a cigarette off of you.”

You snort, “I thought you told Darcy you quit.”

“And you tell her you’re gonna quit every other week and yet here we are.” he retorts.

You shrug, setting the plate down on the counter for a moment while you dig into the front pocket of your apron, “Fair point.” you chuckle as you pull out the half-empty pack, slipping two cigarettes out and passing them both to him.

He gasps with a mocking shocked expression, “Two whole cigarettes? Must be my lucky day” You roll your eyes shoving the pack back into your pocket and picking the plate back up, turning to push the door to the dining area open again.

Edward barely acknowledges you when you set the plate down in front of him, too distracted by his daily crosswords. You smile fondly, watching as he carefully pencils the answer into a row of boxes with a pleased little giggle.

After a moment, he glances at the pie, brows furrowing a bit as he looks up at you, “This slice is bigger than normal.”

Of course, he would notice something like that.

You shuffle nervously in front of him, “Oh? I uh–I didn’t even notice.”

Nice, that’ll definetly convince him.

He stares at you curiously, and you suddenly feel far more exposed than you had earlier with your skirt bunched up. His lip twitches and he smiles at you, giggling a bit as he drags the plate closer to him “Pumpkin pie is my favorite, you know.”

You nod, fidgeting with the end of your apron, giving him a nervous smile, “Really? It's my favorite too.”

He looks up at you again just as he’s swallowing the first bite of pie and offers you a quiet hum of approval before replying, “Do you remember the riddle I gave you before?” you shake your head and he smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose, taking a deep breath before he repeats the riddle for you, “People make me, save me, change me, raise me. What am I?”

You sigh leaning over the counter a bit, unbothered by the way Edward’s eyes catch for a moment on your slightly exposed cleavage–you’d caught him staring more than a few times since meeting him and you’d be lying if you didn’t encourage it a bit by leaving a few extra buttons open on your shirt.

People make me, save me, change me, raise me. What am I?

You thought on the riddle for a bit, glad to have Edward sitting in front of you again after days of worrying over him. You really hoped he had a good explanation for his disappearance–though you doubted you’d be able to stay annoyed with him even if he didn’t—still you’d probably remind him that he had a phone for a reason.

You took care of a few customers as you pondered over the riddler. It can’t be children, that’d be too easy, you thought as you poured a fresh cup of coffee for a young man working on his laptop in one of the corner booths. The answer finally came to you as you were gathering the measly little tip one of your regulars had left you at their table. People make it, save it, change it and raise it. The answer was money.

You stuff the crumpled-up cash and loose change into your apron, gathering the dishes off of the table as you shuffle back towards the counter. You smile at Edward as you pass, stepping into the kitchen quickly to place the dishes in the sink. You roll your eyes when you notice the backdoor is cracked open and you can see a little cloud of smoke meaning Chris is probably taking a quick smoke break.

You can almost hear Darcy scolding you in your head as you walk back out into the dining area. You stand in front of Edward, tapping the counter to get his attention as you lean towards him a bit, “The answer is money.”

His face spreads into a smile as soon as he hears your answer and he claps his hands excitedly, “Correct! You’re getting better at these, Clever girl.”

Christ the things you’d do to hear him praise you like that all the time.

You giggle, combing a hand through your hair as you beam at him, “You think?”

He nods, “Of course I do.” he pauses, just staring at you and you feel your cheeks going bright red, “Would you like another riddle?”

You have to fight the urge to say yes when you remember that he had promised to tell you where he’d been if you solved the riddle. You shake your head pouting a little, “Not yet, first you have to answer my question, remember—”

“Hey, sweetheart!” an older man calls interrupting you before you can get an answer from Edward. You look up at the man at the other end of the counter, sighing when you recognize him as a regular—one who you had reminded on multiple occasions not to call you sweetheart.

“I’ll be with you in a moment Mr. Seavers,” you say, forcing a polite smile as you look over at the balding man and then back at Edward.

Edward isn’t looking at you when you turn back to him. He’s staring directly at the other man, jaw tensing until he looks back at you with a strained smile.

You muster up a nervous laugh, “Sorry about that–”

“Sweetheart come on I ain’t getting any younger over here.”

You sigh, glancing at the man again, polite smile no longer gracing your lips, “Please Mr. Seavers I’ll be with you in one moment–”

“I’ve told you to call me Jimmy, sweetheart.”

Edward tenses again in front of you, and you squirm a bit watching his eyes darken as he stares at the man. Christ, it should not be turning you on to see him look like he’s two seconds away from lunging at the man.

You brush your hands over your apron, smiling at Edward and offering him a brief apology before shuffling over to the man, “Mr. Seav– Jimmy what can I get for you.”

“I’ll take a refill on my coffee and a slice of pie sweetheart.”

You bite the inside of your cheek glancing at Edward for a moment and then back at Jimmy as you pour fresh coffee for him, “I already served the last slice of pie.” It's a petty lie but you really don’t give a shit–you just want to finish your shift and talk to Edward—and dealing with Jimmy and his usual bullshit was keeping you from doing that.

He curses and offers you a smirk, reaching out to touch your hand for a second before you can pull it away, “That’s alright sweetheart, getting to see you is a treat enough for me.”

You’re stomach turns and you yank your hand back, “I’ve told you before Jimmy, don’t call me that.”

He chuckles as you walk back to Edward and you resist the urge to rush into the kitchen to scrub your hands clean. Edward glares at Jimmy for a second, fingers curling into white-knuckled fists on the counter. You reach across the counter and place a hand gently over his, smiling at him when he finally looks up at you.

“So–What have you been up to?” you ask, tracing a circle over the back of his hand until he stops clenching his fists. His eyes shift back and forth for a moment between you and Jimmy before he finally sighs, and fixes his glasses as they slip down his nose.

“There was a work emergency that required me to work extra hours. I apologize if I worried you at all.”

You recognize a well-practiced lie before he even finishes the sentence. It annoys you a bit but in your experience, things like this were usually best left alone. Besides, he seemed genuinely sorry that he’d worried you. And it wasn’t as if you’d never lied to him before so really you had no room to judge him.

You shrug “It's alright, just text me next time” you squeeze his hand with a teasing smile, “That’s why I gave you my number remember.”

His face flushes and he laughs nervously,” Yea—I’m sorry about that too—I’m not—uh—not used to having someone worry about where I am I guess.”

Oh. Well, now you definetly couldn’t be annoyed with him.

You squeeze his hand again, “Well now you have me,”

He smiles, avoiding your eyes as he turns his hand over to hold yours for a moment, “And–and you have me.”

You don’t tell him how much you’d be willing to do for him—and neither does he.

You nod, a little distracted by the way his hand feels in yours, long fingers tangling with yours. He has the hands of a pianist, with long fingers and pale knuckles. There are scars on his hands, mostly along with his fingertips and the backs of his hands and knuckles. You don’t need to ask where they came from—you’d lived in Gotham long enough to know what kind of scars came from living on the streets—Lord knows you had your fair share of them.

You brush your thumb over his knuckle, he tenses a bit like he’s worried you’re going to ask him about the scars and you smile, “Do you have any more riddles for me?”

—- Edward’s POV —

Edward hated avoiding you. But balancing his life with you in it was becoming increasingly difficult. You were a distraction— and as much Edward wanted to welcome that distraction he also knew he had a job to do. It was better to avoid you for periods of time. It kept you both safer– at least until he was sure he could bring you into his life completely.

It helped that he had the cameras in your apartment to watch you at least. He hated seeing you look so sad whenever you tried to message him and he left you on read. But he told himself he’d make it up to you in the end.

He just needed to finish the first part of his plan and then he could watch Gotham tremble in fear for a while and allow you to distract him again. Hopefully by the time he needed to complete the next step he’d be able to show you his true face. Then he wouldn’t have to hide from you.

Besides the thought of seeing you again was a decent motivator for getting rid of the Mayor as soon as possible—if he was lucky he’d soon have you and the Batman on his side and then he’d be unstoppable.

It took everything in him not to message you as soon as he finished setting the scene in the Mayor’s study after killing him. He wanted to show you his work—he wanted you to admire it —he wanted you to tell him clever he was for putting this all together.

He went home that night and barely made it through the front door before dragging his pants down to his knees and stumbling to his desk to watch you on the monitors. He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline from having just killed a man or the thrill of imagining how you would react when he finally showed you his true face, that had him half-feral as he came into his hand—it was probably both.

He hardly slept that night knowing he’d get to see you again. He’d have to ask you what you thought about the Mayor’s death—he needed to know that you understood how much men like Mitchell deserved to suffer—he’d make you understand if he had to.

The next day when he walks into the diner and he doesn’t see you he worries that you might have called in and decided not to tell him. He’s pleasantly surprised when he finds you behind the counter, bent over cleaning up a coffee spill— especially when he’s got a nice view of your baby blue panties.

Silly girl, you really should be more careful what if someone saw you like this and decided to take advantage.

He snaps a few pictures when he’s sure no one is looking at him—he doesn’t even worry about the four cameras arranged around the diner, you’d already told him that the one pointed at the door was the only one that actually worked. He very nearly had to rush off to the bathroom again when you finally stood and gave him a bit of a show as you fidgeted with your skirt.

He feels guilty when you admit to being worried for him and has to remind himself several times that there’s a reason he can’t tell you the truth yet. He’d never been the patient type. He’s glad at least that you don’t pry, accepting his excuse even though he’s positive you know he’s lying.

It’s incredibly easy to slip back into his usual routine with you, teasing back and forth and chattering over pie and coffee. It reminds him why he needs to be patient. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like other customers have gotten the memo that it’s Edward’s time to have your attention.

“Hey sweetheart, turn up the tv would ya!”

Edward has no idea how you manage it but you take the man’s insistent prattling in stride, showing hardly any signs that it bothers you. He notices the slight twitch of your jaw tensing and your hands curling into fists at your side but he doubts that anyone else notices it. It makes his blood boil to think you have to deal with people like this every day and he wants desperately to take you away from it all.

Soon—I’ll take you away soon.

It doesn’t help that Jimmy’s flirtatious comments give way to jealousy that rages in his belly. It’s stupid—he had no reason to be jealous of the man—it was pretty clear you didn’t like him. Still, it makes his stomach twist in anger watching the man interact as he owns you—like he deserves to even breathe the same air as you.

It makes him want to put the mask on again and teach the man a lesson—now there’s an idea.

He wonders if you want to watch the man bleed out as much as he does— he imagines you want it more than he does—he wants to give you that—he wants to set you free in the way he had been set free.

He wants to show you the power that came from ending someone's life.

“Come on sweetheart hurry it up–”

You offer the man a polite smile, picking up the remote and quickly turning up the volume a few clicks until Jimmy gives you a wolfish grin and a wink, turning to watch the tv. You cringe, shivering as you turn back to Edward, smile a little tense, “Sorry–would you mind repeating the riddle?”

It takes him a minute to reply, too lost in his thoughts, deciding he’d pay Jimmy a visit later in the night so you’d never have to deal with him again. He grins at you after a moment, “ Some try to hide, some try to cheat, but time will show, we always will meet. Try as you might, to guess my name, I promise you'll know when I come to make my claim. Who am I?”

He likes watching you think about the riddles so hard— he likes that you put effort into trying to please him. Plus it gives him a little time to plot against the man at the other end of the counter who keeps eyeing you up when you aren’t looking.

You find the answer to the riddle just as Edward is gathering his things to leave, “Death, the answer is Death, right?” you ask eagerly looking at him.

He grins, nodding enthusiastically, “I told you, you’re getting better at this Clever girl”

You clap your hands, pleased that you’d made him proud and he chuckles placing an extra tip on the counter before you can argue, “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

You tilt your head at him, hands on your hips, “Promise?”

He grins, “I promise.” You seem convinced, hands falling back to your sides as you beam at him, watching him gather his things, and tug his jacket over his shoulders.

Edward is pleased to find that Jimmy stays a little longer than him, giving Edward the perfect opportunity to follow him home. He wishes he had the forethought to grab his mask before leaving home earlier—but a part of him is glad he doesn’t have it—he wants Jimmy to recognize him in his final moments.

Jimmy is foolish and arrogantly unaware of his surroundings, completely missing the soft tap of Edward’s shoes against the damp pavement as he follows him. It’s not the same as when he follows you home or when he tails one of his targets as the Riddler—but it’s thrilling all the same.

He’d normally hate to do something without weeks of planning–too many things could go wrong—but he couldn’t get himself to step back when it came to someone posing a threat to you.

It was easy to catch the man off guard and shove him into an alleyway nearly a block and a hlaf away from the diner. The man stumbled, crashing forward into the ground with a grunt. He was a little larger than the Mayor so he worried for a moment he might not be able to overpower him. The man staggered, attempting to look back and Edward shoved his boot into the man’s gut, giggling when the man curled into himself with a choked gasp.

Edward let the man lay there for a moment as he looked around the alley for something to hit him with. He couldn’t help the wicked little grin that formed on his face when his eyes landed on a glass bottle. He swiped it off the ground quickly, twisting it in his hand with a look of glee as the man turned to look at him.

“What the—”

Edward swung the bottle into the side of the man’s face, giggling when the man yelped as the bottle shattered, shards digging into his face—and fuck the sight of the blood beginning to drip down the man’s forehead was enough to send Edward’s heart racing. The man hit the ground again, hands reaching up to cover his face as he began to cry.

How fucking pathetic.

The man began to crawl away, dragging his legs on the ground in a desperate attempt to escape the fate he knew awaited him, “ple–please.”

Edward grinned, letting the man drag himself further into the alleyway. He stalked after him, swiping a loose metal pipe off of the ground as he crushed the man’s left ankle beneath his boot.

The man yelps, twisting to look up at Edward again, “Please—please just let me go.”

Edward clicks his tongue, tilting his head down slightly at the man, “This wouldn’t have happened if you would have just left her alone.”

“Wha–what? What—what are you talking about?”

Edward doesn’t answer, swinging the pipe hard against the man’s face, giggling when he hears the sickening crack of the man’s jaw dislocating.

The man chokes on a scream, incoherent cries for mercy being drowned out by the blood filling his mouth,”pl-plea--pleas–”

Edward swings again, this time a little harder, relishing in the sound of the man’s face hitting the pavement. The man tries to speak again but no words come out, only choked little cries of pain.

Edward lets the pipe crash against the man’s head again, and again and again until he stops hearing the man’s pathetic cries for mercy, and even then he keeps bringing the pipe down until the man’s face is barely recognizable. He’s got blood spattered on his hands by the time he lets the pipe clatter to the ground.

He stands there, chest rising and falling with quick heavy breaths as he stares down at the body. He should feel disgusted as he looks upon his work–-but all he feels is a wave of power.

He crouches, digging his hands into the man’s pockets and dragging his wallet out, flipping through it for a moment before pocketing it. He’d already made it nearly impossible to recognize the man, so taking his wallet was only a secondary precaution–though with the murder of the Mayor the GCPD would hardly be worried about some lowlife getting his head bashed in.

He couldn’t deny the benefits of the corruption in Gotham allowing him to slip through the cracks without raising suspicion.

It takes him a moment to drag the man further into the alleyway, and he sobers for a moment as he shoves the body into a pile of garbage, tossing loose trash bags and cardboard over it. It wouldn’t keep it hidden forever but it’d given him a head start if the cops wound up investigating further-–if he was lucky they’d shock it up to the murder of a homeless man and the investigation would be lost in a sea of unsolved cases.

He takes his time walking home, giddy and overjoyed with the knowledge that the man would never again bother you— he had protected you—and one day he hoped you would thank him for that.

