#i had only seen the first two on thursday to clarify
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I don’t know how to start this. First of all, I’ve read all of your message and comments and I appreciate each of you. I wanted to step away from this platform because it feels so wrong being here without Mil. For 8 years, sidetongue.tumblr.com has been a place where Miller has existed not only in my life, but in the lives of people all over the world. Her memory, her story, and her existence are etched into the walls of this blog and I feel like a traitor carrying on without her.
A comment stuck out to me though, and it said something like ‘you’ve built this community and we’re all here for you’. And that’s right; there is such a sense of community here, years worth of friendships, and it would be so unfair to shut you all out. I know many of you cried along with me, and many of you grieve over this little blue dog like she was a close friend. Let me fill you in.
On Thursday (Day 5) I had the day off from work but went in anyway to help put an NG tube in Mil. My vet had spoken to vets up north (where lepto is more prevalent) and they had said that clinical symptoms don’t improve until day 7 at least. That gave us a bit of an explanation as to why we hadn’t seen improvement yet. It gave us some hope. We had to buckle in and get her to day 7. Of course, we needed to get food into her, so a NG tube was needed so we could stop force feeding her with a syringe.
She was such a good sport for her tube. She didn’t fuss or squirm or complain. Her nose bled and I cried. She told me not to worry about it. I told her I loved her and I’d see her later.
At around 4:30pm I got a call from my vet. She said “you know how you asked me to tell you if it was time?” I knew what that meant. It meant something had changed, things weren’t okay anymore, it meant Miller was suffering. I rushed into work.
They told me she had collapsed a little while ago. They ran bloods, and her clotting time was abnormal. She was going into DIC. When I saw Mil she looked so tired. The vet said she’d carry her out onto the grass, but Mil wanted to walk. On shaky legs she dragged her tired body up and walked beside me as we went outside.
Mil got to feel the wind on her face, smell fresh air, see blue skies, and have green grass beneath her feet. I hysterically refused to put on a gown, gloves, and face shield. I didn’t care about getting sick, I didn’t care about protocols, I needed her to feel all of my love in her last moments. And selfishly, I needed to feel those velvety ears, run my fingers through her fur, and feel her warmth beneath my hands.
I buried my face in her neck and clung to her as she fell asleep. I squeezed my eyes shut and for many moments I couldn’t sit back up. Couldn’t open my eyes to a world without Miller in it.
It has taken me over a week to look at and edit these few photos. The SD card had been sitting heavy, holding the last two adventures we ever went on. It filled me with dread, knowing I’d have to sit and look at Miller being happy and carefree in these photos. If I didn’t look at them, then there would always be a little bit of Mil still alive and safe. But I knew, in order to feel closure, I needed to go through them.
My heart shattered over and over again as her bright eyes stared into mine through the screen. So full of life, so unknowing of what was to come. The beach photo was taken on the morning she was admitted, a mere hour before she walked into the vet clinic. Never to walk out again. She had been a little quiet; staying by my side and not venturing off with the rest of the dogs. That’s what prompted me to take her to work. That’s why I only got the one photo, after a seagull tempted her to half-heartedly chase it.
I will never understand why this happened to my little blue dog. My boss has clarified that we STILL do not recommend lepto vaccines and that they are still not indicated due to how very low the risk is. That’s a whole other level of pain. That it was a one in a million chance, that my best girl was the horrific anomaly and we’ll likely never see this disease again.
Thank you all again for your words of support. The other dogs are doing well, no one is sick, and Trickle is still with us. The foster program that Trickle is through has called up the clinic and paid the entire amount for Miller’s cremation; a huge gesture that took off some of the financial burden.
I feel so privileged to have shared Millou with you all - she had more friends than she could possibly ever know, which is saying something because she was just. So comically abrasive. I hope she’s found someone unsuspecting to bark at up there. I hope she’s climbing mountains and eating dead kangaroos. I hope she’s found the equivalent of grandma’s armchair and is snoozing peacefully. I’ll miss her forever.
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IS IT MISINFORMATION, OR DISINFORMATION.
"The sensational, unconfirmed allegations that Hamas beheaded several babies in the southern part of Israel continue to baffle with each development from the region only contributing to the chaos.
The reports first surfaced on Tuesday, days after the start of the latest conflict between Israel and militant group Hamas, and quickly spread.
As the old adage goes: “A lie can travel the world and back again while the truth is lacing up its boots.” And so it did. The allegation that Hamas beheaded dozens — some said 40 — of babies was shared by hundreds online, from news junkies to journalists repeating the claim, including on networks like CNN.
On Wednesday night, the claim made it into the address of U.S. President Joe Biden, who made remarks on the American support to Israel and how he was taken aback by the reports coming out of the Middle East.
"I never really thought that I would see...have confirmed pictures of terrorists beheading children," Biden said.
A White House spokesperson quickly clarified, saying that neither U.S. officials nor the president had seen any pictures or confirmed reports independently, according to the Washington Post.
Biden’s apparent confirmation of the claims was based on the information shared by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s spokesperson and media reports, according to the White House.
As of Thursday, Netanyahu in a press address said that people had been beheaded by Hamas but did not confirm if and how many were children, according to several media outlets.
The photos released by his office on Thursday show one infant’s body stained with blood and two burnt bodies of babies.
The militant organization Hamas itself denied the allegations, suggesting they were spread “as an attempt to cover up the crimes and massacres committed by the Israeli occupation around the clock, most of which amount to war crimes and genocide.”
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upon anon request i'll share some updates with me:
idk if i mentioned this b4 but i'm getting an apartment with my boyfriend in august and i'm more excited than i can explain! it's a 2 bedroom 2 bathroom apartment about 10 minutes from our campus and the place is super clean and modern! we're both excited to not only get away from stressful/noisy roommates but to live together. I'm also glad that we have our own bedrooms because I think having the opportunity for privacy will be super useful, especially since we're both on the spectrum on some level. it is a little soon admittedly (we will be together for 10 months when we move in together), and move-in will be the first time our families fully meet, but I wouldn't do this if I wasn't confident that my boyfriend is a perfect match and has consistently proven that to me.
i also made a poetry chapbook last semester and it just came in the mail today from my professor! i want to find some way to make copies of it (I taped my art to it after it was officially printed) so I can maybe sell some or just make it publicly accessible. It was really cool to learn how to make my own book, formatting book folds through word and being mindful about how pages will print (first paper will be pages 1 and 29, then 2 and 28, etc) as well as looking into cover paper like cardstock. I decided to call the chapbook A Girl, Dying, and my author bio mentions this blog!
i'm currently taking journalism 101 which is kinda interesting but asynchronous makes it really hard to feel motivated to complete assignments. Thankfully all assignments are due friday nights so I just do my hw on friday mornings if not thursdays. i'm doing alright so far, I have like an 86 so I'm not mad about that as a B student.
umm what else... it's still mentally difficult to be home now that i've processed all the trauma i experienced at home when i was away in college, and it's especially difficult to sleep in the same bed where, you know, some things happened. so i'm just trying to stay occupied or dissociated or a combination of the two. therapy starts sometime this week for me but it's unclear when yet, i'm waiting for the counseling services to clarify a date and time. i really feel like i need it asap especially because my existential ocd is just getting progressively worse and I had a scary panic attack for the first time a few days ago. the existential ocd is also feeding into my dpdr so i'm honestly struggling to stay on earth mentally.
i think something that could not only help ground me but heal my cptsd is dance therapy, and i pitched it to my parents the other night and they were both in enthusiastic support so hopefully that'll be arranged soon. i'm in no way a dancer but ofc that's not the point. i just want a safe space where im encouraged to move however feels most liberating, surrounded by others with similar difficult backgrounds doing the same thing. i think that could make me feel way more confident in my body (my abuser was the only person in my life to tell me my body was nothing to be proud of, whereas literally everyone else who has seen my body essentially tells me i could be a model lmao).
in lighter news i have been playing wizard101 lately and reached karamelle yesterday (i'm stuck on gobbsmacked tho) but my necromancer reached lvl 150. my diviner reached level 50 something and is in celestia, and i have a life wiz in krok named mary jade leaf in homage to that good kush.
I've also been getting into strawberry hospital and dltzk since 100 gecs turned me onto that whole genre. Click previous hyperlink to see what I've been listening to non-stop.
I think that's pretty much it. i guess i'll keep this up since i've posted updates in the past. thanks for reading :3
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i love saw (2004) fan fiction because adam is always like “fuck cops” and amanda nods and is like “fuck cops” and lawrence confused but enthusiastic nonetheless is like “fuck cops”
#it is 7:30am time for blorbos#babe. babe wake up i’m sawposting#saw 2004#saw#adam faulkner stanheight#adam stanheight#lawrence gordon#amanda young#i have an addiction and am currently on saw 5#i had only seen the first two on thursday to clarify#help i’m in blorbo hell!