Tag List

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romanarose · 2 years

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Sunshine, Starlight, Sweetheart, Brightside: Chapter 23

Steven Grant X OC X Marc Spector

Story Masterlist

Fic Summary: Steven meets Sam and they strike up a quick relationship, both kindhearted and loving, they fall fast. But both have a lot going on. Steven had Marc and Moon Knight, and Sam has mental health problems of her own. Slowly, Steven starts to put together pieces of her story as Sam starts to get to know Marc and Jake.

Chapter Summary: Sam isn't feeling good while Marc is fronting. Marc considers letting Steven front (this is his area after all), but he decides to take care of her, to prove to himself he can do more than fuck and fight.

WARNINGS!!! Okay y'all, I may or may not have gone a little haywire with this chapter. Like..... its a lot. I will put^^^^^^^^ when the smut starts and ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ when it ends bc its gonna get funky. if you want to skip, you don't really need to know much except they fuck twice. Anyway.... heres the warnings. God forgive me for what I've done. PIV sex, period sex, fingering, oral f receiving on period, blood and bodily fluids, anal play (finger in butt, not full anal), unrealistic sex in a bathtub.... IDK what to tell you I just wanted to try my hand at this, stupid fight bc Marc is unable to allow himself to be happy. Mentions of Layla, struggles to orgasm, panic attack

Also, got some Jewish!Marc spector content, incase y'all forget

And a reminder that Sam is a character, not a a mary sue self insert. She is going to be flawed. If you think she over reacted here or don't think she handles marc's issues well, that's fine. She's not meant to be perfect. People aren't perfect.

OK here we go.

*********************************************

Just Sam: I’m hemorrhaging

Marc about spit out his coffee. Logically, he knew that if she was actually hemorrhaging, she wouldn’t be texting him. It didn’t help the panic.

Steven with a V: ?!?!?!?!-M

Just Sam: Hi Marcy Marc! Hope I didn’t scare you.

Steven with a V: Why are you hemorrhaging?-M

Sam was used to texting Steven. Steven knew what ‘I’m hemorrhaging’ meant. As much as she loved Marc, and as much as the two of them have done some of the most filthy, disgusting things two humans in love can do to each other, somehow she couldn’t manage to be straightforward with Marc that she was on her period. Sam knew it wasn’t fair to put stereotypes on him, but Marc was Marc. He shoots guns and gets in fights, and was a marine… Steven bought her tampons and pads just to keep at his place in case of emergency,Sam hadn’t even asked for that. Sam had expected Steven to answer.

Steven with a V: OH! I see. Sorry, Steven’s resting for the evening.-M

Probably wore him out from last weekend’s fiasco. They hadn’t planned on seeing each other today, or tomorrow for the matter. Marc spent the night with her, but mornings? Mornings were a special time with Steven. Sometimes there was lazy morning sex, sometimes there wasn’t. There were always cuddles, forehead kisses, Sam liked to make him breakfast. He deserved someone looking after him, caring for him. She tried to make balanced breakfasts that were vegan and often found herself looking up meals to try to make Steven for dinner too. She wasn’t much of a cook, but for him? She’d give it a go.

Steven with a V: Are you okay?-M

Sam didn’t realize how much she’d been just… thinking

Just Sam: Sorry, got distracted. And don’t be sorry Steven’s out, I’m always happy to hear from you, Starlight.

Steven with a V: Do you need anything? I can get you some snacks or bring you Motrin?

Just Sam: No I’m good, thank you baby. I just wanted to complain.

Marc knew this was better as Steven’s department. Everything was Steven’s department. Steven cooked for her, took her on romantic, thoughtful dates. Steven knew what words to say and when to say none. When to hold her and when to fuck her. Marc really had thought maybe, just maybe, that would be his department. But Steven was good at that too. Steven didn’t need to do what Marc did to get her to come multiple times a night, he could draw orgasm after orgasm from her with his mouth. Marc wasn’t sure if he remembered how to have sex without the slapping and the choking. He’d never say it, but the night they finally got together, he was terrified from multiple angles. The sex and the domecicity. The fact he said he loved her, that she said she wanted to be with him. It was against all his instincts to do this, to be domestic. That, again, Steven’s department. It had not gone well with Layla.

Just Sam: Did you have a good day honey?

She was changing the subject because she knew he was uncomfortable. She knew he couldn’t be what she needed. He needed to change something. He didn’t want to ruin what he had with Sam like he had with Layla. Marc briefly thought he should talk to Steven about this, Steven would be gung-ho for a heart to heart. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t drag Steven into his shit. Again. No, he knew what he had to do. He could make a start with Sam.

Steven with a V: Can I come over in a bit?-M

Sam smiled. She loved that he always signed off his texts with an M. She could tell who it was by how they texted, but even if they were in the middle of a conversation, he still signed off. He wanted to make sure she always knew it was him. Marc had this… fear, that Sam would think he was Steven and say or do something. He never wanted to trick her or mislead her.

Just Sam: I would love that!

What would Steven do, what would Steven do

What would I do for what? He mumbled in the headspace, waking up.

Go back to bed, I got it.

Come on mate, let me help. What’s going on

Sam’s on her period, I want to help but really, I want to do this myself… I gotta prove it to myself that I can.

Okay, but wake me up if you need me

Well do, buddy

And Marc?

Yeah?

I think you’re really sweet

Shut up.

Marc walked around the store. Okay, what do girls like? Chocolate? Yeah, girls like chocolate on their period. Is that a stereotype? Layla never let him do much besides cook and clean when she was out of commission. Maybe he could do that. She always complained how messy her place was. Marc didn’t think it was actually dirty, just disorganized. She just had so much stuff. She liked memories. Yeah, he could help organize. He could also cook, not well but he could do it. She cooked Steven breakfast, Steven cooked her dinner. Marc looks at his watch. Okay, it’s 4. Plenty of time to get things and cook.

Marc got groceries for matzo ball soup, that used to make him feel better when he was a kid. Even after his mom stopped making Shabbot dinner, or any food in general, his dad was too busy to make anything most days. Marc was left to fend for himself. TV dinners, Kraft Mac and Cheese, chef boyardee… But one thing he could count on is if he was sick, his dad got him Matzo ball soup from the deli. If there was a game on (which there usually would be in Chicago) his dad would actually leave the office in their attic and come watch with him. Sometimes, if there was an important game on, Marc would pretend to be sick just to get his dad to watch with him.

His dad really tried. Once Randall died, he essentially became a single parent. Wendy was no longer a parent, she was a ghost living in their house. With the cost of the funeral and Wendy unable to work (and sporting an expensive drinking habit) Elias started teaching at the local Rabbinical school. After a while, he picked up more and some conversion classes, various projects here and there in addition to his Rabbi duties. Marc knew he needed his own escape. It became easier to just dive into his work, his community, and his God than deal with what was happening at home.

Marc picked up some chocolate cake. Just in case.

He knocked, but there was no answer. Marc let himself in with their spare key. He took a look around her little studio. Not the smallest he’s seen in his life. He wondered, not for the first time, how she afforded it. When Sam wasn’t on break, she couldn’t quite hit full time hours, and day care wasn’t known for great pay. He knew she had lived on rotation with Jessica and Elena for close to 2 years, so maybe she saved up, but it seemed unlikely. Marc remembers a comment Dave had made, something about not sending her money when they couldn’t afford to feed her and Steven’s theoretical kids. Was he sending her money for the apartment? Was her mom? Chris?

She was dead asleep. He set down the groceries and put them away, washed the dishes and cleared away the trash. He took out the trash and the pizza boxes on the floor, making sure to change the bathroom trash as well. She stayed asleep. He frowned, she must really be out of it. He continued picking up the living room throwing away her twisted tea cans and the take out by her bedside that must’ve been lunch. Marc began cooking, when he dropped the pot and she still didn't wake he got worried. He set the almost-finished project on the stove to heat and went over to her bedside, couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not, and started to panic. There was no logical reason to think she was anything other than in a deep sleep, but he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding.

“Hey Sam, you okay?” He attempted to stir her with shaky hands.

Her eyes shot open with a gasp, and before either of them had a chance to think or move, she shouted and slapped him.

“Marc!” She was gasping for breath, sitting up and grasping her chest. “Oh my god I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay-”

“Holy fuck, you scared me I’m so sorry-”

“No I shouldn’t have-”

“Fuck” She ran off to the bathroom and before Marc could get there, she threw up, her bodies reaction to being scared.

Marc hurried in the bathroom. “Fuck, Sam I’m so sorry” He gathered up her hair as she finished spitting.

“It’s okay, I was just- oh my god that tastes bad” Marc got a cup of water from the dixie cups on her bathroom counter. “Thank you, Starlight.” She swished out the puke and spit up in the toilet. Closing the lid, she flushed and sat back against the wall, clenching her fists and her face twisting.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Marc was kicking himself, all he wanted to do was treat her, but he managed to fuck that up too.

“Yeah I’m just… I gotta come down from the panic attack.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck He wanted to call Steven to take over, but he needed to be able to do this. “Would it help if I hold you? Or do you need space?”

Sam barely choked out the words. “Hold me please. My mind knows I’m safe, my body doesn’t” Her eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration.

That much Marc could do. He sits against the wall and picks her up, placing Sam between his legs. He wraps his arms around her carefully and bends his legs at her sides like metaphorical extra protection.

“Can you squeeze me tighter?” She asked, taking deep breaths.

He thought this would just make her have more trouble breathing, but he did as he was told. Marc took both of Sam’s hands in his and squeezed one, then the other. “Focus on my hands”

Sam did what he said “Right, left, right, left” she said out loud, allowing herself to focus on the monotony of his squeezing.

After a few minutes, she calmed down “That hand thing, that helped a lot… thank you.” She started to get up.

“I’m glad.” He watched her, still in her work clothes; colorful leggings and a flowy, flower top.

“Where did you learn that?” Sam asked, trying to sound inconspicuous, but she wanted more, another glimpse into his life before her.

“Nowhere” He lied

She sighed, barely audible. Another day, she supposed, before looking down. “Fuck.”

Marc followed her line of sight, there was blood leaking on the front of her light blue leggings. “I’ll get you clean pants, baby.” Marc scrambled up, walking out of the bathroom to her dresser. She shut the door behind him. “Sweats or leggings, honey?”

“Sweats please, and new underwear. The ugly ones in the back.” She called out. Marc brought it over, knocking on the door.

Sam only opened enough to grab the clothing, but left the door cracked so she could keep talking. “This is the second pair of pants today. I got it at work, it was early. Jess had a spare change of clothes.” She peaked her head out, grinning. “Always gotta have spare clothes in childcare, but my last spare got puke on them on monday.” She tucked back away, digging for items below the sink. “It’s fucking heavy this time, shit fucking hurts. Elena stayed late so I could come home, my stomach hurt so bad.” She was rambling. Marc knew how much she hated missing work. “I feel like I’m bleeding out, tampons- fuck sorry, this is probably TMI”

Marc made himself comfortable on the floor sitting against the wall. “Honey, not to be too graphic but I’ve seen blood in plenty of other circumstances, and I’ve been married” Marc winced at mentioning Layla, this is why Steven was better at this. Sam knew, of course, but they never talked about it. Occasionally, Layla would call and Steven or Marc would talk to her, but it wasn’t often. He soldiered on. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Right, right” She sounded like she was convincing herself. “Well, the tampons seem to bleed out every half hour or an hour. I didn’t think there was this much blood in a person.” The unmistakable sound of a pad opening.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Although this wasn’t his first rodeo, he still wasn’t sure how much was normal.

“Not unless it continues for a few days. This is probably just a heavy flow.”

Marc couldn’t help but worry, it was who he was as a person. There was the sound of thorough hand washing, then she opened the door, smiling lovingly at the sight of him looking at her from the floor. “I made you soup.”

Sam ate a hearty portion, showering Marc with “MMHHHMM” and “Oh my GOD baby this is fucking good.” The sounds were barely distinguishable from the sounds she made during sex, maybe just a little more dramatic. What had Chris said? ‘Stop erotically moaning in my car’? Yeah, that was about right.

“Fuck, Marc, that was so good.” She almost asked where he learned how to make it, but decided to let it go. They settled in to watch The Walking Dead, they were almost caught up, Marc noticed Sam wincing and holding her stomach. He pulled her over his lap and rubbed her tummy for her. After an episode, he got up to change her tampon again, and Marc heard her groaning from the bathroom. “Brightside? You okay?”

“Yeah, I opted for just the giant pad, Im sick of the fucking tampon.” Sam replied through gritted teeth. When she came out, she took more pain medicine and crawled back up into Marc’s arms. “This shit ain’t helping, I need fucking morphine.” Marc gave her a look. “Relax honey, I’ve never taken morphine recreationally.” She teased.

“Hey, I’m not judging, I’ve tried worse.”

Sam quickly turned to him. “Wha- AH!” She almost asked him about that, but a burst of pain shot through her. She whimpered, hiding her face in his chest. “Starlight, it hurts.” She whined, knowing damn well he couldn’t do anything about it.

Marc wasn’t happy she was in pain, not by any means, but he was relieved she didn’t ask him about what he said. “Listen, I have an idea… It might help your cramps.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Ever had an orgasm during your period?”

She sat up, sickened but intrigued. “You want to have sex with me when I’m ozzing blood?”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be sex, it would just be me, giving you an orgasm.” She was… tearing up? “Or not! Whatever you need, Brightside…”

Sam’s lip quivered, “You want to touch me when I’m this gross?” She started crying, oh shit.

“Oh baby” Marc took her in for a hug. “You aren’t gross, and I always want to touch you” He held her close, cradling her head with his hand entangled in her hair. She mumbled something he couldn’t hear. “What was that sweetie?”

She lifted her head up, still crying a little “I’m so fucking horny.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Marc couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. “Stay here.” Marc stood up, still grinning to himself, and laid down a towel on her bed, then scooped her up from the couch. Sam felt his strong arms and his chest, flexing to carry her. He made it seem so easy, like she was light and small. He laid her down, took off her sweats, and leaned in to kiss her lovingly.

“Marc?”

“Yeah, Sam?” He pressed kisses down her neck.

“If I can’t… you know… don’t feel bad”

Marc sat up to look at her, carefully touching her face. “Just relax, focus on my touch. There’s no pressure, no time limit, it’s okay, okay?”

She nodded vigorously. “Okay.”

He walked around to the end of her bed, carefully pulling down her underwear and setting it with her sweatpants “Tell me if anything hurts You’re probably going to be sensitive, but it shouldn’t be painful.” He slowly started working on her clit, attempting to relax her before anything else.

“Marc, I can clean up-” Sam started, feeling embarrassed about the blood on her legs and vulva.

“Aht!” He chastised. “Relax. Again, this ain't my first rodeo.” He fought his biological reaction to get hard.

Sam realized this meant he had done this with his ex-wife. Logically, she knew it shouldn’t make her jealous, but it did. She had seen a few pictures after she had asked Steven, but that was it. She knew she was gorgeous, and from what Steven had said, very nice. When she called, which wasn’t often, the boys always stepped in another room to take the call, but they always turned and relayed ‘Layla says hello!’. Sam wondered if she’d be comparing herself to her the rest of her life. She laid her head back and took a deep breath, focusing on the feelings Marc gave her.

Slowly, he inserted a single finger in her, working it in and out while her swollen and sensitive pussy adjusted to him. “Ready for another?” He was fully hard, despite his best efforts, and tried adjusting his pants but the friction only made the problem worse.