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BnHA Chapter 306: the beginning of the WHAT
Previously on BnHA: Nana and the Gang were all, “hey Deku, we can read your thoughts and feelings so we should already know the answer to this, but for some reason we want to quiz you on whether or not you’d be down to kill Shigaraki Tomura.” Deku was all, “um okay, well tbh, probably not seeing as Saving People has been my entire thing since literally the start of the series.” The Vestiges were all, “yes that makes perfect sense and again we already knew that, but well, good for you buddy and I’m glad we had this talk. Anyway I guess we should ask these two cryptic fuckers in the corner to finally turn around now before we run out of -- ” and then the chapter ended. Because OF COURSE IT DID.
Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, WOULDN’T IT BE SO MUCH BETTER IF I GAVE YOU A CONFUSING CHAPTER WHERE EVERYONE FINALLY LEARNS ABOUT OFA, AND GOES BACK TO THE DORMS, AND THEN THE CHAPTER ENDS WITH DEPRESSED NOMAD DEKU STANDING ON A PRECIPICE WITH GRAN TORINO’S TATTERED CAPE FLOWING IN THE WIND.” Everyone is all, “???????????” Horikoshi is all, “also the parents are moving to the U.A. campus, and Jeanist’s neck is two and a half feet long, for everyone that was wondering.” Everyone is all, “WHERE ARE KACCHAN AND TODOROKI AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHO ARE THE SECOND AND THIRD USERS”, and Horikoshi is all, “:)” and fades away into nothingness like the fucking fae he is. Like a fucking imp who’s kept his end of the cursed bargain. What, the, fuck.
okay guys, so after the longest Thursday of my fucking life, during which I was secretly hoping that my spoiler containment net would be somehow be breached, inadvertently exposing me to theta spoiler radiation, so that I could be all “oh no... spoilers... there’s nothing I can do... I have no choice but to look” (which sadly did not happen), it is finally Friday and the chapter is finally out. so I’ve got my clown kit at the ready and other self-deprecating memes on standby, and I’m ready to go. and I should note that I’m also ready for Horikoshi to pull some absolute bullshit and be like, “oh you know what, we haven’t checked in with Rat Principal in a while have we” and spend the entire chapter on nonsense like that. I’M READY FOR FUCKING ANYTHING so bring it
(ETA: it would be nice if this man wouldn’t call my bluff every now and again.)
oh, right, we were due a color page! wow look at this
isn’t this supposed to be the future?? what’s with all of these staticky CRT TVs
anyway, so! is this the first time we’ve seen Tomura’s stylish finger prosthetic glove thingy in color?? because I didn’t expect it to be red. also, at some point you just have to give in and change your pants into cutoffs or something, Tomura. start a new trend of stylish villain capris
meanwhile Deku is dressed like he’s going on a journey into the desert to find a mystical oasis. actually this cape looks a lot like Gran Torino’s. I have to go back and see if Gran’s is all raggedy like this
(ETA: it wasn’t before but APPARENTLY IT IS NOW. I also forgot that Horikoshi had showed it sitting on a side table in the hospital a few chapters ago.)
lastly, AFO looks like someone’s thumb after they’ve been washing dishes for twenty minutes. you are just the ugliest dude in history, and as always, fuck you
HAHAHA SOB I KNEW IT
oh, Twowy McTwoface is finally starting to turn around? better CUT BACK TO DEKU’S HOSPITAL ROOM THEN. wouldn’t want to accidentally ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS or SOLVE ANY MYSTERIES, god forbid
well, whatever. whatever!! anyway so now someone’s knocking at the door. I say “someone” but we all know it’s Hawks
yep
they were actually standing outside the door for a while hoping they’d overhear another juicy plot conversation, but no such luck this time
lmaooo Jeanist wtf
acting all embarrassed, but you’re really just as curious as Hawks is. making him do all the dirty work for you huh
ARE YOU SERIOUS THIS IS AN INJUSTICE
so like two seconds after Katsuki gets dragged away you open the door for the rest of them!! well, fine!! I really want it to be a more private/personal moment between the two of them anyway so let the other kids check in on Deku first then
and in the meantime, time to see Hawks put the thumbscrews to All Might’s resolve lol
I wonder how much of it Hawks has already put together in the last five minutes. One for All is something connected to All for One that Tomura seems to want. Tomura was apparently targeting Deku. that’s more than enough to make a few deductions right there. I wonder how much Hawks knows about Deku’s quirk. he did watch the sports festival, and he ran into the kids interning under Endeavor that one time
okay well maybe he hasn’t put the rest of it together just yet, but Hawks is making a pretty reasonable pitch here to All Might
also this is a pretty spectacular view. is this a hospital or a hotel??
AHLKJLKJLKJ ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TELL THEM
OH MY GOD HE IS?!?!
JUST LIKE WE ALL EXPECTED, THE NEXT TWO PEOPLE TO LEARN THE TRUTH ABOUT OFA ARE GOING TO BE HAWKS, AND BEST FUCKING JEANIST
-- LFKLKKLDK ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. ARE YOU --
( •̀_•́ )
[sitting cross-legged on the ground pulling up little clumps of grass and letting them fall from my fingers one by one] yeah. sure. okay. fine. sure
-- OKAY, NO. NUH-UH. NO
everybody better hold tight cuz I’m about to pick up this whole chapter and yeet it into the ocean like a fucking frisbee lol
HORIKOSHI I DON’T CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE SITTING HERE WATCHING TV WTF
-- OH
well okay then. proceed. though lord help me if they’re about to reveal the secret of OFA to the whole fucking world skdkj
oh snap
well, there it is. pretty much what I expected, but it’s good to actually get to see this moment with him taking responsibility
though at the same time, thank you Horikoshi for not forcing us to sit through the rest of that
their fucking faces omg. okay but seriously, what nation doesn’t secretly love a good scandal
the Endeavor Pamphlets, part two. thank you for giving the country something to opine about on twitter in these trying times, Enji
so now they’re asking about Hawks and Jeanist but I cannot even focus on anything all of a sudden because what?!
is Jeanist even a real actual human being you guys?! are we sure he’s not three kids sitting on each other’s shoulders?? are you related to that one guy with the really long neck from the Jedi Council?? are you Orochimaru, bro??
so now Hawks is apologizing for the murder of Twice, and for hiding the connection with his dad
the fact that he has to give this serious formal apology and beg forgiveness for the shameful crime of Having An Abusive Father is really something else, though. just. it’s realistic, but I still hate it
moving on now to the one thing he actually does owe the public an explanation for
not to go all “Hawks did nothing wrong” on you guys yet again, but seriously. 100% facts. fandom can (and no doubt will) debate this until the end of time, but if Twice had gotten away they wouldn’t be having this press conference right now because there wouldn’t be any heroes left to give one. anyways though, I’ve already said more than enough about that in previous posts
so now some severe-looking lady with the weirdest fingers I’ve ever seen is saying that her mother was injured during Machia’s rampage
and she’s basically all “a fuck lot of good ‘I’m sorry’ does us all about now.” true true
wow she’s really getting fired up
and now Enji is basically saying that he understands that an apology isn’t enough, and what they really need now are solutions. okay, well! SO THEN WHAT IS THE PLAN THEN
hmmfsdgh
this eloquent PEZ dispenser makes a good point you guys
wait, hold up
CERTAIN citizens?? um excuse me, what??
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit
holy shit. well, this will go over well
okay! so this tells me a number of things, though
basically the minute that Hawks learned about One for All, he realized that anyone connected to Deku (e.g. Inko) would be a target for AFO. AFO wants OFA, meaning AFO wants Deku, and one of the easiest ways to get to Deku would be to target his family
Hawks therefore realized that Inko needed to be placed into protective custody
but the fact that ALL of the hero course students’ families (and is it only the U.A. hero course, or all of the hero course students across the country?) are being given protection tells me that Hawks and co. don’t want to single Deku out as being important. so then it looks like they’re not going to tell everyone about OFA (or at least not the public. which, good). so rather than drawing suspicion by saying “we’ve got to protect everyone connected with this one kid”, they’re making it seem like all the U.A. kids’ families are getting this treatment
but since the heroes are now spread so thin, they can’t just send a protective detail to each and every family, so they’re bringing all of the families to the same place instead to better keep an eye on them
so that’s all well and good, and a very smart move. except that idk how all of this is going to go over with the general public, all of whom are probably feeling unsafe at the moment, and who will probably see this as preferential treatment -- basically just the heroes looking after their own and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves
(ETA: okay so @hanashimas’ translation clarifies that U.A. is offering their services as an evacuation shelter for everyone who wants it, not just the families of the U.A. students. that’s much more appropriate so I withdraw my previous “wtf” reaction lol.)
anyway though here’s Mitsuki and Inko
can we take this as confirmation that the two of them really are friends? that’s one piece of fanon that I’ve always hoped was true, so I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s confirmed
(ETA: also this means that Hagakure’s parents (or maybe “parents” in quotation marks) will supposedly be moving in as well. sure am curious as to how that’s going to go.)
now someone in the press crowd is asking whether U.A. can provide adequate security, which is honestly the LAST thing I expected these people would be outraged about lol. shows what I know I guess
(ETA: again though, this makes sense if the “certain civilians” thing was just a translation error.)
LMAO DAMMIT ENJI
YOU CAN’T JUST ALWAYS PULL THE “JUST WATCH ME” TRICK AND EXPECT IT TO SHUT DOWN THE CONVERSATION EVERY DAMN TIME YOU ASSHOLE
-- OH MY GOD RED ALERT
TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BECAUSE OMG
WASH CAN’T BELIEVE HIS FAMILY GROUP CHAT IS STILL SENDING HIM FUCKING MEMES AT A TIME LIKE THIS. HE DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK IF THE DABI DANCE IS TRENDING ON TIKTOK, MOM!!
FOR A MINUTE I THOUGHT MT. LADY WAS HOLDING MIDNIGHT’S TORN-UP MASK, AND BY THE TIME I REALIZED THAT’S ACTUALLY HER MASK AND NOT MIDNIGHT’S, I HAD ALREADY CONSTRUCTED AN ELABORATE HEADCANON IN WHICH MT. LADY AND MIDNIGHT WERE SECRETLY DATING BUT HADN’T COME OUT TO ANYONE YET, AND THEN TRAGEDY STRUCK, AND NOW MT. LADY IS GETTING READY TO SET OUT TO SEEK VENGEANCE. AND WELL, NOW THAT THIS HEADCANON EXISTS IN THE WORLD, I’M NOT SURE IF I’M READY TO GET RID OF IT
MIRKO HAS GOTTEN HERSELF A PROSTHETIC (ROBOT??!) ARM, NOTHING ELSE THAT’S HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER IS EVEN SLIGHTLY IMPORTANT!!! HELLO!!!!!
AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH GOOD LORD. THE WORLD ISN’T READY. HE LOOKS LIKE HE HASN’T SLEPT IN NINETY-EIGHT YEARS, BUT SOMEHOW HE MAKES IT INTO THE HOTTEST THING EVER AS PER USUAL
WHO THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING GUY. ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HIM? IS THIS KAMUI?? WAS THAT THING WHICH I ALWAYS ASSUMED WAS HIS HAIR ACTUALLY A HELMET OR SOMETHING WHAT
LOL AND MEANWHILE
you tell me, Dabi! weren’t you the one who said that wouldn’t be enough to kill him? what even is your endgame here. I’m starting to worry about the villain brain cell supply you guys. I feel like Compress took most of them with him when he left
OH??
“when asked about One for All, Endeavor fucking lied through his teeth.” well, well, well
SLKDFJLSKGDJLKLKGJL THE DORMS
( ⁰ ⌂ ⁰ )
SLDKJFLKJWLKJLK
WLKDJSLKJFWKELKSDJLKHGLK
HDSMFLKGKL:GDSELK
OCHAKO’S HAND IS SHAKING OH MY GOD
THERE’S YOUR KAMINARI, EVERYONE!!
RHA’S SCANLATION TEAM REALLY THREW DEKU’S HANDWRITING UNDER THE BUS HERE HUH
HE TOLD EVERYONE!?
WHY THE FUCK IS HE WRITING IT AS A LETTER
(ETA: 9. also if he really wrote every kid in his class then that means the U.A. traitor -- or Hagakure as we like to call her around these parts -- also knows about OFA, and knows that Deku has run the fuck off and isn’t at U.A. anymore. so that’s just great!)
OH HELL NO
the hell does that mean, you must leave. leave to go where. son you are not up and leaving to go power up and lead us all into a timeskip. and I swear to GOD, if you left Kacchan too...!!
MY GOD I CAN’T PROPERLY ABSORB ALL OF THESE OCHAKO FEELS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO TERRIFIED TO SCROLL TO THE LAST FUCKING PAGE, FUCK
I JUST GOTTA DO IT. I JUST GOTTA SUCK IT UP AND DO IT. FUCK
FUCK
WHAT. THE. FUCK
y’all I’m not even gonna waste your time with more keysmashing, JUST ASSUME THAT I AM DOING IT NONSTOP, FOREVER. and let’s just jump RIGHT IN HERE
okay so here I thought that All Might and co. had taken him away somewhere to train, but that is CLEARLY not what’s going on here. this kid is standing here in his Apocalypse Aesthetic hero costume which has CLEARLY seen better days, with Gran Torino’s cloak (GUESS THAT EXPLAINS THAT, THEN?? SO DID GRAN FUCKING DIE EXCUSE ME WTF), and a fucking backpack. this little green idiot has RUN AWAY FROM HOME. this is the absolute LAST THING ON EARTH I ever expected to happen so PARDON ME WHILE I SCREAM CONFUSEDLY INTO THE VOID
he does not look okay. you guys he doesn’t look okay at ALL. he has NEVER looked like this. this isn’t just a “I’m sad because I’m leaving all my friends behind” kind of look on his face, or even just a “Gran Torino died maybe and I’m still having emotions over it” look. this is an EXHAUSTED, dead look in his eyes. something terrible has happened
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARMS DEKU. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS GODDAMMIT
love how this random building is just straight up collapsing, like that’s just a normal thing that happens every day now. lovely
APRIL MEANS IT’S NOW FULL ON SCHEDULED ALL-MIGHT-DYING-HOURS, BUT LET’S COMPLETELY IGNORE THAT THOUGH BECAUSE FUCK THAT NOISE
“THE SECOND USER? WHO KNOWS? CERTAINLY NOT ME” HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD
“BAKUGOU? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” HORIKOSHI PLEASE
WHERE. IS. KACCHAN
did he go with Deku?? did he get a chance to talk to him before he left?? did he get his own private letter which he read and then promptly blew up in a fit of panicked rage?? is he going to go after him?? DOES HORIKOSHI KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING TO ME RIGHT NOW?? OF COURSE HE DOES, DON’T BOTHER ANSWERING THAT
omg. though actually the fact that we’ve already jumped a few weeks forward makes me hopeful that there won’t actually be another timeskip, or at least not much of one. I’m sure that’ll be the big debate of the week, but I don’t think we can jump too far forward here. for starters because of that All Might prophecy I mentioned. and also because TomurAFO isn’t just going to wait around for months. and also because I’m 100% sure that Deku’s running-away backpack is just filled ENTIRELY WITH NOTEBOOKS and this asshole cannot possibly survive more than 3 days on his own. UNLESS SOMEONE COMES TO HELP HIM THAT IS. OR SOMEONES, EVEN. OMG. omg omg omg. fuck this chapter lmao
#bnha 306#midoriya izuku#hawks (bnha)#takami keigo#endeavor#todoroki enji#best jeanist#all might#uraraka ochako#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
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Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!
I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!
It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself.
Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued.
There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.
As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.
But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before.
A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.
When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.
So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it.
He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.
The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.
He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.
“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.
He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.
You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.
You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.
It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.
“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.
Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.
A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.
“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.
You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”
Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”
You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter.
He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.
“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent.
He paused over the phrasing—not a fan.
It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with.
He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.
So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?
Who were you a fan of, if not him?
“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.
Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway.
“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”
He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you.
...Why did he want to catch you?
You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”
Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”
Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.
Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.
“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”
You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.
“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.
“Hadn’t planned on what?”
“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.
Finally.
Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him.
Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.
“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”
Good lord. “Not you, too.”
You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”
It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”
“Cute pet name, too,” you said.
Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”
You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.
A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”
You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”
He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.
What a fascinating thing you were.
“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.
“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.
He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”
He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.
Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.
He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.
You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now.
“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”
Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”
“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”
The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”
You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.
“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”
The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”
You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.
Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.
He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it.
He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.
And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.
He wanted to know more about you.
He wanted to spend more time with you.
He wanted…
Well, he rather thought he wanted you.
I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!
Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.
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And Dusk
A/N: Just a heads up, the sensitive content in this chapter will be marked "<<<<<<" as the beginning and ">>>>>>" to signify the end. The racial slurs used in this chapter were targeted towards African Americans (and still are) and I chose these because I, myself, am African American and used them as a sort of “default” for any POC readers. ⚠️Please, never use these towards anyone. Whether it be in a “joking” manner or not. They are hurtful and were created to be that way⚠️ I wrote this chapter the way I did to bring awareness. Proceed with caution. Much love ❤️
Warnings: ⚠️racial slurs⚠️, violence, mentions of guns and dying/death
Word Count: 3707
—————————————
Chapter 3: The Frankel Footage
Shaking himself out of his shock, Five stood from his seat and hurried after his brother, grabbing onto his arm and stopping his strides. “The hell is wrong with you, Luther? I just told you the world’s gonna end in ten days!”