She nodded, gasping as he filled her, curling his fingers up to hit that sweet spot deep inside her. Marc was knelt in front of her, sitting upright, watching his fingers disappear inside her, coming out covered in her blood. “Such a good girl…” He muttered lowly, the mix of blood and slick swirling on his hand. He could feel her walls tightening around him, but he knew she’d need extra help to get her over the edge. For now, however, he was taking it slow, giving her time, building her up. He laid down next to her, resting on one arm that played with her hair and stroking her pretty face, while his right hand fucked her. Marc peppered her with open mouth kisses, their tongues dancing together, her chasing his mouth when he pulled away to kiss down her neck, licking up her chin and back to her mouth again. Sam played with his dark, thick curls, kissing that sensitive spot under his jaw. He took deep breaths, trying to cool himself off. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to touch him. They laid like this for what seemed like forever, touching and kissing so innocently, but his fingers were inside her. When he pulled away, she pouted.

He kissed over her clothes until he got to her pelvis.

“Marc-”

“Don’t even start, pretty girl” Without giving her another chance to be embarrassed, he began sucking on her clit. Marc couldn’t help it, he began moving against the bed to stimulate his cock.

“Oh fuck, that’s good…” Sam tugged on his hair, pulling him closer, catholic guilt be damned. She had a fixation on their hair, as much as Marc fixated on hers. He takes his fingers out, painting part of Sam’s thigh as he gripped her, his mouth going further down. When she sat up to watch him devouring her, he looked up at her, grinning. She knew she shouldn’t be so thrilled to see him covered in blood… but she was.

“Whatcha think’n, Brightside?”

Her heart flutters and she swallows. “Um… that you look really good like that…” She looked at him, awestruck as he went back to finger fucking her, but never broke eye contact.

“You like when I’m covered in you, baby?”

She nodded.

“Or, do I just remind you of Edward Cullen right now?” He teased

Sam’s jaw dropped, but a small smile crept up on her lips, even while panting under his touch. “I can explain!”

He gave her messy cunt a kiss, still smiling at her. “It’s okay, baby, I can work past that” He winks at her, going back to work, before stopping and popping up again, with a mischievous grin. Sam felt his slicked up fingers slip between her and the mattress, making her shiver as he grazed over her hole. “Can I have your ass? It’s okay if you don’t want to, but I thought it might help…” Marc gave her a look he hoped communicated that it was completely up to her.

She considered for a moment, but nodded, smiling. “I trust you, baby.”

He kept working her clit as he grinned back, lip curling up and showing off his adorable teeth, white in the sea of red on his mouth. “Yeah?” He whispered softly, the words magic to him. He promised her safety, and she gifted him her trust. He stopped fighting it, Marc began humping against the bed. The whole scene was so perfect, he couldn’t deny himself anymore. It was messy, it was filthy and it went against what most people might consider normal, but right here, right now? The room was filled with nothing but love, sexuality, trust, caring. How could something like this be dirty? How could this ever be wrong?

Her hips bucked up, riding the waves of pleasure he gave her. “Inexplicitly, Starlight.”

Marc wanted to kiss her, but that might be a bit of a line she wasn’t prepared for. His mouth went to her clit, left hand began fingering her. Slowly, carefully, he slides a finger up in her ass. “Relax honey.” he coaxes and she does just that.

She suddenly felt so full, the new sensation sending shivers up her spine. “Fuuuuuck Marc” Sam threw her head and arched her back.

He smiled as he continued licking and sucking “You like that baby?” Marc rutted into the bed, fuck, he could come just like this. He just might.

All she could do was whimper and nod.

“You like when I touch you like this? You like when I’m in multiple holes?” He fucked his fingers into her, as far as he could reach.

It became apparent that Marc was working himself against the bed, and the idea that he was turned on from giving her pleasure? That just brought her closer. “Fuck, Marc, mmm fu-ah!, no ones ever touched me like this”

Marc had assumed as much, he knew that before Steven, most of the men essentially used her body to masterbate. If anything, they might have pressured her into anal. But this was for her, to help her. And she really liked it. He knew she was close, but getting there wasn’t the issue. It was the spilling over, the climax. She was writhing, yanking at the sheets that she had pulled off the corner of the bed. The towel beneath her had bunched up, barely doing it’s job anymore but Marc wasn’t going to stop, not when she was so close.

Marc sat up on his knees, trying his best to keep some sort of friction in his pants. He continued working her with his left hand; two fingers in her vagina, his pinky in her ass. He was perfect, enwrapped in pleasure before him. Drawing back his hand, he spat on her pretty little cunt and gave it a slap.

And there it was.

“Marc!” Sam shouted, the last word she said or thought before she became incomprehensible, a babbling mess. She tried to say something, but what? She didn’t know. She felt the tension in her uterus ease as she came down from her high and noticed Marc coming back from the bathroom, kneeling at her side.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Hey Brightside, how you feeling?” He brushed her hair back from her sweaty face.

“M-much better. Kiss me?” She looked angelic.

How could he refuse? He kissed her, and she realized his face was washed of her blood. She wouldn’t have cared. “I drew you a hot bath, does that sound good?”

Sam nodded, beaming softly at him “Join me?”

He kissed her forehead “If you’ll have me.” Marc spoke as softly as she thought he ever could.

“Forever and always, baby”

He gently held her throat as he kissed her. “Let me get cleaned up first.”

Sam frowned at him. That was the point of the bath. He was about to bathe in water that would have her blood and cum- oh. Pushing him back, she looked at his pants, there was a wet spot in his dark jeans. When she looked up at him, it was her turn to sport his signature shit-eating grin. “Fuck Marc, that’s hot.”

“Come on, baby” he smiled softly at her as he took her hand and led her to the bathroom. He’d have carried her if his legs didn’t feel so shaky from his orgasm. “Let’s get you properly naked.” There was a candle lit and a Doctor Who mug of red wine. Marc briefly thought about buying her actual wine glasses, but he remembered their no-gift deal. Maybe he’d subtly suggest it to Steven. They took turns removing each other's clothes, planting kisses on the bare skin as they went. Sam hit the lights and together they sunk into the hot, bubbly water. They laid like they had when Sam had her panic attack. She was encased by him, covered in him. Naked, and vulnerable and yet warm, safe. Always safe with Marc. They sat in silence for an hour, occasionally running more hot water when needed; Sam had her ‘Marc’ playlist going. It had all the music her and Marc liked: Linkin Park, Eminem, Alice in Chains, Metallica. Not exactly the most romantic playlist in the world, but it was them. Then, Nothing Else Matters came on.

So close, no matter how far. Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are And nothing else matters

Sam closed her eyes and sank into Marc and the water that was likely red. She thought about the night, not too long ago, where Steven and her were in a similar scenario.

Never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way

All these words, I don't just say. And nothing else matters

The way Steven cared for her, loved her. Treated her like she was something precious. That night, she told Steven she wanted to talk to Marc about how she felt, Steven was apprehensive. But Sam felt like if she waited any longer, she would burst.

Trust I seek and I find in you. Every day for us something new

Open mind for a different view. And nothing else matters

“You’re good at this, you know.” Sam wondered if Steven helped set this up, but even if he did, she knew Marc’s special touches. Marc struggled with being open, but never with showing her how much he loved her. She started getting out, but Marc grabbed her, he didn’t want her to go. “It’s okay honey.” She turned around, straddling him. Marc’s body immediately reacted.

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

But I know

Sam lathered up her hands with the lavender soap, and began washing his body. “Sam, you don’t-”

“Shhhhhh” She said softly, rocking her hips on him. “Let me take care of your body, as you always take care of mine.” Sam whispered, sinking her body down on him. “Nice and slow baby…”

So close, no matter how far. It couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are. And nothing else matters

Washing up his chest, his arms, massaging his constantly tense neck. “I love you Marc Spector. I love the way you protect me, the way you care for me, how you always manage to surprise me. And you are fun.” She kissed his forehead. “You and me, alone? When you don’t have to worry about anyone hurting me or Steven? You are so, so fun baby”

I never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way

All these words, I don't just say. And nothing else matters

Marc was entranced. His touch on her hips was light and gentle. He wasn’t moving her, he wasn’t chasing his own high. No, she was taking care of him. He simply wanted to hold her. She continued washing down his body, pressing kissing all over his face.

I never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way

All these words, I don't just say. And nothing else matters

She whispered close in his ear. “Can you come for me?” She leaned back. “Please, pretty boy? I wanna see your face, darling, I want to feel you fill me.” She looked at him pleadingly, like the only thing she wanted in this world was for him to cum inside her.

So close, no matter how far. Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are. No, nothing else matters

When he got his release for the second time that night, she clutched him close to him. Holding her, staying inside her, staying as close as he can possibly get.

She laid in his arms that night, happy, content, in warm PJ’S.

But Marc couldn’t just let things be. Something had to be wrong. Something was always wrong. Between them, the mess that they were, Marc could not fathom her just being happy in his arms. Marc took the silence as sadness, not content. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, confused and worried. “Nothings wrong…” She sat up, face closer to him. “You okay, Starlight?” She touched his face.

Marc closed his eyes, holding her hand to his cheek. “ I need you to be able to talk to me and Steven if this is going to work out…”

Sam pulled away, dropping her arms to her side as she sat back on her legs. “Honey, you're scaring me. Why would anything be wrong?”

“Why can’t you just… tell me?”

Sam’s face shifted through a few emotions: sadness, confusion, and settling on anger. She glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Marc sat up now. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to do that Marc.”

“Do what?” Marc spat, confused how this turned into a fight.

“You don’t get to tell me I need to be honest, when all you do is keep secrets.”

He glared at her now. “That’s different.”

A choked laugh. “How?! How can this possibly be different.?” She challenged him.

“My past,” Marc pointed at his chest. “Doesn’t have an effect on our relationship. Yours does.”

A flicker of hurt flashed across her face, “Yes, it most definitely. We had a great day. Just you and me, sex and food and love, alone with our music? It was beautiful Marc. Beautiful. That’s what I was thinking about! How perfect tonight was, how perfect you are and how much I love you. But you” she poked his chest “You are incapable of thinking anyone can ever just be happy with you. And that is learned, Marc. You learned that. You never talk about your family, you never talk about what happened growing up, what happened as Moon Knight or in the Marines or your time between! You were married, Marc, and I know nothing about that! And yet, everything about me, everything, you have pried out and I’m so, so tired of it!”

Marc sat there, watching her.

Sam continued, calmer, the hurt in her eyes prominent. “You know, Steven and I made a deal. Complete honesty, from both of us. No secrets, no lies, including by omission. And you know what hurt? I wanted to include you in that. But I knew you would never tell me anything about what happened to you.”

Marc was panicking. He needed to deflect. “Yeah? Steven tell you he kissed Layla?”

Hurt and surprise flickered across her face for a moment, then back to a glare. She grabbed her pillow.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Marc rolled his eyes like a child.

She pulled the blanket off the bed and stormed to the couch

“Fuck” Marc muttered, running his hands through his hair before getting off the bed “Honey, I’m sorry, come here” He tried to step towards her.

“Stay!” She put her hand up and took a breath. Sam really, really, did not want to yell at him. “Away from me… Unless you are ready to talk about your mom and your brother, I’m staying on the couch.” He didn’t speak. “Yeah that’s what I thought…” she mumbled, making her bed.

Marc sighed “At least let me sleep on the couch.” He knew he fucked up massivly telling her about Steven, he was going to be pissed and Sam was hurt.

“No.” Sam turned on the tv. “I’m not going to sleep much tonight, so I’m taking an anti-anxiety pill and putting on The Office to distract me.” Sam grumbled, then looked at him. “You are staying here all night too. No running away. Tomorrow morning…” She looked at him assertively, with a face that said this is the deal, no negotiations. “Either we can talk about what happened over breakfast, or I want Steven. Got it? You can consider it tonight, and you can have one of my extra anti-anxiety pills if you need it. But I don’t want to see you until you are ready to stop being a hypocrite.” Marc stared at her, looking hurt but stubborn. Sam calmed down. “I love you baby, but I can’t keep going about knowing you know every horror my body holds and I have to wonder what those scars on your back are.”

Marc winced. “Sam-” she shot him a lot and he shut his mouth. Marc laid down in the dark, Sam had taken the blanket. He was cold, but too stubborn to move. Footsteps. She was at his bedside, laying a few of her throw blankets over him. “Sorry” she whispered.

****************************************

Thank you for reading!!!!! Love y'all so much! Reblogs are super helpful for spreading my work, and comments mean the world to me!

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#marc spector reader #marc spectorsmut #marc spector comfort #moon knight fluff #moon knight smut #period sex #marc spector needs a hug #jewish marc spector #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #marc spector #oscar isaac #steven grant

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hiiraya · 4 years

Text

one last dance (rewrite)

masterlist

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: ~1,580

warnings: a little angst to get me back into writing

requested: nope :p

a/n: i took a not-so-mini break bc writer's block hit me like a tank. anyways, this was a fic i made a long time ago based on a song called 'one last dance' by R5. happy reading! ♡

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

"When someone else's happiness is your happiness, that's how you know it's love. But unfortunately, Y/N/N, sometimes the only way to love someone is from afar."

It was something your father told you in passing once, and though you had listened to him then, you never thought that it would ever apply to you.

But now, watching her dance and smile and laugh and love, surrounded by friends and family, the echo of your father's words bring a dull ache to your chest.

Even though the hidden corners of the hall had been serving as your refuge for the better part of the reception, you never really could shy away from Wanda.

Especially not now.

So, you allow your heart to race slightly when she catches your eye from across the room. You allow yourself to breathe and smile back just as wide when she flashes a grin your way.

You don't even think twice before your feet are closing the distance between the two of you.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to show up."

You say nothing at first, too focused on ignoring the guilt clawing at your chest at her words. It's meant to be the happiest day of her life, you chastise yourself, and she spend most of it worrying about whether or not you'd show up.

"I know it must've feel cruel to invite you here, after everything but I want you here-"

"-Wanda." You interrupt her, resting a reassuring hand on her arm and gently squeezing twice.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world."

And it's true. As much as it hurt to be here, to watch the woman you love vow themselves to someone else for the rest of her life, you wanted to be here to show your support as her best friend.

Your ears perk slightly at the opening chords of the song, inwardly chuckling to yourself at the irony of the lyrics.

Taking a step back to put space between you and Wanda, you bow slightly while holding your hand out, palm facing up as you meet her eyes.

"May I have this dance?"

The blush that makes it way to her cheeks brings a smile to your face, lacing your hands together when she rests her hand atop of yours.

You lead her to the dance floor, your hands finding their spot on her waist while she reaches up to wrap her own around your neck, bodies stepping closer to one another.

The closeness of Wanda pressed against you as you sway her slowly, coupled with the fact that she's looking at you like you're the only two in the room has your mind wandering to a scenario where you didn't have to let go any time soon, where you didn't need to let go.

And while you were off, lost in your own thoughts, Wanda was just as lost in her own. Remembering something you had told Steve, who in turn, told Wanda.

Something you had told to what seemed like everyone but didn't have the heart to tell Wanda yourself.

"What do you mean she's leaving?" She asked Steve, cornering the taller man in the kitchen after overhearing his conversation with Natasha.

You were leaving the team.

Leaving her.

Steve sighed, knowing that the truth would come out sooner or later and with the way the smaller woman was looking at him, eyes starting to glow red as she waited for him to answer, he knew lying would only make matters worse.

"She asked to be relocated and assigned to a new team." He answered.

"What?"

"Y/N is leaving, Wanda. There's not much else I can tell you. She said she needed to go, felt like her time with us was over and doesn't have a place here anymore."

Giving her a look of sympathy, Steve left her standing alone before she could ask him more questions about your decision.

Wanda wanted to be angry with you.

Hell, she had a right to. After all, you all but disappeared the moment you caught wind of her engagement with Vision, and this would be the first time in months that she- that anyone had seen you.

Everyone knew why you left though, and even if they didn't they could infer as to why.

You had to watch the woman you love, love someone else. Wanda knew damn well that this could be the last time she saw you, let alone be this close to you and talk to you.

"So...you're really leaving?" She asked, watching your carefully. She already knew the answers, but it was one thing to know and another to hear you say it yourself.

You don't meet her eyes as you nod, instead focusing on something over her shoulder.

"I just… I feel like I don't have a place here, you know?"

She frowned slightly, but the blow of your words made Wanda stop in her tracks. "Y/N, that's not tr-"

"I didn't mean it like that, I loved my time with you guys, you're like family to me and you always will be. This place will always be home to me, and I'll come back in a heartbeat if you ever need me but right now I just can't stay. I need to clear my head and get things straight.

"This is for the best, for all of us."

You sounded like you were still trying to convince yourself that leaving was what you wanted to do. But Wanda knew that this was something you needed to do, and who was she to stop you in finding peace?

"So, this is it?"

She fights the urge to stomp her foot on the ground like a little kid, to tell you that it wasn't fair that you were leaving her when it felt like she just got you back.

She can see in your eyes how hard it is for you to even be in this room, the defeated smile you were giving her telling her everything she needed to know.

You wanted to be strong and stay. Stay here with her, with the people you love more than anything in the world.

But if the last few months had told you anything, it was that you weren't as strong as you hoped you were.

Staying here would only cause you more pain, seeing the two of them together would just bring more harm than good. If you wanted to go back to the way things were before, you had to get over her. For good.

"One last dance before I go." You whisper.

As the song comes to an end you pull her into your arms, sighing deeply as she snakes her arms around your shoulders tightly.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world, Wan. Out of everyone in the world, you deserve it the most. So take care of yourself for me, okay?" You whisper softly in your ear, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay.

The tightness in your throat was making it hard for you to say everything you wanted to say, so you didn't say anything at all, pulling back from the hug just enough to meet her eyes.

I love you so much, you think, but you already knew that.

You drop your hands from her waist when you see Vision making his way over to the two of you, stepping back to create distance between you and his wife. You clear your throat and plaster on a smile, congratulating the newly-wed couple as he wraps his arm around her waist.

She knew that you meant for her to listen inside your head, letting her in and telling her those words that were for her and only her to hear.

"Take care of yourself too, Y/N."

You don't meet her eyes again after that, your eyes still glossy with tears that she knew would fall the moment they were out of your sight.

She sees you glance towards the exit when you think neither of them were looking, shoving your hands in your pockets before you excuse yourself, telling them that there was something you needed to do before the reception ended.

Maybe it's to say goodbye to the rest of the team, or maybe you were just going to disappear into the night.

Either way, Wanda knows that it was time for you to go.

You glance back at them as you reach the exit, watching him hold her in the same way you were not even five minutes ago.

As long as she's happy, then I am too, even if I only get to love her from afar.

Looking up into her husbands eyes, something inside Wanda felt wrong.

Like she was staring into the wrong pair of eyes, the hands on her waist too heavy, the voice speaking to her too deep.

She closes her eyes and imagines your (e/c) eyes staring into her own, familiar and soft hands resting on her waist pulling her closer, the soft timbre of your voice filling her ears.

Guilt fills her body when she opens her eyes and is disappointed with what she sees. She's made her choice, and you've made yours.

She thinks back to the two dances she's just shared; one with the person she married and one with the person she's starting to think she wished she married instead.

#wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda x reader #avengers x reader #scarlet witch imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #myfics.txt

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is.

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?”

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real.

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark.

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become.

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created.

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt.

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?”

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.”

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.”

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long.

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.”

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me.

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand.

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want.

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.”

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.”

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.”

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.”

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie.

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?”

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.”

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

His confidence sparks something angry within me. “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.”

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.”

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.”

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me.

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.”

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips.

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.”

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.”

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.”

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.”

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.”

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.”

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.”

#shadow and bone #grisha #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #sab imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morovoza #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morovoza x reader #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years

Text

an icarus and his sun: chapter 4

A/N: what's this? jimmy may be finally leaving denial station? and gray-aroace jimmy because i said so? hell yeah. also more seablings pog!! i do also have the next chapter written already bc it has one of the scenes that was basically the whole reason i wrote this fic, but i'm gonna wait until tomorrow to post it (mostly bc i wanna make sure i have the chapter after that one written bc of... reasons >:) the next chapter is a tad cliffhanger-y and i just don't want y'all to have to wait too long)

Warnings: teasing/banter, flirting, realization of feelings

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

The invitation for the House Blossom Ball arrived, with a separate handwritten note along with it from Katherine that very pointedly reminded Jimmy to dress up and maybe lose the cod head. Something about how it wasn’t “fancy enough” or whatever. Jimmy felt the cod head was acceptable for any occasion, not to mention he felt weird with his whole head being in view- but maybe he could compromise for Katherine. He’d have to figure out some sort of other headpiece… but the ball wasn’t for a few days anyway. Jimmy had plenty of time to figure out an outfit. In the meantime, he had some work to do on his slime farm. And of course, who else should be there but Scott when Jimmy came up from his farm. He was sitting on the roof of the slime farm entrance, legs swinging idly.

“What are you doing here,” Jimmy asked with a tired sigh, really hoping that he wouldn’t have to deal with another fight with Scott. Scott hopped down from the roof, gliding a bit before landing in front of Jimmy.

“Oh same as always, I was bored and you’re fun to bother,” Scott said with a shrug and a playful grin. Jimmy glowered at him, putting his hands on his hips.

“Oh no, not today! I’m not letting you get under my skin anymore!” Jimmy said, determination in his tone. Scott raised an eyebrow as his grin morphed into a smirk, and there was that squirming, fluttery feeling from their fight again.

“Are you sure about that?” Scott crooned, a clear challenge in his voice. Jimmy shut his eyes, taking a deep breath before shifting his expression into something more neutral.

“Absolutely,” he said firmly, walking past Scott towards his base. Scott seemed surprised for a moment, before getting his bearings and following after Jimmy.

"Not even over this?" Scott asked, walking beside Jimmy and tossing something green up in the air before catching it again. Jimmy stopped walking, brows furrowed in confusion. Scott stopped too, looking him in the eyes as he tossed the object again- a slimeball.

"How- where- when did you- where did you get that from?!" Jimmy demanded. The only way people got slime was from his empire.

“Got it from one of your chests- thought you wouldn’t mind,” Scott replied with a shrug, that smirk still irritatingly present on his face.

“I very much do mind! Give that back!” Jimmy demanded, lunging forward to try and grab the slimeball from his hand. Scott darted back, flapping his wings and sending a gush of wind to push Jimmy back.

“You’re gonna have to catch me, fish boy,” Scott teased, before taking off into the sky. Jimmy grit his teeth in frustration.

“I’m the Codfather!” he protested, equipping his elytra and taking off after Scott. Scott laughed, dipping and twirling in the sky while Jimmy struggled to keep up. Going after someone who had actual wings while Jimmy only had an elytra was a definite disadvantage, but Jimmy was a little too stubborn to care. Scott climbed higher into the sky with ease, Jimmy following close after- and then the sun hit Scott’s wings and Jimmy just about fell out of the sky. The sun’s rays caught the gold tips of his wings, making them shimmer. But it wasn’t just the sunshine reflecting off his wings- it was the way Scott’s whole face seemed to shine like the sun with his smile and how the wind ruffled his usually neat hair. It was how his laugh sounded as if the shimmering of gold made a sound. It was how those icy blue eyes sparkled with mirth as he held the slimeball victoriously above his head. It was how Scott’s expression suddenly melted from that of a mischievous trickster to something almost fond. All of those things caused that pleasant flip-flopping feeling in his stomach to return, and Jimmy suddenly pitched down because of it. He quickly righted himself, flushing in embarrassment and glaring at Scott’s resulting smirk.

“Guess you aren’t one of those flying fish, huh,” he teased.

“Just give me the slimeball back!” Jimmy demanded. Scott laughed, and it felt like flowers blooming in Jimmy’s chest.

“You get so fussed over the littlest of things,” he said, still laughing. Jimmy got the feeling that he should have been angry at Scott’s teasing, he was making fun of him, after all! But instead, Jimmy couldn’t help but smile back. To Jimmy’s surprise, Scott seemed startled by that, eyes going wide and a half gasp, half laugh escaping his lips.

“Sometimes you gotta appreciate the little things in life! You miss those things when you fly above everything and live up and away from the world in the mountains,” Jimmy pointed out with a laugh. Scott pondered this, slowly floating back to the ground as he did so. Jimmy tilted his head to the side in confusion, coming to a landing beside him. Scott was staring at the slimeball in his hands with a mix of wonder and bafflement. Shaking his head, Scott reached out for Jimmy’s hand and pressed the slimeball into it, both hands clasping over Jimmy’s hand for a moment. Jimmy’s hand felt fever-warm at Scott’s touch, and his heart hammered in his chest.

“You can have this back. Sorry,” Scott said, quickly withdrawing his hands. Jimmy felt horrible instantly, he clearly struck a nerve with what he said. Before Scott got a chance to leave, Jimmy quickly grabbed his hands, giving the slimeball back.

“Keep it, I’ve got plenty. You- you should enjoy the little things in life too,” Jimmy said softly. Scott’s face tinged pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“I- whatever,” Scott scoffed, trying to bring it back to their teasing back and forth from before, but failing miserably. Before Jimmy had a chance to reply, Scott drew his hands back, holding the slimeball close to his chest and taking off into the sky. This time around, Jimmy didn’t bother chasing after him. He was a little too busy wondering what on earth had just happened. One moment Jimmy was irritated by Scott’s presence, and the next his heart felt all fluttery and he willingly gave him a commodity from his empire. What was happening to him?! Jimmy had a sneaking suspicion… but he had to talk to Lizzie or Joel first. He just had to be sure.

Jimmy flew to Lizzie’s empire, spotting her and Joel sitting together on one of her giant lilypads. They both looked at him with concern when he landed in front of them, out of breath. Lizzie was the first to jump to her feet, hands reaching out towards him and searching for any injuries. Joel followed after her and hovered at her side, looking unsure of what to do.

“What happened?! Are you hurt, were you attacked?!” Lizzie demanded, and Joel’s eyes shot to the skies as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Jimmy laughed, shaking his head.

“Guys, I’m fine! See, look! I’m all good. Just had to see you,” Jimmy said, holding his arms out to show that he was, in fact, uninjured. Lizzie and Joel breathed out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

“Oh thank goodness. Usually when you fly to one of us in a panic, you’re hurt or being chased, or something’s seriously wrong,” Joel said, the tension draining from his shoulders and hand dropping from the hilt of his sword. Jimmy’s smile turned sheepish.

“Well… something… might be wrong. But there’s something I’ve gotta ask you guys first,” Jimmy replied nervously. Lizzie and Joel exchanged confused glances. Lizzie stepped closer, putting a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Of course, you can ask us anything,” she said softly. Jimmy took a deep breath, working up the nerve to say it.

“How did you know you were in love?” he asked timidly. Lizzie blinked in surprise, and Joel raised an eyebrow.

“Is this about Scott?” Joel asked. Jimmy’s face flushed in embarrassment.

“Please just answer the question,” he muttered. Thankfully, Joel didn’t seem to be in a teasing mood, and neither did Lizzie.

“For me it was her smile. Gave me butterflies the first time I saw it,” Joel said, unabashedly gazing at Lizzie. She giggled, and Joel’s fond expression increased tenfold.

“Butterflies?” Jimmy asked, a bit confused by the turn of phrase.

“You know, when your stomach gets all squirmy, but not in a bad way? Like a bunch of butterfly wings flapping inside you,” Joel explained, and Jimmy was hit with a sudden burst of clarity. Something in his expression must have shown it, because Lizzie gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“You’re telling me that’s what love feels like? It’s that just… all the time?” Jimmy asked, his voice a little hollow with disbelief. At himself mostly, for not realizing it sooner. To be fair, he didn’t feel those sorts of feelings often. In fact, he felt it almost exclusively with Scott. So to realize this whole time what he had really been feeling wasn’t just hatred or irritation… he felt a little silly.

“Well, it’s not always like that, sometimes being around someone you love just makes you feel warm and cozy,” Lizzie added.

“Well… but I feel warm and cozy all the time with you guys!” Jimmy protested, still trying to deny that feeling just a little bit longer. Lizzie smiled, patient and understanding.

“Yes, but with this… hypothetical someone, it’s different, isn’t it,” she gently prodded. Jimmy finally gave in. It was different with Scott, and that honestly terrified him. He’d never felt this way about anyone, ever.

“Oh my god, I like him,” Jimmy breathed.

“About time you figured it out,” Joel muttered. Lizzie moved her hand from Jimmy’s shoulder to swat Joel’s arm. Jimmy was too busy having a bit of an existential crisis to really care.

“Oh my god I really like him. This whole time- but Scott hates me, what on earth am I supposed to- but he seemed kind of nice today…” Jimmy trailed off, beginning to pace back and forth. Lizzie gasped in excitement, rushing over to stand in front of Jimmy and grabbing his shoulders.

“You saw him today?! Tell. Me. Everything!” she demanded. Jimmy let out a sheepish laugh.

“Nothing really happened! He stole a slimeball from me, I chased him a bit in the sky- and oh god he was gorgeous in the sunlight- and then I said something to make him sad and let him keep the slimeball anyway. I- wow I really didn’t like seeing him sad,” Jimmy rambled, a disbelieving smile growing across his face. Joel made a mock-disgusted face.

“I think I liked it better when Jimmy was in denial, he’s getting all mushy now,” he teased. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, being mushy is a good look on you,” she insisted, getting a laugh out of Jimmy.

“I’m glad you think so, but maybe Joel is right. Cause now all I can think about is how Scott definitely doesn’t feel the same way,” Jimmy said with a sigh. A determined look came across Lizzie’s face, and distantly Jimmy was a little terrified.

“Oh no, you’ve activated her plotting look,” Joel said with the same distant terror that Jimmy was feeling.

“The ball is the perfect time to change Scott’s mind and show him that you are a catch, you’ve said so yourself,” Lizzie explained with a grin.

“Oh no, that is not happening, I just want the ball to be something fun, I don’t wanna make a scene,” Jimmy protested, but it came out a little weak.

“Us? Make a scene? Never. I was just thinking that we make sure to get you a snazzy outfit!” Lizzie said, and while Jimmy didn’t trust her for a second, he could concede that Lizzie had a better sense of style than he did.

“Oh, alright. As long as it’s just that,” Jimmy said firmly.

“Of course!” Lizzie said, far too innocently. Jimmy just chuckled and shook his head.

“And we should probably do something fancier than the cod head,” Joel added. Jimmy sighed, putting a hand over the cod head.

“Yeah, yeah, Katherine mentioned that too,” Jimmy said with a pout.

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands!” Lizzie chirped, releasing Jimmy’s shoulders to instead grab his arm and pull him to where she and Joel had been sitting, rambling about outfit ideas all the while. Jimmy couldn’t help but smile and be a tiny bit hopeful. Maybe wearing something nice would catch Scott’s eye… but then what? Happily ever after? Was that how love even worked? Whatever the case, he was sure Lizzie would have a plan for that too. And maybe the ball could be the start of something beautiful.