“Yeah, well, you’re always saying that.” Luther nonchalantly spoke before moving away, but Five intervened yet again.
“And so far, I’ve been right.” He hissed as Luther sighed and shook his head.
“Look, you want to go save the world? Knock yourself out, alright? I already got a job.”
“Wait, you work in this shithole?” The boy furrowed his brows.
“Yeah. Well, my boss owns the place,” Luther only received a nod from his brother, so he clarified. “I’m his body man.”
But this only made Five even more confused. “What’s that? Like, a masseuse or something?”
“Okay, you can make fun all you want, but I take good care of Mr Ruby.”
“Wait, Ruby. The Jack Ruby? The gangster who shot Oswald.”
Despite Five’s concern, Luther proudly smiled a smug smile as he glanced over at his boss. “Yeah. The one and only.”
“Well, it finally happened,” Five sighed. “That gorilla DNA has finally taken over your mind-”
“Hey, watch it, alright? Jack’s a good friend-”
“And you’re Number One. Numero Uno. Remember?”
Luther clenched his jaw and shook his head. “There is no Number One. Not anymore. Not in 1963,” When Five stared at him in disbelief, Luther sighed again. “Look, I’ve been stranded here alone for a year. What did you expect?”
Five scoffed. “I get it, alright? You watched Pogo die, the world exploded, and I marooned your big dumb ass in time. I’m sorry, okay? But I’m asking for your help, Luther. The Umbrella Academy needs you.”
“It doesn’t need me,” He slowly spoke to draw out his words. “It never did.”
“Luther, honey,” The waitress from earlier approached the two. “Jack’s about to lose it on some half-wit. A little help?”
“Ah, shit,” He groaned and began walking away. When Five tried yet again to stop him, he whirled on him, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Listen. You’re the genius who said we should jump, right? You’re the one who got us stuck here. And you’re the one who brought Vanya. So, if there is a doomsday coming, she’s probably the cause. And if I was gonna do something about it, it sure as hell is not gonna be with you. That’s (Y/N)’s job, being dragged around into your messes-”
“I don’t drag her into anything.” Five swallowed, blinking rapidly.
“Yeah? Well, she wasn’t stuck as a thirteen-year-old and constantly worrying about her kids until you showed up. I’m surprised she isn’t sick of you yet.” And with that, he stomped away to his boss. This time, Five let him go, his words sending a pang through his chest as he thought back on it. Grabbing his drink, he sighed and shook his head.
“Dad should’ve left him on the moon…” He muttered, taking a sip of his drink before moving to leave his seat. When he felt his jacket snag on something, he looked down to see an object in his pocket. Taking out the tape, he frowned and turned it over.
Date: 11/22/63
Subject: FRANKEL FOOTAGE
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
This world was unfamiliar to (Y/N). She knew she had to have been somewhere in America, but she didn’t know where. The cars, fashion and stores bringing the street she walked to life told her she had to have been in the sixties. But she didn’t want to believe it. Surely Five hadn’t time travelled that far? She had to have been dropped during some type of sixties-theme festival. But the voices suddenly beside her quickly prove her doubts wrong.
“What do we have here?”
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lost little colored girl.”
Tensing, (Y/N) continued her way down the sidewalk, slightly speeding up her pace, but the men fell into step beside her with ease, flanking her sides.
“You’re on the wrong side of town, girl.”
“Yeah, we don’t like coons around here.” One of them hissed right in her ear. Her eyes welled up with tears before the other shoved her forward.
“Gon now, get!” He ordered as if she were a dog. She realized that’s how they had seen her. An animal. Nothing more. Tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, she fell to the ground, smacking her face on the concrete. She choked out a sob as the two men cackled. And to make matters even worse, she felt the pitter patter of raindrops start to freeze her skin.
(Y/N) gasped out in shock when the men spit two wads of saliva in her face. She knew she must’ve looked a mess with spit and tears sliding down her cheeks and blood oozing from her nose. She hiccupped on her sobs and began to stand, much too tired from her previous fight with Vanya and literally being dropped from the sky to successfully do so. The men backed her up against a wall and one fisted the front of her vest before a voice called out.
“Take your hands off of my child!” Whipping around, the men were half expecting to find another target, but (Y/N) coughed and sputtered nonsense upon the person her gaze fell upon.
“M-Mom…?”
Before her was Grace, but… she wasn’t robotic in any sense. She could tell by the raw anger etched into her features. She took a brave step forward. “I said. Take your hands. Off my child.”
And that was another thing: her accent. (Y/N) was immediately comforted by the stern southern accent the woman shared with her attackers. It was a voice she never thought she needed. The two looked between Grace and (Y/N) with smirks. “You mean this lil ol’ jigaboo-”
“Is my daughter. Now you let her go before I call the police.”
“Woman, I don’t care if you call the police-”
Grace took it upon herself to step closer and grab the child by her arms, yanking her into her warm embrace. (Y/N) immediately latched onto her, quivering in her hold. The men scoffed and shook their heads, beginning to walk away. “Make sure to keep that thing on a leash if you’re gonna have it out, ma’am.”
“Oh, fuck off.” She growled before turning and walking back in the direction the girl came from. As they walked past the alleyway, Grace took out a handkerchief and began wiping the girl’s face clean of what the raindrops hadn’t already washed away. “It’s alright, hun, they aren’t gonna hurt you anymore.”
“T-Thank you.” (Y/N) sobbed and gently held her nose in pain. Grace crouched in front of her and gently held her face in between her hands.
“Don’t thank me, darlin’, it’s how everyone should be treatin’ you ‘round here… Where are your parents? I could take you to ‘em.”
(Y/N) thought for a long moment, watching as the rain soaked Grace’s hair and clothing. The woman didn’t seem to mind as she watched the girl before her swallowing thickly. (Y/N) skimmed over her current choices. She didn’t have any choice.
“I don’t have parents. I-I don’t remember them…”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“I’m tellin’ you, Reggie, she’s highly intelligent for a child her age.” Grace proudly presented (Y/N) to the man she had grown fond of over their time working together. (Y/N), however, was frozen in her spot. Sir Reginald Hargreeves. The man whose death she had wished upon for years, whose death had finally graced her existence, was back in her life. She flinched at the disapproving look on his face, much too acquainted with it by this point in her life. “And she’s very respectful. Talented, too, this girl can speak several languages.”
“You seem rather fond of this child.” The man observed as Grace squeezed her into her side.
“She’s my pride and joy.”
“And you cannot remember anything of your past, child?”
“N-No,” (Y/N) shook her head and stared down. “Not a lot. J-Just my name and birthday.”
Reginald hummed and stared her down with an unreadable expression. When she met his eyes again, he was crouched down to her level, his monocle clutched in his fist. “(Y/N), was it?”
“Yes.”
“It would be an honor to have your presence within my home, along with your mother.”
“O-Oh, that’s okay-”
“I insist. Besides, you have been living with her for almost half a year, correct? It is highly unlikely that she will share a home without you.”
“He’s right about that, hun,” (Y/N) glanced up at Grace, who was smiling warmly at her. “I’m not leavin’ you.”
(Y/N) could have cried.
And she did.
One year later, (Y/N) had been living quite the comfortable life with Grace and Reginald. She had been introduced to the ape, Pogo, for the second time since Grace first started working with him. As much as she loved being around the chimp, it brought back so many memories. She almost felt silly, looking after him sometimes knowing he had done the same for her in the original timeline.
Her relationship with Reginald was nothing she ever expected. He was gentle, well as gentle as Reginald Hargreeves could get, he cared for her, spoiled her, even. She wouldn’t have to ask for anything half the time. If he were to overhear a conversation between her and Grace about a dress she oh-so wanted, it would suddenly be laid out on her bed the next day. She usually had a say in dinner meals every Thursday and Sunday and Reginald listened intently whenever she would voice any discomfort or concerns with her living conditions. (Y/N) never had a real father, but she assumed this is what it was like to have one. She never wanted to let go of it.
For her birthday in 1963, she was surprised that he had actually gotten her a present. As she entered the parlor, she was met with the tiniest bark and an even tinier golden retriever, bounding up to her. She gasped and stopped low, letting him jump into her arms. She let him lick her face and giggled in the joy it brought her.
“Your mother said you would like it. Though I would never allow dogs in my house, I have come to understand that there are rules I must bend for you, my child.”
(Y/N) turned to her father. Yes, father. Reginald, also growing quite fond of their father-daughter bond formed between them, decided to adopt the girl. As much as his beliefs and his deep distaste for children protested. There was just something about this child. Or perhaps it was Grace’s insisting, reassuring him that he would make a wonderful father. (Y/N) was very hesitant at first for her own reasons she never shared, but eventually came around to the idea of being his daughter again.
This was the same Reginald Hargreeves who locked her in a dark room for five days straight, but also an entirely different man. Perhaps it was her fascination with the differences, or maybe she just wanted a real father for once.
“Thank you, Dad.” She softly smiled, the man nodding in response.
“But this is your pet, (Y/N). It is your responsibility. I will not find it in my study, in my bedroom, you are to train it yourself-”
“Can you-”
“And no, I will not help you pick out its name.”
The girl softly groaned and looked back down at her new puppy. Looking into its eyes, she smiled softly at a distant memory as a small child.
“Welcome to the family, Mr Pennycrumb.”
-------------------------------------------------
(Y/N) groaned when she felt the sunbeams of the early morning sunrise hit her eyelids, coloring her black vision with the stinging fire of orange. Rolling onto her other side, she stretched her blanket over her head. They were yanked away the next second, causing a whine to leave her lips. “Mom… Five more minutes.”
“I let you sleep in long enough, hun, it’s time to get up. You have a date with Preston this afternoon.” Grace gently pulled her daughter to sit up, giggling quietly at her look of disgust.
“Preston? Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously, let’s get goin’.” Grace patted her leg and walked to her door, waiting patiently. (Y/N) sighed and rubbed her face, letting her feet slide into her slippers. As they descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, Reginald could hear his daughter’s sleepy complaining from his place at the table.
Setting his utensils down, he turned his head in their direction. “My child, how many times throughout each week must we have to repeat this conversation?”
“Until it starts making sense.” (Y/N) stepped into the dining room, now in her robe, and crossed her arms over her chest. Reginald sighed and stood from his chair at the table.
“You are one of my greatest accomplishments,” He began towards her. “There is no doubt in my mind that you would make a fine successor. I do not believe you will need a husband. In fact, you would be better off without another individual holding you back from what you are truly capable of.”
“But?” She raised a brow.
“But… I have grown to know you more than I expected… and I know that you would need someone to help manage your finances you inherit once I am gone. Preston is a fine young man who was born into this life, made into this life. He will take good care of you.”
(Y/N) knew there was only one person in this world who would truly take good care of her. But he wasn’t here, and she needed to play the part as the amnesiac adopted daughter, so she huffed and nodded. “Fine… I’ll go…”
“Thank you-”
“But only if Mr Pennycrumb can go, too.”
“Very well, but you will not be gifted another animal if you lose it.”
The outing wasn’t entirely bad. (Y/N) didn’t mind the picnic or the art museum, it was the company that made her blood boil. Preston is anything she would have expected out of him. This had been their seventh date, tenth of the ones he planned. (Y/N) sought out any opportunity she could to cancel on him to save herself from the unbearable three hours she would have to spend with the kid. He was arrogant, smug, selfish, narcissistic, and overbearing. Of course, this was not the Preston he presented to her parents. No, to them, Preston was ‘a fine man with a bright future ahead of him’, or as Grace would put it, ‘a delight to have around’. He laughed like a drunk, talked like a husband, and smelled like a man. All at the age of fifteen. (Y/N) had to remind herself on several occasions that she was mentally the older out of the two and to not stoop to his level when he got under her skin.
“Don’t you think, (Y/N)?” The voice brought her attention back to the boy beside her. She looked up from the grass they had been strolling through. When she hummed in question, he amusedly scoffed and side-step closer to her. “Never mind. I should have known you wouldn’t have been interested in politics.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” The girl raised a brow. At her confusion, he laughed and gently tapped the side of his head.
“You’ve always got that head of yours in the clouds. Or turned behind you- like right now.”
(Y/N) turned her head away from where she had been looking over her shoulder. “What? Sorry, Preston, I’m a little preoccupied today.”
“With what, exactly? You don’t seem to be the type of girl to have very many issues. Nothing to worry about.”
“And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.” She sighed as her puppy ran in between her legs, rolling in the grass once he was a few paces in front of them. Preston frowned in distaste and shook his head.
“You should really keep that thing on a leash, sweetheart.”
She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth as she folded her hands behind her back. “Really now?”
“Really. You know, I’m not very fond of dogs, so I’m not sure how it’ll work out once we’re married. I think we should get one after we have kids, you know? Just so the kids could grow up with it.”
(Y/N) quickly turned her head to the left, pointing out across the street. “Preston, would you look at that?”
“Look at what?” He gullibly looked in the direction, (Y/N) quickly checking the area before almost silently singing her tune. From her shadow, her clone formed and robotically walked behind the two. She quickly switched spots with it and ordered the clone to walk with Preston before scooping her puppy into her arms and rushing off in the opposite direction. Once she was behind a diner far away from their date location, she let out a sigh and gently patted her dog on the head.
“Were you sick of it, too?” She chuckled. Resting the back of her head against the brick wall she leaned on, she let out a slow breath and began to relax. The sound of guns cocking had her head snapping up so fast, she swore she could have dislocated it. Just down the end of the line of stores were three white-haired men, one in a milkman uniform, training their guns on her. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second tucking her dog in front of her and spinning around, charging down the opposite direction as bullets whizzed past her. She dodged them the best she could, jumping a few feet in the air at the ones that threatened to take their place in her feet. It was like a dance; the twisting, spinning and jumping, and she was to perform this dance until one of those bullets killed her if she didn’t find a way out soon. Sliding to the side of a clothing store for cover, she gently shushed her pet as she caught her breath.
The three sets of footsteps eventually found their destination and rounded the corner with skilled quickness, shooting at the girl until she was nothing more than a bloodied corpse on the ground, bullet holes lodged in almost every inch of her body. The three men nodded to each other and turned around, making their way out from behind the stores.
(Y/N) had already been down the street from her house by the time her attackers found the clone in her place. She couldn’t have been bothered to check herself for any wounds, too worried about Mr Pennycrumb’s potential bullet wounds. But the pup was perfectly, happily nuzzling into her arms and wagging his tail. This left (Y/N) to ponder.
Who the hell were those men?
-------------------------------------------------
“Is it on?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? There’s an ‘on’ button. Just- There’s something over- that jigga-ma-thing, whatever.”
“I hit the jigga-ma-thing!”
“Okay, well, just- Give it to me. I know how to do this.”
“Alright, here, here. Hurry up.”
“Okay, alright, let’s see…”
Lila didn’t look up from her task of painting poor Elliott’s toenails, his bindings he received after threatening the trio with a gun preventing him from moving too much. Which was beneficial to her, as it kept her from ruining the paint job. She softly smiled as she listened to the argument between the elderly couple on the film Five and Diego were intently watching. “They’re so cute,” She commented. “I love old couples. I’m always so proud of them for not murdering each other.”
Ignoring her, Diego turned to his brother from his seat on Elliott’s counter. “Why are we watching this?”
“Shush.” Five replied, eyes trained on the film before him, searching for any clue to the approaching apocalypse, brows furrowed in concentration.
“Yeah, I… I’m Dan Frankel. And…”
“I’m Edna Frankel.”
“...Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas, to see the president. Today’s date is November 22, 1963.”
Five nodded as everyone’s attention was brought to the projected screen before them.
“That’s six days from now.” Lila spoke as Elliott thrashed about more against his bindings. Diego sat forward in interest.
“Holy shit. This is it. The grassy knoll. Kennedy’s about to get shot. How do you have this?”
“Hazel died to get me this footage,” Five answered. “It must be the key to stopping doomsday.”
“Hazel…?” Diego frowned, remembering the man he spent hours searching for and planning to kill to avenge the death of Eudora Patch.
“Long story.”
“What’s doomsday?” Lila looked up at the boy.
“Longer story.”
“What exactly did he say to you?” Diego asked as Lila turned her head back to the film.
Five shrugged. “Well, he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it’s on this film.”
“This is very exciting.” The old man smiled before the sound of gunshots and screaming could be heard, the camera moving around in blurs due to the shock of the old woman filming.
“Oh, my god!”
“Oswald…” Diego whispered, setting his knife down as Five leaned in closer.
“The president!”
When the camera was steadied to record across the street, Five and Diego both stiffened in their spots at what their eyes caught. “Oh, no…” Five breathed and moved behind the projector, rewinding the film and scooting the cart backwards to zoom in closer. The room was silent as Diego stood to his feet and Five rounded the cart before standing beside his brother, directly in front of the film. “This can’t be…”
“Okay, you gonna fill me in now, boys?” Lila glanced between the two. “What the hell is this shit we’re watching?”
But she was ignored yet again.
“No, that’s impossible…”
“Clearly, it’s not.”
“What… What is it?” Elliott muffled past the gag in his mouth.
A beat of silence went by before the two Hargreeves whispered in unison,
“Dad.”