Taglists below! Ask me to be added/removed!

MCYT General Fic Taglist: @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123

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#empires smp #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #ldshadowlady #smallishbeans #flower husbands #seablings #empires smp fic #mcyt #aiahs #sage writes

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reidgraygubler · 4 years

Text

make you mine (spencer reid/reader)

Title: Make You Mine

Requested: no

Couple: spencer reid/gen-neu!reader

Category: fluff

Content Warning: swearing (if there’s any. I tried to write something so PG that there’s little to no swearing), obliviousness, kissing/making out, mentions of jeid/max/maeve, slight season 8 spoilers, season 14-15 spoilers

Word Count: 3,644

Summary: Spencer wants to ask Reader out, but is too nervous. So he goes to the one person he knows can help, Reader, who is too oblivious to know that they’re the one he wants to ask out.

A/N: day one of my 7 days of 7 fics! i really liked writing this. i need to write a bunch of fluff bc i just posted a lot of sad and some SUPER angsty stuff soon… so… yeah, here’s something cute and fluffy! thanks for all the love and support! check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

“Thank you so much for coming over to help… I wish I had a brain like yours,” I laughed as Spencer and I walked towards my living room. Stacks and stacks of file boxes were scattered around, making it look like a giant maze instead of a living room. “I don’t know why Emily makes me do this… But the only time I really have for it is when I’m home… Sometimes I question why I took that press liaison position." I sighed before sitting on the couch.

“It was a spot that needed to be filled.” Spencer looked at me as he took the seat beside me. I smiled, watching as he pulled a box to his lap. “I couldn’t think of a better person to take the position too,” he glanced at me with a smile.

“Too bad JJ’s such a great profiler. I’m sure she’d be great at this,” I sighed, grabbing a box for myself. I pulled the lid off and tossed it to the coffee table.

“It’s funny you say that,” Spencer laughed as he pulled out a small stack of files. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “She was the press liaison several years ago. Back before you were even here as a profiler,” he smiled at me.

“I think that makes sense. She always does such a great job during press conferences and stuff,” I shrugged, looking at the box of files before pulling a single one out. “Wish I could be like her,” I shrugged again.

“Again, you’re doing a great job. Emily couldn’t have picked a better person,” Spencer reassured me. I looked at him with a kind smile, watching as he read over the file. He scribbled something on a post it note, pressing it to the inside of the folder. “How do you do it so quickly? I’d be here all night on one case file,” I muttered, looking at my folder.

“I… It just takes lots of practice,” he looked over at me with a small smile. I looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, “And the I.Q. of 187… And the ability to read 20,000 words a minute,” he added in a quiet tone.

“That’s what it is… It’s the 187 I.Q. that I don’t have,” I laughed as I looked back at my folder. It wasn’t that I was struggling to keep my attention on my work, it was just hard with Spencer sitting so close to me. He’s my best friend and all I wanted to do was talk to him. Maybe he wasn’t the best person to have over for help.

“Hey, can you help me with… With something?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice soft. I slowly looked up at him, my eyebrow arched a bit.

“I mean… It’d only be fair, wouldn’t it? Since you’re helping me with such a menial task,” I laughed before closing my folder a bit. In the time it took me to work on my one folder, he worked on 5... So tonight should be smooth sailing… I hope.

“How… How do I ask someone… out…?” he mumbled, a significant embarrassment in his tone. I looked up at him, feeling a small smile grow on my lips.

“Spencer Reid has a crush on someone,” I spoke, my smile becoming wider by the second. He looked down at his folder, nodding slowly. “And you want my help asking her out,” I grinned, feeling a giggle bubble up my throat.

“I just figured… You’re dating… Right?” He looked over at me from the corner of his eye.

“Well, sometimes… if I have the time I’ll go on a stupid tinder date. But… No… I don’t really date,” I stopped talking, realizing I don’t really date. To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I went on a real date. Sure, there’s been one night tinder dates. But nothing too memorable. Most of the time the people I went on dates with weren’t even my type. It’s funny how someone can seem perfect on screen over the internet, but the second you meet them for drinks, it’s more than awkward.

“Can… Can you help? Or should I go to Luke or Penelope for help?” Spencer asked, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I laughed and shook my head.

“No, no I can help. It’s just been awhile since I’ve been on a meaningful date or been in an important relationship, I guess,” I shrugged, looking back down at my folder. “It’s easy, honestly. I guess you just have to have the nerves to… to do it,” I looked at him and smiled.

“Well, I guess that’s why I’m finding this so hard to do,” Spencer laughed lightly as he looked over at me. I smiled and shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” I nodded before cocking my head to my shoulder, “Liquid courage?” I asked, looking over at him with a small smile. Spencer laughed at my joke of drinking before shaking his head.

“That’s the easy way, right? Is there a way I could do it without drinking?” he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Don’t sell yourself short… I mean,” I paused and furrowed my eyebrows. I couldn’t exactly think of what to say, mostly because I never get asked for relationship advice… I’m usually the one asking for it. “Anyone would be lucky to have you, Spencer,” I smiled at him, watching as he closed a folder and placed it on the coffee table.

“You’re just saying that,” Spencer laughed as he looked at me. I looked at him with a squint.

“Oh, please, I’d never say something like that. That’d just be too cruel if I didn't mean it,” I scoffed and shook my head. Spencer looked at me with a small smile. “Seriously though, it’s not that hard to ask someone out,”

“Have you ever asked someone out?” Spencer looked at me as he asked his question. I blankly stared at him, my shoulders slouching slightly as I looked at him.

“I… Actually… Well, no,” my words trailed on for a moment when my answer seemed to prove Spencer’s point, “But, my statement still stands,” I smiled as I looked at him.

“Should I just go to Luke or Derek?” Spencer raised an eyebrow as he opened up his second file box. Of course, he still kept working while we talked. Whereas I just blabbed. Maybe that was why I was so slow working… Because I talked so much...

“No! I’m the best person you could have asked for help,” I smiled at him, “How about… How ‘bout you practice on me,” I watched as he pulled out a folder and placed it on his lap. He looked over at me with a cocked eyebrow.

“I… I’m… You want me to practice asking someone out… with you?” Spencer stumbled over his words. I nodded as I grabbed a new folder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spencer slowly stand.

“Yeah! C'mon! I'm your best friend! I'm, like, the best person who you could practice with,” I exclaimed as I pulled him back down to sit beside me. Spencer looked at me, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “It can’t be that hard! I know you've asked girls out before,” I winked at him and smiled. Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Yeah and look at what happened,” he looked at me with a certain sadness in his eyes. I tried not to think about Maeve, again, or even his failed date with JJ, or even worse… The time JJ said she loved Spencer. But then there’s Max. Sure, they didn’t date for too long. But he still asked her out...

“Maybe this time it'll be different,” I shrugged, trying to keep a smile on my lips, “considering you've asked JJ out on a date, you should be able to ask anyone out. Just… pretend I'm the person you want to ask out!” I smiled at him as I leaned forward on the couch, tossing the file onto the coffee table. Spencer looked at me, and I could see the shade of pink on his cheeks grow to be an even darker shade of red. I smiled as I looked at him.

“I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Spencer laughed nervously as he spoke. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Part of me was surprised that he didn’t start to info dump on me about the dangers of asking someone out, as a joke or even for practice. I knew it wouldn’t cause me any harm from him practicing asking someone out. I mean, he is my best friend after all.

“Is it someone I know? Oh my god is it that new girl that just started? God, what’s her name? Sarah?” I looked at him with wide eyes and a bright smile on my lips. Spencer looked at me with furrowed eyebrows before shrugging.

“Yeah, yeah, something like that,” he mumbled, looking down at the files on the coffee table.

“Well, she’d be lucky to have you, Spence,” I reached over and rested a hand on his leg. He looked over at me with a certain sadness in his eyes.

“Right,” he whispered, looking down at my hand. I watched as his face twitched, and I wanted to know what he was thinking about. But I wasn’t just going to ask what his thoughts were.

“Well,” I scooched closer to him, looking at him with a friendly smile. He looked away from his file, and looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Well what?”

“What are you going to say to Sarah when you ask her out?”

“I, uh, well, err,” he looked over at me with a raised brow. I smiled and nodded, keeping my eyes on him.

“It doesn’t have to be anything special. You could just be like ‘Sarah, I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me this weekend?’ or you could do drinks, lunch if you prefer, or coffee,” I smiled at him and nodded. Spencer turned more to face me, his eyes anywhere but me. “And… And I know you’ll be nervous, but there’s no reason to be nervous. The worst she can do is say no. So, you should look at her. Keep your eyes on… her forehead! You don’t need to keep perfect eye contact,” I laughed, “Oh! And make sure you tell her you like her too! A good selling point,”

“Right,” he mumbled before slowly looking up at me. He cleared his throat before looking right at my eyes. “I, uh… I like you a lot… And… I was wondering… Would… Would you want to get dinner with me… On Friday night…?”

Part of me almost forgot that he was just practicing on me. It felt like he was talking right… Right to me. And, I wished that he was talking to me. Honestly, I wished that this was actually me he was asking out. I’m not jealous. She’s just lucky she’ll have someone like Spencer. She’d be a fool to say no to him.

“That was… That was great, Spence! She’ll have to say yes!” I stood up and walked around the coffee table, “You’ll do a great job,” I smiled at him before walking into the kitchen. “She’ll be lucky to have you, Spencer!” I shouted as I got a glass of water.

“Yeah…” He started talking, but I couldn’t exactly hear what he said. I just brushed it off like he was talking to himself. Because chances are, he probably was talking to himself.

“You want a snack or anything?”

{***}{***}{***}

I smiled as I watched Spencer approach the woman. He was wearing a very nervous smile as he got closer to her. When he said her name, Sarah looked up at him and returned the smile. She stood up as Spencer began speaking to her. It was hard not watching them, but knowing that I helped him ask her out.

“What’s he doing over there?” Luke asked as he approached my desk. I smiled as I looked up at him.

“He’s asking Sarah out. When he was over at my house the other day, he was talking about wanting to ask her out,” I looked back at the two. Spencer’s arms were wrapped around her body, and she was returning the semi-awkward hug.

“Why’s he doing that?”

“Because he likes her, Luke. Why else would he be asking her out?” I looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows. Luke looked over at Spencer, pure confusion on his face.

“Alright, if he likes her,” he shrugged before going to sit at his desk. I smiled as Spencer walked away from Sarah and her desk and back towards me. The smile he wore on his face was a little weird, like he had no idea what he had just done.

“How’d it go? Did she say yes?” I stood up as he got closer to me.

“Friday night… We’re going out,” Spencer looked at me with a nervous smile, “We’re getting dinner,” he nodded as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“That’s so exciting! I’m happy it worked out for you, Spencer! You’ll have so much fun,” I looked up at him before wrapping my arms around his middle. Spencer let out a small sigh as he wrapped his arms around me, embracing me like I was the last person on earth.

“Yeah, yeah, it worked out,” he whispered as he looked at me, “I better… I better let you get back to work,” he smiled at me before returning to his own desk. I smiled back before actually turninf to my work.

{***}{***}{***}

I dropped my head to the side as I dragged a highlighter across the words in my folder. Doing this job is so much easier with a second person, rather than by myself. Although, it’s probably a good thing I wasn’t with someone. I’d probably get so distracted. Like I was when Spencer was helping earlier this week.

I wonder how he’s doing. He is going on that date with Sarah tonight. Hopefully they didn’t get rained out. I don’t think anyone was expecting the horrible weather we got. But that is the spring for you.

Music was playing loud to drown out the loud claps of thunder outside, and to keep my mind at ease. The playlist went anywhere between classic rock to modern day indie. Thank god no one else was here… I think I’d get made fun of for my weird taste in music. It could be worse.

My heart stopped as a loud clap of thunder went through my house. The lightning must have hit the near-by transformer, knocking the power in my house out. I silently cursed, placing a hand on my chest to calm my racing heart. Once I was finally calmed down a bit, I grabbed my phone and turned the flashlight on before going to find some candles.

“Hopefully the power isn’t out all night,” I whispered as I lit the candles. And, just before I sat down to resume my work, there was a knock at the door. That knock made me jump again because I wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially in this weather and at 8:30 at night.

“Who is it?” I spoke, pressing my body against the door so I could hear whoever was on the other side.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice spoke. It was low, like they regretted something. But I couldn’t be too sure what they were regretting. “Can you open the door,” they asked softly. I furrowed my eyebrows before unlocking the door and pulling it open.

Spencer was standing on the porch, soaking wet as he stood in the rain. He was still wearing the clothes he wore at work, a dark-pale blue button up with a plain purple tie, matched with a black cardigan. I looked up at him with a smile.

"Hey, Spencer,” I smiled at him, taking note how he was looking at me. Then I remembered, he was on a date with Sarah… “Wait a minute… What are you doing here? I thought you were going on a date with Sarah?" I cocked my head to the side. “She seemed pretty excited about going out with you. And, you seemed pretty happy about it too,” I smiled at him.

“Yeah, yeah… We cut it short,” he furrowed his eyebrows as he kept his eyes on me.

“That’s a shame. Sarah seemed re-”

“Stop talking about Sarah… Okay? Just… Just listen to me for a minute, please,” he abruptly cut me off with a begging tone in his words. I looked up at him, watching as his hair started to get matted to his forehead because of the rain.

“Okay, I’m… I’m all ears,” I whispered, feeling a nervous smile grow on my lips as I looked at him.

“I’m… I’m crazy about you…” his voice was low as he spoke, "It's been you all along. I don’t have a crush on Sarah… Or… Or… JJ… or… Max... And, sure I loved Maeve… But… That was in the past. This is… This is now… And I know for sure… That I-I love you. I’m in love with you. And, I don’t know what the hell you were talking about. Because this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done… In my entire life,” Spencer spoke so fast, that all his words nearly went over my head. But I heard everything he said. Loud and clear, well as loud and clear as he could let.

But, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. There were no words, nothing to respond with… But all that came from me was laughter.

“Stop laughing… Why… Why are you laughing? This is a very serious moment,” he looked down at me and furrowed his eyebrows. I couldn’t help but look at him, watching droplets of water roll off the tip of his nose.

“B-because, you’re standing in the rain, telling me you love me… After… After you practiced, on me, asking someone out... Why didn’t you just tell me,” I whispered, looking up at him. Spencer looked down at me, his mouth open just a tiny bit, and his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at me.

“I don’t… I don’t know. I just…” he looked at me, his mouth parted as he paused from speaking.

“Did you… Did you even go on your date with Sarah?” I asked, leaning against the door jamb. Spencer kept his eyes on me, watching as I brought a hand up to my face.

“Um… Sarah came and picked me up. And when we got to the restaurant... I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. About… About how you were probably at home, alone, watching a movie or working on those files. And… And I wanted to be here with you, watching movies, cooking food, doing laundry, and… and sleeping with you… Doing life with you…” he rambled on as he looked at me. I smiled and nodded.

“Doing life with… With me?” I bit my lower lip as I looked at him. Spencer nodded.

“Not with Sarah, not with JJ, or… or Max... Not with anyone,” he let out a small laugh before shaking his head, “Just you… And, maybe kids someday, if we have kids… But, mostly just you,” he looked at me. I laughed again and shook my head. “And, it’d… Are you… I’m… I’m sorry…” he looked at me as I pushed myself off the door frame.

“Why are you sorry?” I asked, stepping out of the comfort and warmth and dryness of my home, to stand in the rain with him. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Spencer… That was a mighty brave thing to do… And you’re right… It is hard, one of the hardest things in the world… Asking someone out is one thing… But telling them you love them… Not even I could do that,” I smiled as I stepped closer to him.

“Please… Please tell me this wasn’t a mistake,” he whispered once I was close enough to him. I smiled and shook my head as I kept my eyes on his face.

“No, you didn’t make any mistakes. I would say that was the furthest thing from a mistake,” I smiled as I carefully lifted my hands to his face. Spencer looked down at me, his nose twitching slightly at my touch. I went up on my toes and moved a little bit closer to him. “You know why,” I whispered as I got closer to him. I was so close to him that I could feel his breath against my skin.

“W-why’s that?” he whispered, keeping his eyes on my face. I smiled before leaning even closer to him. Our chests were pressed together, and our noses brushed together.

“Because, I love you too,” I whispered before pressing my lips to his. Spencer hummed before snaking his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to his body, as if I wasn’t already close enough to him. Even though it was cold and wet outside, I was warm in his embrace.

It wasn’t until another clap of thunder cracked through the air that we broke apart. And it was mostly my fault. But, Spencer kept his eyes on me, a warm and friendly smile on his lips.

“We should go inside before we get sick,” I looked up at him, my hands still holding his face.

“Contrary to popular belief, you can’t get sick from standing out in the rain,” he went on to info dump but stopped when I just looked at him, “Yeah…” he chuckled, “Yeah we should go inside before we get sick."

if you want to be a part of a taglst or have any comments about this one shot, let me know here

taglist: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto , @thebluetint , @mggsprettygirl

#shadow writes stuff #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds fan fic

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babiesdreams · 4 years

Text

+18 (Adult content)

The devil’s choice +18 00 line sixsome

Warnings: Sixsome ofc, oral (g and r), degradation, deep throat, praise, hard dom shit, overstimulation, anal, idk what else.

Reposting bc Tumblr flagged it.

“Let’s just get the assignment done alright?” You shout, stopping the mess going on by the boys surrounding you. You loved your friends but sometimes they could be a pain in the ass. They were just too messy god. “They started it” Donghyuck spits out, but Renjun gives him a look. “Excuse me, should we talk about last night?”

“Don’t you fucking dare” Hyuck replies glaring at him with a serious look. “Why?? I’m sure Y/n wants to know” The boy replies teasingly. “Dude, stop it” Jaemin says grabbing renjun’s arm trying to shut him up. “What would I want to know?” You ask innocently and Yangyang, who’s been sitting next to you the whole time, caress your knee saying a soft “It’s nothing”

“No, I wanna know” you say getting up. Everyone looks at you with a weird expression “What’s it?” You scream, wanting answers. “We talked about...” Jaemin starts saying “Dude shut up” Jeno stops him inmediately. “They were arguing about who would fuck you better” Yangyang spits out.

“THEY?” Haechan screams at him. “I remember you being so enthusiastic about it as well” Jaemin says teasingly, pointing at Yangyang. “And what was your conclusion?” You say looking at Haechan who instantly tsks at you. “It was obiously me” He says proudly, and at first you think he’s just being full of himself as usual, but when nobody protest, you chuckle.

“Oh my god y’all are soooo wrong” You say walking away from everyone towards the kitchen. “Hey, he was basically begging to win, what did you want us to do?” Jeno explains farther more as you dissapear through the corridor.

You start searching for something to eat while you hear a new chaos forming in the living room. You take your time as you think everyone’s going crazy with the fight. “I know Hyuck wouldn’t be the best one” Renjun whispers to your ear as his body gets closer to yours. You can feel his bulge against your butt, slightly hard.

“W-what?” You stutter, feeling the boy’s hand around your waist before he turns you around, forcing you to look at him. “I know I’m the best match for you in here” He whispers getting closer to your lips. “R-renjjun” You whisper trying to get off his hold.

“Hey, get off her, you pervert” Jaemin screams from the door frame and Renjun walks away from your figure, kind of leaving you with some weird neediness. You whimper unconciously by the sudden emptiness the boy leaves you with. Both of the boys’ gazes turn to you, analyzing what just happened.

“Did you just...?” Renjun starts asking and Jaemin looks at him confused “Did she just...?” You turn completely red and shake your head. “Let’s go to the living room” You say walking fastly pass the boys.

When you arrive to the living room the other three boys are standing right next to each other, arms crossed and waiting for you to come back. “We decided that we are gonna let you choose” Jeno says and you start laughing. “What is this Fuck, marry, kill?” You ask confused.

“Kinda” Haechan says flirtly. “I’ll kill Haechan then” You say sipping on the drink you grabbed from the kitchen. “And who would you fuck?” Yangyang asks right away. You choke on your drink, laughing out loud right after. “You guys are so needy, you need to get railed” You say jokingly.

“Said the whinning girl. Bet you’re craving for all of us to fuck you now” Renjun says teasingly. “WHAT?” Haechan asks confused. “She literally whimpered when I got off her in the kitchen” Renjun explains. “That’s true” Jaemin admits.

“No it’s not. And y’all need to calm down” You shout at them, already done with the conversation. “Just admit it” Renjun shouts back, making you back up a little. “I do not-”

“You could have just told us if you were so needy baby” Jaemin says getting closer to you. “You’re so dirty that you want a sixsome? I couldn’t have guessed that, miss innocent” Yangyang spits out, making you blush. “Okay, fine stop” You say, making everyone freeze in their places.

“I-I may be down, but-” You were about to set some rules, but Haechan grabs you before you can say anything. His lips shut yours up, making you unable to protest as his hand travels down your hips. His body direct you to the bedroom, where he lets you fall onto the big bed. You can hear footsteps following you, though you’re unable to tell who they are from, as you keep your eyes closed, getting lost in the kiss.

You eventually feel some hands over your body, but you’re unable to tell who they’re from. “Let me taste her too” You hear Jeno say. Haechan gets pulled away from the kiss by Jeno’s strong arms. The younger boy’s lips get replaced by Jeno’s, who kisses you deeply and heatedly.

You can hear hyuck’s protests mixed with some belt tingling. Someone’s hand starts getting your clothes off, letting you feel the cold air of the room against your warm and wet cunt.

You moan inside Jeno’s kiss when you feel some fingers inside of you, and someone’s tongue pressed against your clit. “She’s so wet, dude” Yangyang says, revealing his position.

On your upper body, you can feel two people sucking on each of your nipples, each one following a different pace and technique. The sensations are overwhelming to say the least.

Jeno gets off the kiss with a heavy breath, allowing you to get some air as well. The view is even more overwhelming. Renjun was the one licking your clit and the two other boys were on eash side of your body licking your breasts. Yangyang looks at you while he fingers you, winking teasingly at your desperate expression.

You let your head fall back, while you feel Jeno’s tongue drawing paths on your neck, in between whispers that you are not quite able to understand. “Who do you want to fill you in first?” Yangyang ask looking right into your eyes. You moan softly, unable to make any sense of your thoughts.

“I’ll be last” Renjun says, stopping his actions for a split second and then coming back. “That’s not fair” Haechan says leaving your nipple with a wet pop. “Let her decide” Yangyang says angrily, stopping his fingers for a moment.

“I-I, Yangyang” You manage to say, just wanting the discussion to be over at last. The boy smiles at your words, getting his pants and boxers off. You close your eyes, not wanting the view to overwhelm you farther more.

You soonly feel Yangyang’s tip against your entrance, concentrating on the feeling of his length stretching your walls, even if the rest of the sensations are not easy to ignore. His veiny dick hits every little spot inside of you, not leaving a single empty space.

“Fuck, she’s so tight” He growls out. You get distracted by Jeno’s whispers on your ear as he says “Good girl, you’re doing great...” And a whole bunch of sweet nothings. You’re too driven by his words that you don’t notice how Yangyang’s thrusts speed up fastly.

Renjun, had climbed out since the boy entered you, getting to your belly, drawing wet paths with his tongue and then repeating them with his fingers. Haechan and Jaemin had stopped sucking your nipples long ago, as they were already too redish.

They were now competing on who leaves more hickeys along your breasts and neck. You are not looking, but your skintone cannot be seen anymore as the purpleish marks are covering your it completely.

Yangyang’s moans mixed up with your own, forming a nice harmony that fills the silence in the room. His dick twitches inside of you, hinting you on how close he actually is. You can also feel a wave of arousal coming, as all the different sensations mix up in your brain.

Before you notice, your walls are completely painted in white, as Yangyang gets out of you. Everyone praises your exhausted self, and caress your body in different ways and parts. After you calm down from your high, Hyuck and Jaemin position themselves.

Jaemin gets behind you and hyuck on top of you. Both of their tips hit your entrances. While hyuck enters inmediately, Jaemin lets his fingers play inside your butt, prepating yourself for the incoming painfully satisfying sensation.

Hyuck starts with a fast pace, as he’s aware of how overworked your body may feel and he doesn’t want you to. Jaemin finally enters you, after a long foreplay with his fingers. And it still feels somehow painfull, even though pleasure brushes the pain away. “Fuck, you’re so tight and so good for me baby” Hyuck moans out, while his sweat makes his skin glow down the lighting of the room, making a perfect picture on front of your eyes.

Both penetrations coordinate and uncoordinate at different timings, making you confused for determing who’s inside of you at the moment. Jeno, has taken his pants and boxers off as well, making you suck on his dick. Though your movements don’t really make sense as your brain is really unable to think anything.

Hyuck cums first, letting his cum mix with yangyang’s as the both come out of yous insides slowly dripping down the mattress. You shake out of pleasure at the warm feeling. Jaemin is also close, though he makes you cum first, drawing circles on your clit as he thrusts into you faster and deeper.

He hits places you didn’t know that existed, making a second climax brush over your whole body. He cums right after with loud yet low moans, filling your ass with his white hot cum. You lay down, heavy breathing, taking another break from the situation. They all repeat their praises, including Jeno, who gets his dick out of your mouth, to let you rest for a bit.

After some minutes, you collect yourself and sign the boys to continue their actions. Jeno drags you to the floor, getting you into a kneeling position. He grabs your hair strongly as he guides you through his length, hitting the back of your throat with his tip.

You gag everytime he does, and it seems to somehow motivate him, as he keeps doing it faster and deeper. Precum starts coming out of his tip, mixing up with your saliva as it drips down your mouth. The view is quite something. Everybody is just watching in awe at how beautiful you look like that.

He finally cums inside your mouth, making the dripping even messier as it falls down the floor. He pulls out of your mouth, letting you breathe after you swallow his cum. His hand caress your cheek, making a soft gesture after his brutal actions.

“You did great babygirl” He says placing a kiss on your soft lips. Your whole body shakes due to the overwork and the new neediness Jeno worked out on you. But still you smile at him, eanting to give back some of the love he was giving you.

“Are you too tired?” Renjun asks kind of tired of waiting. You shake your head at him, blinking slowly as you collect yourself once more. Renjun’s eyes are fixed on your figure, analyzing the truth behind your words.

He stands up getting closer to your kneeling figure. His arms grab you in the air, letting your legs surround his waist. He drags you back to the bed, putting you down as he does. Your body gets hug by the nice texture of the bedsheet’s fabric.

The softness of the sheets drives you in as you get lost in the feeling of his hold around your body. His tip enters you as soon as you fall into the mattress. His length enters completely getting the rest of the boys’ cum to move in your walls.

Everyone stays aside as Renjun’s posture is basically not allowing them to be nearby, so they are basically forced into watching how he fucks you senseless.

His hips move fast as he thrusts you, his hands wiping the sweat off your forehead. Tears start falling down your cheeks as pleasure overwhelms you. His fingertips wipe them off. “Look at you, crying for my dick, how pathetic” The sudden degradation makes you blush, and the boy notices right away, getting encouraged by it.

“You have just been craving for my cock all day huh?” He growls out as he speeds up. Your moans leave your lips uncontrollably. “That’s right, I’m the one who fucks you the best after all, aren’t I?” He asks teasingly and you simply nod. “SAY IT” He shouts at you, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

Your whole body shakes as his moves drive you crazy. “You are the best, renjun” You manage to say in between desperate moans. He stops his fingers, keeping his pace steady on you. “You fucking love this don’t you? God you’re such a whore” He growls, getting closer to his own climax.

“Cum for me, baby, let them know, who’s the best” Renjun says under his breath and shortly after you cum again, losing count of your highs. He cums shortly after, but unless the rest of the boys, he stays inside of you, caressing your neck, collarbone, chest, belly, and all the way back up, while you calm down.

“You did an amazing job Y/N, he says kissing every spot his fingertips already touched. The rest of the boys keep praising you as well, getting closer now. And just like tha in between soft touches and kisses you fall asleep peacefully.

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

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

Headcanons for being an Avenger from outer space

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n: this isn’t great but like im down for some avengers hc requests

prompt:

you weren’t exactly accepted on earth the moment you got there

but it wasn’t long before the avengers spotted you

“state your name and your business here” -tony

“wait, stark, just a moment! are you a [alien species]?” -thor

“...my name is y/n, i had nowhere else to go. and yes, i am [alien species]”

i mean, this would be much cooler if the avengers hadn’t already had a bad run-in with the chitauri army

but at least you weren’t trying to destroy any part of earth

“why don’t you come with us for a while? you might be safer in our custody” -cap

you were very uncomfortable with that, but you believed that whatever you were running from couldn’t get you if you stayed with “earth’s mightiest heroes”

and that you were...sort of

the bounty hunters that were on your trail, they didn’t know much about the avengers

so they were dumb enough to strike first

luckily, the avengers took a liking to you

“this is for messing with our new friend!” -tony as he straight up fries one of these goons

you seemed to fight well with them

it made them want to keep you around more than they wanted clint

“having fun, y/n?” -nat

“honestly, yes! i’ve never kicked ass in a group before!”

“i felt the same way on my first mission with these guys” -nat

“wait...is this a mission?”

“well, yeah? what’d you think it was, chess?” -nat

“what? what’s chess?”

oh, my god, this was like thor all over again, it was gonna be great

once the battle was over, they had a question to ask you

but before that...

“did any of you kill the leader?” -you

“which one was the leader?” -sam

“the one with...with the face” *puts clawed hand in front of face for effect*

“thanks, that was really specific” -sam

“you know, he’s got...” *puts fingers near face* “tentacles?”

“you couldn’t say that first?” -tony

“i didn’t know if they were called tentacles here”

okay, that was fair

at that moment the mf hopped out and you pushed clint out of the way so that he didn’t get shot. he said “ow” :( but u were too busy tackling a fellow alien

“you let the rest of those hunters know that they shouldn’t even think about coming after me, are we clear?”

“you’re sparing me?”

“don’t be too flattered, you’re nothing but a messenger to me” *shoots him in the arm*

okay that was a power move

as you kicked this bounty hunter back into his ship, the avengers crew reapproached

“got any plans now that you’ve taken care of your little ‘issue?’” -cap

“you know, i haven’t really thought that far ahead”

“well, if you’re up for it, the avengers would love to have you” -nat

you couldn’t have agreed faster lmaoo

the government didnt like you much

the human population actually wasn’t too fond of you either

but the avengers wouldn’t let anyone touch you

thor made it his own mission to show you all the new stuff that he had discovered on earth

“and these are pop tarts!!” -thor

im talking animals, snacks, music, and more

and dont even get me started on parties

no actually i will

“so, youre from space? list 3 species i’ve never heard of before” -random partygoer

“well, how would you know im not making them up if you’ve never heard them before?”

not much of a comeback for that

you’d only answer questions that weren’t stupid

like “how far away is your home planet?” or “did you have any friends or family?” or “what other planets have you been on?”

and you had a lot of questions too

“what is pizza and where can i get it?”