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Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @isawachickeninatree
#the umbrella academy#umbrella academy#umbrella academy x reader#tua#tua x reader#tua fanfic#tua five#five hargreeves#five hargreeves x reader#number five#number five x reader#five x reader#of starlight#and dusk
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Duff (9)
im jaebum au series
one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven
masterlist
pairing: im jaebum x reader
genre: angst, smurt, cheating
plot: you are the duff and guys use you to get close to your best friend, Heather, and turns out Jaebum is no exception, but as time does on the tension between you and your best friend’s unofficial boyfriend grows
a/n: a short one, because I really truly hated where I had left the story last time. it was not it, but I like this. it’s better than the alternative I guess. also, I am writing all of it before publishing it so <3 hope yall like it <3
You don’t know what came first; the guilt, embarrassment or hurt.
But you knew yourself well, and you knew guilt didn’t touch your heart until later that night when you were lying in bed. As you stared up at the ceiling, thinking about that him, for the first time guilt laid its icy fingertips on you.
The first thing you felt was hurt. Hurt that clawed at your heart, and made your soul whimper. Hurt that cut through you entirely as you remained in his arms, watching his face.
“Yes,” he had said, his fingers digging into your hips.
“Yes,” you replied, breathing him in as you leaned closer to him.
You saw his lips draw into a straight line as he pulled away and said, “No.”
“Oh,” was all you said moving away from him.
A simple sound, not even a word to express the pain that seared through you at his words.
No.
He didn’t want you.
Im Jaebum didn’t want you.
You were in his arms, your skirt drawn up to your hips as you sat on his lap. In a single breath, he changed the moment completely, and you were no longer burning in passion, but in agony. Agony of not being desired by this man, not being wanted by him, when you yearned for him. When you were begging for his lips to touch any part of you, he had turned away.
And then came the embarrassment blazing through the darkness of lust, and it hurt. It stabbed you everywhere till you were shivering in sudden coldness. You were so embarrassed, so ashamed. You had- you had done... all of that, and all he said was ‘no.’
It wasn’t the rejection that the embarrassment stemmed from. It was because you had tried, because you thought it would happen, because you thought he wanted you. Because you had offered yourself to him, and all he said to express his repugnance was a simple ‘no.’
You climbed off him and walked out the office. Your face was on fire from the shame as you straightened your skirt. You chuckled to yourself thinking a walk of shame was better then trying to hook up with your boss only to be rejected.
You finished work that day, and the next, like nothing was amiss. As if that moment didn’t happen. As if every time you saw him, you weren’t reminded that he didn’t want you.
Im Jaebum didn’t want you.
It shouldn’t hurt that bad, especially since you almost swore you hated him with your heart. But it did, it hurt truly terribly badly, and there was nothing you could do about it.
You couldn’t even feel sorry for yourself long enough too. Because as soon as the hurt and shame went away, and you looked up at your dark ceiling, you remembered her face.
You remembered the way she had held your hand whenever you were scared. How she would give you that look every time she took your hand giving her courage. Her love, her kindness, her friendship, her.
How for the first time since you’ve known her... for the first time, it seemed as if Heather truly liked someone and you...
You didn’t feel sorry for yourself, or your heart that ached. You weren’t sure if the ache was because of the rejection or from the thought of loosing your best friend. But you didn’t feel sorry because what happened was your fault.
“Thanks for the files, y/n,” Jaebum looked up from his desk. For the first time, he was seated in the big boss seat without any reason. You smiled and nodded, before turning to leave, like nothing was amiss. As if that afternoon had never happened, as if you had never crossed that line.
You were almost out the door when he said, “Have a good weekend.”
Your fingers turned white on the handle, but you nevertheless you turned around and gave him a bright smile, “You too, Mr Im.”
//
Heather pouted as she sat next to you, before pulling you into a big bear hug.
“It’s so nice to have my best friend back,” she sang, happily, hugging you tighter.
You gave her small smile as you leaned into her, petting her arm, “It’s nice to be back.”
“Gosh, I’m so glad you’re done with that internship,” she huffed over the loud music of the club.
You only nodded as you took a sip of your drink, “I still have three weeks left, Heather.”
“Three weeks pass by like nothing,” she shook her head. She turned to you with a bright smile, “Remember Bali? Maybe now that you’re going to be more free, maybe we can...”
She gave you a huge grin, quizzically raising her brows up and down to the music. Before she began bopping her head like a dork to the beat, “What do you say, y/n?”
I’m sorry.
“Whatever you want,” you smiled at her, and she exclaimed in joy.
//
“Mr Park Jinyoung is now officially the CEO of Spring Industries, and has sent forward a report and plan for their proposal,” You looked up to see Jaebum opening his mouth, but you cut him off knowing his question. “The file is already on your desks, and I have included a summary report from myself and Mr Paul.”
You had a month and a bit to think about what had happened. In the beginning, you had blamed yourself. It was foolish of you to put yourself out there for him, but the more you thought about the angrier you got.
It wasn’t all in your head. Im Jaebum did flirt with you.
He gave you all the signals, all the green lights, and the arrows leading you to him. He basically had made a pathway for you to follow into his arms, and after all that he said no?
No.
No, it wasn’t your fault for putting yourself out there for him. You had done it because you thought... you felt that he too... but who knows, Im Jaebum was friendly with everyone.
But he did tell others his wish was to kiss them?
Did he ever follow anyone to the rooftop of a club and call himself a fool for letting them go?
Did he talk to everyone about his mother?
Did he smile like that at everyone? Look at them like that? Touch them with the faintest touch of his fingertips?
But you should’ve known better.
These rich guys never go for girls like you.
You don’t have any money, any wealth, nothing to offer them to make their status go up. You weren’t even pretty enough to be a trophy wife. You were just a girl they could play with behind closed doors.
But for Jaebum, you weren’t even worth that.
“Spring Industries is having a party on Thursday to announce Park Jinyoung as their new appointed CEO. They have requested your presence to show the companies are friendly--,” you once again looked up from your iPad, to find Jaebum staring at you intently. You ignored his gaze, and the rage that fumed inside you, “It’s most likely a political publicity stunt, but I would recommend you do go to the party, as it will be beneficial for you both-”
“What am I going to do about you?”
“Excuse me?” You gasped, taken aback.
Jaebum chuckled, humourlessly. His lips twisted into a smirk, and you realised you hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in a really long time. You tried to shove the pain shooting towards your heart away, but a pang still rang through you as you saw his sad smile.
“How am I going to do this all without you?” He clarified himself. You stammered unable to think of something to say. Jaebum let out a sigh, “Come to the party with me.”
“I’m afraid that’s-”
Jaebum interrupted you, making you frown.
“Your last assignment as my secretary, Miss y/n,” Jaebum tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly as he said, “Come with me.”
No.
“What about Heather?”
“I can’t go to formal gatherings with her without others assuming it's a political play,” Jaebum answered, before shrugging, “It’s too early for that step anyway.”
Too early? They have been dating for months now, and Heather was head over heels for him, and he is saying it’s too early.
“I-”
“Please, y/n,” Jaebum’s dark eyes bore into yours, and you held your breath. “One last time.”
"Alright,” you sighed, defeated.
“Thanks.”
Thanks, love, the ghost of his past self whispered.
You swallowed the bitterness, before looking down at your iPad once again.
“Mr Henry and Mark are...” you continued on as if nothing was wrong.
Because nothing was wrong.
Everything was right.
You were about to end this dreadful internship, and come out debt free.
Heather was in love with her boyfriend.
Her boyfriend didn’t fuck her best friend.
And your best friend was still your best friend.
Everything was just right, but everything felt so wrong.
//
You were leaning against the rich white leather sofa and Heather’s shoulders. Your eyes were closed, as you tried not to break down in front of your best friend.
You knew Jaebum wasn’t going to be here tonight. It was Friday night and he had a company dinner with the upper shareholders today. So, tonight you decided to sleep over at Heather’s house.
Just like every moment you spent with her now, you wanted to burst out into tears and tell her everything. Tell her how you fell for him and his teasing words. How you didn’t mean to but you started to like him, how your heart ached every time you saw him. How terrible you felt every time you saw Heather smile at you like that, knowing that you were so close to ruining everything.
“Hey, what’s wrong, babe?” Heather asked, her soft hands wiping the tears that fell onto your cheeks.
You shook your head and moved away from her shoulder. You leaned into the corner of your sofa, and tried to hold in the tears. But you couldn’t.
Your chin began to shake as more tears fell from your eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Heather moved towards you quickly. “What’s wrong, babe? You can tell me anything.”
You shook your head, you couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t lose her.
“I’m sorry, Heather,” you whispered into her tank top as she pulled your shaking body into her.
“Shhh,” she hushed, brushing your hair, trying to calm your sobbing body, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s only to be okay. I’m here for you, I’m always going to be here for you. Okay?”
You bit your lip as you cried harder. You managed a meek okay through your tears.
After you had calmed down a bit, you leaned back and looked at your best friend. Her eyes were glistening with concern, and a few stray tears running down her face too from seeing you cry.