“you’ve never had pizza? oh, we have to change that” -tony

“what is it though?”

as you went on more missions, you got a better feel for how to work with teammates

especially when they had such different skillsets

“wanda, would you give me a boost?”

“with pleasure!” -wanda

“why didn’t you ask me? i could have flewn you!” -rhodey

“it just feels cooler when wanda launches me, but i’ll let you have your turn later”

“y/n, we should have coffee after this!” -thor

“WHATS THAT?!?!”

you always got excited when offered new things

*muttering* “what the fuck” -you

“OKAY, WHO THE HELL TAUGHT Y/N CURSE WORDS???” -tony

“hm. i wonder” -nat

thor brought you to asgard once

it was pretty. (pretty wild, that is)

“maybe you can take me to your planet one day!”

“i’m pretty sure i’m wanted on my home planet, but i’d love a challenge!”

okay maybe he was ur new bff

“so, y/n, how long is your species’ life span?” -bruce

“im not sure that our measurements of time are exactly translated, but i believe in your time it would be....900 years?”

“oh...may i ask how old you are now?”

“wouldn’t you like to know...”

“...n-no, thats okay”

honestly? sometimes your days were nothing but lazy, so you’d learn about human pop culture

“‘tatooine?’ odd, that’s a planet in my solar system. do you think this ‘george lucas’ is an alien?” -you, lying

*cue the entire fucking team going nuts bc they’re about to believe this conspiracy*

okay but like. you KNEW about thanos. you just never thought he’d be a problem all the way out here

so when the whole thanos situation came to earth you were just kinda like 👉👈 sorry guys, shoulda said smth earlier

“you know who thanos is?” -dr. strange

“...yes. i do. he’s big. really big. and purple. kind of looks like a raisin. oh, yeah, he’s crazy. obsessed with balance.”

“balance? what do you mean by that?” -tony

“like, he likes to kill half of each population for ‘balance,’ you know?”

anyways you went back to space

“so, anything else about thanos we should know?” -tony

“he has 2 adoptive daughters, they’re both badass, i know then personally, he’s from the planet ‘titan,’ last of his kind, aaaand he has an army”

“we have a—wait, no we don’t” -tony

“are there aliens that lay eggs in people? or is that just a stereotype?” -peter

“peter, is it? i heard that you’re taught that there are no stupid questions, but that was a very stupid question”

“...i don’t know if that was a ‘yes’ or ‘no’” -peter

tony asked if you could fly the ship. no.

eventually making your way to titan

which was surreal since it had just been so long since you’d left earth

gotg in the house

“where’s gamora?”//“who’s gamora?” “why’s gamora?”//“you know gamora?” “you know gamora?”//“do you work for thanos?”//“no, i’m here to kill thanos”//“so you’re here to kill gamora?”//“what? no! gamora doesn’t work for thanos anymore, it’s been like 4 years”//“holy shit”

and then thanos popped in and nebula too and she recognized you and it was kinda awk but were just gonna pretend it didn’t happen bc it gets worse <3

u, tony, and nebula got trapped in a ship for like 3 weeks but it was good for catching up

and u met captain marvel and honestly youve just met too many people in the past few weeks u were not vibing

“so, y/n, miss space at all?” -tony

“up until we went back to space, yeah. i’m not leaving this planet ever again”

“we need to find thanos” -bruce

“fuck”

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#avengers x reader #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #tony stark imagine #nebula imagine #steve rogers imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #avenger!reader

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babybluebex · 4 years

Text

the proposal [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: ceo!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 3.9k ➽ summary:your pushy boss forces you, his assitant, to marry him in order to keep his visa status and avoid deportation. ➽ warnings: forced marriage?? except not really?? ➽ a/n: this is loosely based off the sandra bullock movie of the same name which i recommend you watch bc it’s good classic rom com, but i just see tom being a dickhead and bodying this

I gasped as hot coffee spilled down my front, and I looked at the mail cart that had run into me. “Sorry,” the person steering the cart shrugged, and he continued on his way, totally unaware that he had just ruined my day. I gritted my teeth and looked down at my black-coffee stained shirt, knowing that my boss would be out of his morning coffee, had I not ordered a second. I always ordered a second coffee in case a disaster like this occurred. Mr. Holland could be just awful sometimes, and I only made the mistake of forgetting his coffee once.

The door to the office opened, and I looked to see my boss striding in. Mr. Thomas Holland was one of the foremost editor-in-chiefs in the world, and he was deserving of it. While he was a great editor-in-chief, he was the meanest man I had ever met. He expected everything to be just his way and, if they weren’t, he would work to make it that way. Past assistants had been fired for less than forgetting a coffee.

I followed him into his office for his morning briefing, and a single sculpted eyebrow lifted at the stain on my shirt. “Rough morning, Y/N?” he asked with a laugh. I kept my comments to myself and handed him his coffee, and he sat down at his desk.

“You could say that, sir,” I mumbled. “You have a meeting at eleven, and Penguin needs that manuscript by tomorrow--”

“Who is Jake?” Mr. Holland asked suddenly. “And why does he want me to call him?”

I stopped talking and noticed my boss staring at the coffee that was at first mine, and my face went pale. Written on my cup was the name of the barista that made my coffee every morning, along with his phone number. Mr. Holland looked at me, expecting an answer, and the look in his blue eyes made me want to puke. “Oh,” I stuttered. “That is-- He’s--”

“Do I want to know?” Tom asked.

“No, it’s better if you don’t,” I replied. “Um, also, you got a call from Immigration Services last night. They need you to come in and do some paperwork.”

“I sent it in last week,” Tom said cooly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Not according to them,” I said. “Umm… Can I ask a question, sir?”

“You just did,” Tom said. His dark eyes stared deep into me, and I held down my shiver.

I sighed. “You know what I mean,” I said. “I thought you were a citizen?”

“Nope,” Tom replied, popping his lips. “I’m in America on a work visa. What time do they want me to come in?”

“They said ‘at your earliest convenience’,” I told him.

Tom sighed. “Let’s go get this over with,” he mumbled. “Umm… You might want a change of clothes.”

I looked down at my stained shirt and huffed out a frustrated grunt, and Tom scoffed. “Alright, then,” he chuckled plaintively, his London accent rolling off of his tongue. I wasn’t blind, I knew that my boss was attractive— a strong jaw that was always clean shaven, brown eyes that shifted golden in the right light, and dark hair, usually styled down with just the ends showing their true curly nature. He was tall and built like a Greek god, and his wonderful accented voice would have been appealing if the words he said with it didn’t cut right through me. Some would say Mr. Thomas Holland was mean; others would say he was blunt. I would say he’s just a dick. “Don’t have to get so worked up.”

“I—“ I began and sighed. “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Tom cocked his head thoughtfully. “Have you ever seen The Bodyguard?” he asked. When I didn’t respond, he said, “It’s a show on the BBC, I should have known you wouldn’t have seen it.” With that, he pulled off his jacket and draped it against his desk chair, and he loosened his tie around his neck.

“Mr. Holland, what are you doing?” I asked quickly, jerking forward to stop him.

He looked at me with those honey eyes as he set his tie on his desk. “I am giving you the shirt off of my back,” he said. “Like the kind soul I am.”

I nearly protested, but I knew that he had a spare; I had brought it from the dry cleaners two days ago. I searched for something to say to him as he disrobed, and the sight of his bare chest made me say “Thank you. It is very kind.”

“Most would say uncharacteristic,” Tom said, handing his shirt. The hand clutching his shirt had a shining watch on the wrist, and, while the sight was enticing, it only served to remind me of how late we were going to be. The shirt was still warm from him having worn it, and he crossed the room to retrieve his spare from the storage closet.

“Most would,” I agreed. I pulled my blazer off and began to undo my shirt, but I felt as if Tom was staring at me. I looked over my shoulder to him, already doing up the buttons on his shirt, and his eyes lifted to mine.

“Do you need help, Y/N?” Tom asked, a snide bite to his words.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Can you…” I started. “Ya know, turn around?”

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Americans are so prudish,” he said. “I undressed in front of you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but it’s different,” I said. “Just close your eyes, something, please.”

Tom laughed lightly, and he made a show of covering his eyes with his hands. “Is that better?”

I rolled my eyes. It would have to be good enough. I pulled my shirt off and exchanged it for his and, once I was fully dressed again, I said, “Alright. Thank you.”

“Great,” Tom said and uncovered his eyes. “Are you ready to go now?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Sure.”

Once we arrived at the Immigration office, Tom was brought in almost immediately, and he had me come in to take notes. A secretary’s job is never done, I guess. I stood by the door as he sat before the officer, and I watched the scene unfold before me.

“Mr. Holland, you’re here on a work visa,” the officer began. “Which means you’re not allowed to leave the country.”

“Yes,” Tom said, and he raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you went to an international book fair…” the officer began as he shuffled some papers around. “In Germany, last month.”

Tom scoffed and flipped his tie in annoyance. “It was for my job,” he said. “Can’t I go to work functions?”

“Not when it violates the rules of your visa,” the officer said. “Because you violated those rules, you have to leave the country and go back to your home country for one year.”

Tom straightened in his seat suddenly and gave a laugh. “I can’t do that,” he said seriously. “I can’t work from a different country for a full year. I’d lose my job.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holland, but it’s federal law,” the officer said. “The only way you can stay in the country is if you get married by the end of this month, and--”

I had worked for Thomas Holland for a long time. I knew him well. I knew what shampoo he used, what pants size he wore, and, most importantly, I knew what he looked like when he got an idea. His chin went up, his shoulders went back, and he smiled. He rarely smiled, at least where I was concerned. “Um, yeah, w-what if I am getting married?” Tom asked. “What-What then?”

“Well, it would have to be filed appropriately and the service would need to be witnessed,” the officer said. “But, if everything was legal, you would be allowed to stay in the country.”

Tom turned around to look at me and he gestured for me to step closer. “C’mere, darling,” he said, and his honey eyes widened at me. “Don’t be shy, c’mon.” He turned back to the officer and gave a smile to him. “She’s so shy, it’s adorable.”

I stepped closer to him, and Tom stood up and wrapped his arm around my waist. I was confused as hell about what he was doing, but it clicked when he captured my chin between his forefinger and thumb and planted a quick kiss to my mouth. Oh fuck. If he was fired, I would be out of a job too. I needed Tom to stay in the country, which meant that he had to get married. And who better to marry than somebody who already knows everything about you? Fuck. That’s me. “You two?” the immigration officer asked. “Is she not your secretary?”

“She is, yes,” Tom said, and he laughed nervously. “But it wouldn’t be the first time that someone fell for their secretary, would it?” He then gave a deep laugh, and I quickly giggled to ease the tension. “Yes, no, but… Y/N and I are getting married. We were planning on a spring wedding-- you know how girls and spring weddings are-- but we could fast-track it, if it keeps me here… With her.”

The immigration officer raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said. “Where is your ring?”

I looked down at my hands, certainly missing an engagement ring. “Oh, umm…” I began. “Well, you see, we don’t want our coworkers to know yet. Seeing as I’m being promoted to editor, we thought it would be inappropriate for our relationship to be… Known to the office. I have a ring, but I don’t wear it.”

“Yes, editor…” Tom began and looked at me, a flash of annoyance crossing his face for just a moment. “Sure, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N,” the immigration officer began. “You do understand that, if you are caught in a lie, it’s five years in a federal prison?”

I nodded and gave a tight smile. “Good thing we’re not lying.”

I watched Tom as we left the building and, once we were outside, I stopped walking. “Wanna explain that?” I called.

Tom stopped and turned on his heel, his phone already pressed to his ear. “What is it?” He asked. “I’m on a call.”

I huffed and pulled his phone away. “Mr. Holland has business to attend to,” I said. “He’ll call back.” I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket, and I crossed my arms. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Tom asked, and I gestured back to the building with a huff. “Oh. It’s the only way for me to stay in the country and keep my job. We’ll get a legal marriage by the end of the month, then, when the appropriate amount of time passes, I’ll set up a quickie divorce and you can forget that this funny little thing ever happened.”

“What if I don’t want to get married?” I asked. “What about my boyfriend?”

Tom scoffed. “As if you have a boyfriend.”

“Hey!” I cried. “You don’t know that!”

“You wake up at four in the morning, every morning, in order to get ready and get my breakfast,” Tom rattled off. “You work from eight to four every day, most times until five. You are on call at all times; your phone never rings twice before you answer it, especially if I am calling you. You bring me food at one in the morning if I need it. No boyfriend would be okay with a work schedule like that. So, Y/N, unless you have any other unfounded issues with this, I suggest we start to learn things about each other that an engaged couple would know.”

“No.”

“No?” Tom repeated.

I smiled sweetly. “Ask me nicely.”

“Ask you what?” Tom asked with a grimace.

“Ask me nicely to marry you,” I said.

Tom gave me a look of boredom, and he rolled his eyes before he took my hand. “Will you please marry me?” He asked, his voice full of sarcasm.

“No, no,” I said. “Down on one knee. You’re an Englishman, Mr. Holland, have some manners, for God’s sake.”

“Y/N--” Tom began.

“I wonder what airfare is like to London,” I began. “And moving all your stuff over there, it’ll take forever.”

Tom sighed heavily, and he looked around us at the busy New York street corner. “Damn it, Y/N,” he mumbled, and he worked himself down to kneel on one knee. “Y/N, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars, my darling girl. Provider of late-night sushi and witty comebacks. Will you please marry me, with cherries on top?”

I chuckled lightly. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but yes,” I said. “I will marry you… Tom.”

“Well, thank God you’re on time.”

“I know, it’s shocking,” I chirped. “It’s almost as if I haven’t been reminding you of appointments for the past few years.”

Tom gave a shallow laugh and welcomed me into his apartment. I had been a few times-- he didn’t call me ‘provider of late-night sushi’ in his proposal for nothing-- but never long enough to take in the place. It was nice, a lot nicer than the apartment I lived in. In my apartment, I could extend my arms all the way and touch either side of my living space.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Tom said. He wore mostly the same outfit from the day, sans the jacket and tie and the first two buttons on his shirt. It yawned open to expose his chest, dusted with thin, light hair, and, under normal circumstances, I would have liked the sight. Absolutely nothing about this was normal, though. “We have to learn enough about each other to pass the questionnaire that the immigration department is giving us.”

“Won’t be hard for me to do,” I said. “It might be difficult for you, Tom.”

“Nothing is difficult for me, Y/N,” Tom laughed. “Right, we can start right there: what’s my legal name?”

“Thomas Stanley Holland,” I replied. “Son of Dominic and Nicola.”

Tom blinked in surprise a few times, and nodded slowly. “How did you know that?” He asked.

“I had to fill out paperwork for you to make an appearance at a book signing about three years ago,” I said. “One of the forms asked for a middle name, so I asked you, and you told me that exactly.”

Tom nodded. “Umm… My birthday?”

“June 1,” I said. “You’re a Gemini, even though you think astrology is fake.”

“How do you--”

“For the past couple of years, you always sneer at the horoscope section of any magazine,” I told him. “It’s not hard to figure out what you think of it.”

“You’re right,” Tom said slowly. He looked over to a pad of paper with his scribbled writing on it, and he picked it up and scanned the list. “I found this list online… A list of questions similar to what they’ll ask us. Alright, there’s no way you know this: my childhood nickname?”

“Which one, Dutchy or Billy?”

“How in the fuck do you--”

“On your last birthday, you got a letter in the mail from your mom,” I began. “It was addressed to Dutchy. That was easy; Holland, Dutch, Dutchy. Kinda cute, actually.”

“And Billy?” Tom winced. “How did you find out about that?”

“One of your old uni friends works for a publishing company in Glasgow,” I said. “You sent him a letter to catch up-- but really to get him to do something for you-- and you signed it Billy.”

“Do you know why I was called that?” Tom asked. His honey eyes were unwavering as he watched me, and he seemed to deflate when I shook my head.

“I have no idea,” I said. “If it’s anything like my college nickname, it came from a night of drinking and something unfortunate happened.”

“What was your college nickname?” Tom asked, suddenly amused.

“Oh, right, you don’t know everything about me,” I laughed. “Well… It was DongNose. My senior year, me and some friends decided to go to a-a… Ha, a male strip club. Things happened and… I ended up getting hit, on the nose, with… Yeah. It fractured my nose and my face bruised up really bad.”

“Oh, shit,” Tom chuckled. The corner of his mouth twitched, and I rolled my eyes.

“It’s alright, you can laugh,” I said. “It’s a funny story.”

“No, I’m not laughing at you,” Tom said. “Just… Thinking about you in uni. Would we have been friends, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “You would have been playing rugby or whatever Brits do at uni. I was a TA for a long time, so I hardly left my office at all.”

“Oh, that’s a question,” Tom said, looking at the list. “Where did I go to uni? Or, I guess, college, as you Yanks call it.”

“Umm, your first semester was at the BRIT School,” I began. “You still get mail from them, asking for donations. But you transferred to Cambridge and graduated from there.”

“Well, Y/N, you’re wrong,” Tom said. “I went to Oxford, not Cambridge. My little brother goes to Cambridge. I don’t usually like to tell people that, it feels too uppity to me.”

“You say as we sit in your New York City apartment,” I scoffed.

“See, that’s different,” Tom began pointedly. “I didn’t grow up with much. Me and my mum and dad and brothers lived in this little town outside of London. It was a sort-of poverty area, so we only had what we could get by with. I was young when I told myself that I was going to work to get myself out of that. And…” He gestured to the apartment. “I did. And I was able to get my parents out of that as well.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “What was the name Billy all about? You never said.”

For the first time since I knew him, I watched color rise in Tom’s cheeks. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? “Umm…” He began. He looked to the coffee table and to the shelf underneath it, and he quickly pulled out a leather-bound scrapbook. “Mum made this for me before I moved to the States. Just some pictures of home and all. But…” He opened the book and spread it out next to us on the couch, forcing me just a few inches closer to him. There were pictures of him and his family in the gray background of London, most of them stamped with the date and time. A picture from when he was in secondary school appeared on a page, taken beautifully and professionally. A black blazer and striped tie adorned his frame, an insignia for his school on the right breast of his jacket. His hair was short and done in the spiked look that was oh-so popular with young boys several years back, and he gave the camera a closed-mouth smile, probably to hide a set of braces.

“I was about twelve here,” Tom began. “This was around the time the nickname came around. I did dance all growing up-- Mum said I was too energetic and chucked me there to tire me out, but I ended up loving it. I ended up auditioning for Billy Elliot, and I got the part. I was on the fuckin’ West End when I was twelve, doing ballet every single day. It was great, but… I went to a Catholic school then, and the other boys in my class didn’t think it was all that cool.” Tom chuckled, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. “But then the nickname came around. People at school called me Billy, even after the show closed. I was tormented with it for years. It carried into college, and then uni. And, even though I’ve long since quit dancing, I still have people from uni that call me Billy.”

“Why did you quit?” I asked.

“I just lost interest.” Tom mumbled with a shrug. “I was being bullied so much that I quit enjoying it. I sometimes wish I never stopped, but what’s done is done.”

The silence was tense between us, and I lightly cleared my throat to diffuse the tension. “Billy Elliot,” I said softly. “Really?”

Tom’s flush came back, but a smile came with it. “C’mon, I was twelve! And I looked like that! What d’ya want from me, Swan Lake?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” I exclaimed. “Besides, it isn’t any worse than what I did in high school.”

“What did you do?” Tom asked.

“You’re deflecting my question, Tommy,” I pointed out.

“Answer my question, Y/N,” Tom rebutted instantly.

“Alright, alright!” I grinned. “When I was fifteen, I played Juliet in my school’s production of Romeo and Juliet. Which would have been great, but my director was so inspired by Baz Luhrmann’s movie that he made it set in the 1950s, but had us keep the dialogue. It was… Not good.”

“Say a line, won’t you?” Tom asked. “Just a few words of Juliet.”

I sighed, and tried in vain to recall even a single line from the play. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more?” Tom mused, looking down at his lap. “Or shall I speak at this? I take thee at thy word: call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

A smile slowly filled my lips. “You know Shakespeare?” I asked.

“My darling, I’m British,” Tom laughed. “I would have my citizenship revoked if I didn’t.”

I nearly didn’t catch how he called me that name. My darling. A slip of the tongue, a thought from Romeo’s mind? Or more? “I guess we’re more alike than we first thought, huh?” I chuckled. “Anyway, I don’t think Billy Elliot is anything to be ashamed of. It’s a beautiful story.”

Tom sighed. “I hope this works,” he mumbled. “I need this job. I’m sure you do too. We both get something out of it. Which, I was meaning to talk to you about that. Editor?”

“Tommy, if I get caught doing this, I could go to jail,” I said firmly. “I’m not going to commit a federal offense if I’m not going to get some benefits afterwards. You get me?”

Tom nodded slowly. “You are a lovely girl,” he said softly. “Any man would be thrilled to call you his.”

“You do,” I said. “At least, for the next few months, you do.”

Tom looked at me with those warm honey eyes. “Have you ever been kissed, Y/N?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, yeah,” I sputtered out. “Of course.”

“Who was your first kiss?” Tom asked.

“Who was yours?” I said quickly.

“Zendaya Coleman, one of my best mates from college,” Tom said quickly. “Answer my question. What was his name?”

I hesitated as I tried to come up with the name of any boy I went to high school with for me to lie about, but my hesitation was answer enough. A slow smile crept up on Tom’s pink lips, and he bit his bottom lip in amusement. “You’ve never been kissed, have you?” he chuckled. “Earlier today, when I kissed you at the office, that was your first, wasn’t it?”

“Jesus, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” I scoffed.

“It’s not,” Tom said. “It’s just hard to believe. You are smart and witty, beautiful, with a sense of humor… I can’t imagine that boys weren’t falling over themselves to catch you.”

“Well, nobody’s caught me yet,” I laughed softly.

“Thank God,” Tom said with a smile. “Or our plan wouldn’t work.”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #fanfiction #fluff #peter parker #spiderman #arvin russell #the devil all the time #tom holland x reader fluff

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

College AU drinking HCs /// Dabi, Shigaraki, & Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

A/N: A little background for this college AU—imo the PLF would be a social frat and the Shie Hassaikai is a professional frat (pre-med). Sooner or later I’ll write general college AU headcanons for them…

Tags/warnings: implied dubcon/drunk sex, alcohol, problematic frat culture things, pressure to drink, brief mentions of public sex/exhibitionism, drug use, a tiny bit of degradation, Hawks is vaguely in it too

Dabi

A basic frat bitch who drinks beer 80% of the time

Surprisingly he can’t tolerate cheap beer and is kind of a snob about people who drink shitty beer but he doesn’t bring it up enough to be annoying about it. Constantly blowing the frat’s alc budget on bottled beer instead of cans, not the super expensive craft bullshit but a step above Natural Light at least, right guys? Come on

Dabi always volunteers to go with Keigo (the frat’s social chair) to pick up the keg because both of them have a crusade against the cheap stuff—Keigo because he wants people to get drunk on it at parties and Dabi because he wants to drink it himself. They lowkey have a bromance over it and sometimes go to breweries together to fuck around and daydrink. The two of them are always trying new beers and will generally keep a different sixpack in the fridge every day—if any of the other brothers drink their overpriced IPAs by accident there’ll be consequences

Speaking of Keigo, him and Dabi are both into making jungle juice. They both get really excited about it, it’s kinda wholesome except they’re both just plotting on how to get cute girls like you as drunk as possible without realizing. They’ve spent a bunch of weekends together trying different mixes and recipes for the best flavor/alcohol content combination

Dabi is a whole ass heavyweight. He’s been getting drunk since he was like 11 so a couple rounds of shots are basically water to him. He can’t even remember the last time he was really, really drunk, he just gets tipsy now. And believe he absolutely uses this to his advantage

You’re drinking together? He’s going to fill up your cup every time he fills up his own, so before you realize how much you’ve been drinking, you’re five drinks in and swaying on the spot while Dabi is completely unfazed. He’ll tease you about having no tolerance to make you drink more

Drinking games!! Once again his tolerance gives him an advantage. He’ll pull some fake chivalrous shit like offering to drink for you on the first round of beer pong and then after that he’s just going to demolish you until you’re so plastered he basically has to carry you up to his room (which has empty liquor bottles lined up on the shelves as “decor” because he’s such a stereotypical frat bro)

Ok this is kinda weird but bear with me—Dabi actually dislikes that alcohol makes you less responsive/makes it harder for you to cum. Doesn’t mean he’ll hesitate to get you drunk but he wants you to feel everything he’s doing to you and alcohol isn’t really conducive to that

Very laid-back when he’s tipsy, you can barely tell the difference from when he’s sober ♡

Shigaraki Tomura

A liiiiiiiightweight. 3 drinks and Tomura’s out bruv, out like a goddamn lightbulb, I said what I said

Although tbh it’s more like he gets drunk really quick and then sobers up really quick. Like he’ll be nodding off at the pregame but by the time the party starts, he’s ready to get going again

A wimp when it comes to alc preferences. Hates the taste of strong liquor and will never take shots without a chaser. Prefers to mix vodka and tequila rather than doing shots, preferably with root beer/sprite. Gets pissy if the party runs out of shit to chase with. The frat has a steady supply of amaretto and kahlua because of Tomura, he really likes sweet drinks

Genuinely hates beer and will take white claw over beer any day of the week. But he’s a frat president so he avoids talking about it bc it’s pretty embarrassing

Don’t tell anyone but…Tomura doesn’t really like drinking? Since he’s the president he has to be in charge of a lot of shit when they have parties. Drunk freshmen puking in the backyard? Tomura has to tell Dabi (recruitment chair) to find some pledges to clean it up. Fight breaks out? Tomura has to make sure no one gets hurt enough to get the frat in trouble with school admin. Undercover cops? Tomura’s the one who has to announce that they’re out of alc and shut it down

It’s annoying enough for Tomura to deal with that shit (not to mention get Keigo to stop fucking freshman girls and pull his weight as social chair) when he’s sober, and it’s 100x worse when he’s drunk

On the other hand, when Tomura gets drunk he’ll get really drunk. Doesn’t dance so he’ll just sit on the couch and maybe play handheld games, and he’ll get super annoyed bc he’s shit at games when his vision is blurry and his hands are shaking

Pretty suggestible when he’s been drinking. If you’re dating Tomura you can get him to do all kinds of crap after you get a few shots in him. Make him do your skincare routine with you and put face masks on together :,) He’ll never admit it but he likes being taken care of when he’s wasted

ON THE OTHER HAND THO…….if you’re not dating and instead just some random chick at one of his parties? Tomura will absolutely use being drunk as an excuse to creep on you. e.g. at kickbacks he’ll get you to play never have I ever/truth or dare so he can ask invasive questions

Are you a virgin?

How old were you when you lost it? Oh wow, you’re a slut/prude.

Body count?

Do you like sucking cock?

Ever let a guy tie you up/choke you/cum inside?

You keep answering because he seems super detached/disinterested, like he doesn’t really care about your answers or he’s just joking around. Little do you know…

Honestly a sneak creep—Tomura seems like he doesn’t give a shit about you until he’s groping you under your shirt on the dance floor, hands squeezing your tits before he shoves them into your shorts and tells you he’s going to wreck this little pussy as soon as he gets you alone ♔

Chisaki Kai

You know Kai drinks, but you never really see him drinking? It’s weird…he’s always holding a bottle when you run into him at parties but he never takes off the cloth mask he’s wearing

Brings his own alcohol to parties because no fucking way he’s going to be drinking the same nasty shit that the hosts are providing. Jungle juice? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is? Even thinking about it makes Kai want to throw up

Highkey a drug dealer although he doesn’t do much himself except maybe coke or adderall…Kai can sell you basically anything and all his shit is that high-quality you can’t usually get from a campus dealer

At the same time, if Kai’s planning on fucking you he probably won’t give you that much because he doesn’t want to babysit you when you get crossed

Likes Asian liquors, very on-brand for him. Baijiu, shōchū, sake, that kind of thing. Drinks a fair amount of soju but he exclusively buys boring flavors like “fresh” or “classic”

When it comes to Western liquor, Kai has better taste than most students. Would rather drink vinegar than any alcohol that came out of a plastic bottle, box, or bag. He likes top-shelf whiskey and gin and he’s good with strong alcohol; if you wince after taking a shot he’ll definitely look down on you

Prefers afterparties and kickbacks to big parties, and will take roof/outdoor events over crowds. Hasn’t set foot inside a social frat since he was a freshman and doesn’t plan to. Very much the “let’s get out of here, I have something stronger at my place” type

Fuck, you’re so trusting when you’re drunk…he could probably put a leash and collar on you and you’d thank him. It’s sort of baffling how bubbly and sweet you are when Kai gets a little liquor in you; he can’t decide if it’s annoying or a turn-on

Kai has average tolerance but unbelievable self-control and awareness, so he’s careful not to get too drunk himself

Likewise, if he’s interested he’ll keep a close eye on how much you’re drinking and how trashed you are, because when he gets around to fucking you he wants you to be fuzzy enough that he can easily take advantage but not too sloppy. Wouldn’t want you gagging on his cock after all

Loves watching you stumble around and fall over shit while he’s just shy of sobriety. Only time you’ve ever seen Kai laugh is when you drunkenly asked him for help walking once. No way. If you can’t walk by yourself you should just crawl

When Kai actually gets drunk, he’s pretty much the same except a little more sleepy/lazy. If he’s sitting down he has a habit of nodding off in the middle of conversations. It’s lowkey cute but Setsuno brought it up once and Kai got pissed so don’t mention it to him ♢

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gallickingun · 4 years

Text

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

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

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

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy?”

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the glass box shatters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I can handle this on my own.”

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

His nostrils flare, “Yeah, and?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll call her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

Abusive father. Hospitalized mother. Deceased wife.

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

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

“Todoroki Shouto?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hana, it looks like your-”

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

When they finally round the corner, you stop breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hana?”

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

So Shouto has taught her manners.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it never comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

“Yes.”

“And what about the cake?”

“Ordered it three weeks ago.”

“How about the-”

“Shouto.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Todoroki is fuming, to put it nicely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy!”

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The next few months are a breeze.

Until they are not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you can see is his bare torso.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouto nods, “Yes, we did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Todoroki, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead it is just his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, this time it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and you’d let him.

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

Todoroki Shouto is by no means a small man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your turn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something tells you that things will never be the same.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, tonight, you’ve had enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can-Can I come in?”

Shouto.

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

“Listen, I think there’s just-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Todoroki.”

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

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

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

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

“I think I’m in love with you.”

To say that the world stopped spinning was an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Todoroki, this is-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your lips are really warm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Shouto, I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that is a promise you fully intend to keep.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Momma?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tell daddy what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m not talking about sleeping.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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