You couldn't hide it from her, she was your other half. You had to tell her, but all you could manage was, “I love him, Heather.”
I love Im Jaebum.
#duff#im jaebum#jay b#lim jaebeom#im jaebeom#lim#im#Jaebum#jaebeom#got7#got7 jaebeom#got7 jay b#got7 jaebum#got7 series#series#fanfic#ff#jaebum series#jaebum fanfic#jaebum angs#angst#got7 angst#fluff#got7 fluff#jaebum smut#cheating#sad#rejected
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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 10: One With Everything
Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E
Thursday, April 30.
Mulder and Scully don’t often get to spend a day in court; it almost feels like a treat. An exhausting, headache-inducing, occasionally disheartening treat.
The only real upside is that they usually drive together.
They’re in Baltimore, and even though the drive back to the office is less than an hour, Mulder can feel his energy flagging.
“You hungry?” Mulder asks, sliding into the driver’s seat. “We can grab dinner before we head back.”
“Mulder, I’m wiped out,” Scully sighs.
“Alright,” he replies, subdued. He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car.
They’ve gone two blocks when Scully speaks again. “I could go for pizza,” she says softly.
Mulder takes a steadying breath. This is progress.
It’s only been a week since the Great Mark Implosion, and things between Mulder and Scully have been thawing slowly. There’s residual awkwardness around them, like the last compacted piles of old snow in the shady places on the sides of the road. Slow to melt, but not a real impediment.
They find a little brick hole-in-the-wall pizza shop not far from the district courthouse. Scully took an appraising sniff when they walked in, declared the scent inside “pizza enough”, and they proceeded to make their order.
“So, how’ve you been?” Mulder asks. It’s a stupid question, but he’s hungry and tired and a little nervous, picking the mushrooms off of his slice of pizza before taking a bite. Scully always insists on ordering one with everything. Thank god she hates anchovies.
“You tell me,” she replies. “You’ve seen me practically every day for the past week.” She takes a first bite of pizza and moans softly. Mulder’s cheeks warm at the sound.
“I mean… in regards to what happened last Wednesday,” he clarifies. Broaching this subject feels suddenly dangerous, and he wants to take his words back.
“You can say break-up, Mulder,” she says gently. “It’s not a secret. And I’m fine,” she says, chewing, then raises a finger. “I know historically I say that when I’m not fine, but I mean it this time,” she explains. “I’m not hurt, just… disappointed. Tired. A little annoyed.”
“With him, or me, or both?” Mulder asks.
She shrugs. “Both,” she says candidly. “But you provided me with sustenance, so my annoyance with you is diminishing.” She takes a sip of diet Coke before she continues. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve determined that the part of this that bothers me the most is the fact that Mark, or anyone, would base their summation of my character off my sexual history. I’m thirty-four years old, a fully-matured and capable human being, and yet I felt like I was stuck in a web of high school gossip. It’s insulting, being subjected to outdated moral codes by men who have no business passing judgement.”
“I have an impertinent question,” Mulder says. “You don’t have to answer.”
“I’m bracing myself,” she replies, taking another bite of pizza.
“From an outsider’s perspective, these outdated moral codes and judgment seem like a fundamental part of Catholicism. So I guess I’m wondering… why are you still Catholic?”
Her answering sigh is deep and slow. “That’s a big question, Mulder; one I ask myself all the time. I think it boils down to faith. I believe in God; everything else is just window dressing. My relationship with my faith, with religion, is complicated. But ultimately, that’s between me and God. Everyone else, namely Mark, can fuck off.”
He loves her so much in this moment, this tiny self-possessed scientist voraciously eating pizza. “Fair enough,” he says, removing another mushroom from his slice of pizza and putting on the edge of her plate. “So faith in God is intact; faith in men, however…”
Scully chuckles. “It’s at a low plateau,” she jokes, “and yet this may actually be the best break-up I’ve ever had.”
“Ouch,” Mulder says with a wince. “I’d hate to imagine the worst.”
“I egged a guy’s car once,” she says around a bite of pizza.
“No, really?” Mulder asks in surprise. “What’d he do?”
She swallows, wipes her fingers on a crumpled napkin. “Let me be clear, this was when I was in high school,” she says, “So all the emotions were heightened. My boyfriend cheated on me,” she explains. “I was seventeen and wanted to wait to have sex, and he didn’t. It was pretty traumatic for teenage Dana, so I reacted with criminal mischief.”
“Did you get caught?”
Scully shakes her head, picking up one of the stray mushrooms on her plate and popping it in her mouth. “No. I was stealthy,” she says. “And a good church girl. I think most people assumed it was a dumb teenage prank by some local boys.” She pauses. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this,” she says in realization.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Mulder vows, passing her another mushroom.
“So what about you?” she asks, serving herself another slice of pizza. “What sort of romantic entanglements did you get into in high school? Any horror stories?”
“Not much,” Mulder says with a shrug. “Though I was pretty in love with a girl when I was sixteen or so. Her name was Laura and she was the older sister of one of my friends; I think she was probably 18? I was at their house all the time but I hardly ever talked to her.”
“Why not?”
“I was, uh, actually pretty shy back then,” he admits. “Especially with girls. She was really pretty and kind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak I’d get nervous and end up just saying nothing. Once I almost threw up.”
“That’s actually very sweet,” Scully assures him. “Trust me, she probably thought you were adorable.” She chews thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”
Mulder shakes his head. “Not really. I wrote her a letter confessing my feelings and was halfway to their house to leave it in the mailbox when I chickened out. I took it home and burned it in the kitchen sink. Then she left for college.”
Scully hums in understanding. “A tale as old as time.”
“I looked her up once, after I finished at Oxford. She was married with a baby,” Mulder says, chewing a piece of crust. “Nothing would have happened if she weren’t, but part of me kind of wondered.”
Scully is silent, and when he looks up at her she’s got her cheek cradled in her hand, a soft smile on her lips, watching him.
“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.
Her eyes are gleaming. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but… you’re a romantic, Mulder.”
He swallows. “Is that... is that a bad thing?”
She drops her hand, shakes her head. “No, it’s not a bad thing at all,” she says softly.
Scully’s face is awash with blue and red from the neon sign in the window, and her eyes are deep and glimmering. He has to look away to steady himself before he says something he’s not ready for her to hear.
“I think I assumed you dislike romance,” he says, dipping a toe into shallower, yet unexplored waters. “It seems to me that science is somewhat at odds with the concept, when you can explain away all these feelings as chemical reactions with evolutionary precedent.”
“These feelings?” she asks, and he freezes.
“Romantic feelings in general,” he clarifies, recovering quickly. “The heart palpitations, fluttering stomach, desire for physical contact, all those things we felt as teenagers.” All those things I’m feeling right now.
“Some things aren’t meant to be examined through a purely scientific lens,” she counters. “I also firmly believe in instinct and trusting your gut in certain cases. Hell, that’s why I broke things off with Mark. No matter what he said, I knew things didn’t feel right.”
Mulder’s puzzled. “What he said?” he asks.
Scully licks her lip. “When I called him after work,” she explains. “I told him what you told me, and he claimed you twisted his words. A misunderstanding, coupled with manipulation born of jealousy,” Scully sighs.
Mulder’s heart stutters. “And you didn’t believe him?”
“No, I didn’t. It was his word against yours,” she says, voice gentle and firm. “There was no question.”
Mulder feels the weight of her words drape over his shoulders like a warm blanket. She trusts him, believes in him, chooses him.
He’s floored.
“Scully, that offer to elope still stands,” he says with a grin, and she smiles back.
Scully predictably falls asleep on the drive back to DC. Mulder glances over at her periodically, drinking in the sight of his partner curled up in the passenger seat. Her head is resting against the window, rosy cheek pillowed on a small hand.
Scully trusts him, rests in his presence, weighs his words. He doesn’t deserve what she gives him, but he realizes then what he needs to do anyway; fear and uncertainty be damned.
She deserves the truth; she is the truth.
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daxton + first date after getting back together
Their first date after getting back together is technically at the Winter Dance, and while it had been overall pleasant, there were still the minor bumps (the major glaring one being that Paxton had nearly ran his girlfriend over with his car) that prevented the date from retaining a sense of utter bliss that Paxton was still seeking. He adores her, loves being around her, thinks she is the most exciting person that he has ever met, but there is no denying that Devi is an absolute hurricane. He loves that too, and he’s starting to understand that moments of complete peace will be hard-earned, but entirely worth it. He’s also hoping that these moments of peace become more and more common, with a smoother path paved to achieve them each time.
They’re in his garage when he decides to broach the subject, a random slasher film playing on the screen that neither of the two are really invested in. Devi lays between his legs, her own feet dangling over the edge of the couch as she rests her head on the hard planes of his stomach. She traces unrefined patterns into the exposed skin above the waistband of his jeans where his shirt has ridden up, and Paxton knows that if she keeps this up, there’s a very high possibility he will actually be driven insane, so to prevent this, he shifts into a sitting position, forcing Devi to move with him.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, and it’s hard not to get distracted when his eyes follow the movement of her hands, shifting to smooth out her skirt, because it’s yellow and pink, and cute, and short, and it very much suits her.
“Um.” Paxton clears his throat and flicks his eyes away and Devi must see something in his actions to tip her off to the situation because she actually laughs. Loud and unapologetic and Paxton feels the tip of his ears beginning to burn but he’s smiling. “Shut up,” he grumbles without a trace of any real aggravation, lobbing a pillow at her head. She catches it easily and hugs it to her chest.
“Okay, okay,” Devi says and she quiets down but her eyes are twinkling. “What’s up?”
“I was just gonna ask what you wanted to do for our first date on Saturday.”
“First date?” Devi asks bemusedly.
“Yeah, y’know, first date since getting back together,” Paxton clarifies, but Devi still looks confused.
“Wasn’t that at the dance?”
“Yeah, about that,” he starts, drawing back his shoulders and filling his voice with enough mock authority that Devi guffaws under her breath. “I’d like to put in a formal request right now for a do over.”
“Why?” Devi asks, taking this chance to throw the pillow back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his face where it slides into his lap, and he cries out from the shock of the hit rather than the pain. Devi ignores him. “I had a good time. Did you not have a good time?”
“I had a great time,” Paxton reassures her and his heart just about melts when she beams at him. “But I very nearly ran you over with my car at the beginning of the night.”
“After that!”
“After that you threatened to kill the DJ.”
“He deserved it,” Devi grumbles and the same murderous scowl she’d worn that night resurfaces. “But those were minor issues anyway.”
“I’m not sure vehicular manslaughter or attempted homicide are minor issues,” he jokes and his girlfriend rolls her eyes before he becomes serious again. “Really though. I just want to go on one perfect first date with you. No Trent or Marcus, and no narrowly avoided death.”
Devi wrinkles her nose. “Perfect is a tall order.”
“Third time’s the charm,” he says, but Devi’s doubtful expression doesn’t waver, so he relents. “Okay then, not a perfect first date. A first date where everything goes according to plan.”
“That’s more realistic,” Devi says, but she sounds and looks unconvinced by his words. “But still.”
“Don't worry,” Paxton says, leaning forward to rub his thumb tenderly across her cheek. She relaxes into his touch and he grins. “I'll prove you wrong.”
“I sure hope so,” Devi sighs, and no more is said on the subject for the night because then she's grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him into her.
But of course, Devi was right to be skeptical, because as Paxton is starting to learn, it is impossible for things to go according to plan when they're involved.
He’d called that very same night to make reservations at a semi-fancy Italian restaurant across town, and was promptly told they didn't do reservations, which as Paxton figured was even better, because if a restaurant didn't do reservations, that had to mean there was always available seating, right? He asks his mom to teach him how to iron on Thursday, and by the time Saturday night rolls around, he feels relaxed and ready, so assured that nothing could possibly go wrong. He lays the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for Devi gingerly in the passenger seat and whistles to himself as he starts the car.
Except his car won't start. Why won't his car start?
And from then on, things only spiral out of control further. Paxton texts Devi asking if she can just walk to his house and he'll order an Uber to take them to the restaurant from there. Except when he checks his bank account, he cringes at the lack of money, failing to realize earlier how long it'd been since his last paycheck from his summer job. He wouldn't have even been able to pay the bill for their food, much less order a $15 Uber now. And really, he's not above begging his parents or sister for money, but his parents aren't home, gone on a weekend camping trip in the wilderness where they most likely don't get cell service. And Becca is working on a new assignment for school, her door locked with very clear instructions for Paxton not to interrupt her. He doesn't want to risk becoming a murder victim before his third first date with his girlfriend.
So, when Devi arrives at his house and the front door swings open to reveal her visibly frazzled boyfriend explaining to her that he's going to be cooking for her tonight instead of going out, she smiles sweetly and nods her head in understanding. Paxton wonders briefly if she had seen it in his face, how close he is to snapping, because he’d been expecting maybe a little push back, a slight protest. He knows his girlfriend isn't renowned for her accommodating nature, but he thinks she's trying to be in this moment, for his sake, and he's grateful and questioning how he could have gotten so lucky. It makes him want to cradle her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he can't because he needs to figure out what he's going to feed her.
Paxton leads Devi to the living room and leaves her with a peck on her forehead and the TV remote before rushing back to the kitchen. And this is where the next problem presents itself, because Paxton doesn't know how to cook.
At best, he can scramble an egg and microwave a hot pocket. Both of which he thinks Devi would not appreciate. So, Paxton grabs two packages of ramen from the cabinet and drops the noodles into a pot of boiling water. He thinks he can spruce it up with an onion, trying to recall all the tips and tricks he'd seen on the Food Network, but as he's cutting it his eyes begin to sting and he can't see all that well because he's blinking back tears and he's starting to feel like a contestant on Chopped when he slices his finger with the knife. He winces at the initial pain, but the cut is shallow, and it would be fine but now his blood is all over the cutting board and the onion and there goes that idea.
Paxton is praying that it can't get any worst from here, because if one more thing goes wrong he's not sure he'll be able to keep it together.
He turns off the stove and removes the pot from the heat, pouring the noodles carefully into two separate bowls. It's certainly not Michelin star worthy, but Paxton promised Devi dinner and it's better than nothing.
But it's as if he’d been a war criminal or a serial killer in his last life, and the universe is determined to punish him, because Devi is sitting at the dining room table waiting for him, and all Paxton has to do is take three moderately sized steps to make it to the make it to her. But his foot gets caught on the corner of a rug and he staggers forward, the noodles and bowls flying out of his hands and straight onto Devi. The broth stains and drenches her dress and the noodles coat her from her hair down to her shoes, but she's still sitting, as if she hadn't processed what had just happened.
“Shit,” Paxton swears, crouching next to her and flicking noodles off her thighs. “Are you okay? Any burns?”
“I'm fine,” she says, glancing down at him, and her eyes are a little wide and her chin wobbles slightly, and he feels his heart drop into his chest because she's about to cry-.
The sound of her laugh startles him and his head snaps up, thinking she might've cracked before he had.
“What?” he asks, concerned.
“I tried to tell you,” she says, but she doesn't look upset. Noodles cling to her cheeks but her smile stretches the entire length of her face. She doesn't even sound like she's gloating, even though she had been right, and as a result of his unwillingness to listen she was now wearing their dinner.
Paxton’s fingers curl around the hem of her dress, causing broth to seep down his fist. “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”
“And it was,” Devi insists, hands coming up to cup his face.
“Devi,” he grimaces. “You don't have to lie.”
“I'm not!” she objects. “It was perfectly us. And I like that.”
Paxton lifts a brow. “You like being covered in soggy ramen noodles.”
“You're deliberately missing the point,” Devi rolls her eyes and pinches his cheek. “I like being with you, even if the day is a complete disaster, I'll be happy because I was spending time with you. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a disaster magnet.”
“I think it's cute,” Paxton murmurs demurely.
“See,” Devi says. “You know what I'm talking about, and you agree.”
“The noodles don't help though.”
Devi makes a face. “No they do not.”
And while Devi is taking a shower in his bathroom and Paxton is laying in bed, thrumming his fingers against his stomach, he thinks about what she had said about this date being perfectly them. He smiles to himself.
#daxton#nhie#brrrr.. see.. he cooked her dinner! :)#paxton is a chef!!#world renowned!!!#h.l. writes
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She Dreams in Color: 4/6
For those of you who hoped after the last chapter that you had seen the last of Neal, well . . . sorry? The angst has only just begun. Thanks again to @shireness-says for organizing the @cshistfic event and to @aerica13 for being my beta!
Trigger warning: this chapter discusses a wife feeling forced to have sex. It’s not rape technically, but more like dubious consent. Just wanted everyone to be aware.
Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …
*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*
Rating: M
Length: 6 chapters, complete
Updated each Thursday
Chapter One | Two | Three
Also on Ao3
Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thestateofardadreaming @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling
Chapter Four: Pretends to Sleep as He Looks Her Over
After the high from making love with Killian, reality sank down upon Emma. Why hadn’t she stopped to clarify her situation? First of all, there was Neal. When he’d said he’d just find some other woman, what had he meant? Was he leaving her? Just defiantly proclaiming that he would cheat if he wanted to? If their marriage was over, what would Emma do? Where would she go?
Then there was Killian. He hadn’t said anything about having feelings for her. He’d simply offered to pleasure her in ways her husband never had. After months and months of flirting and sexual tension, they had given into it. That didn’t necessarily make Emma anything special to him, however. For all she knew, he offered such “extra services” to many other lonely housewives.
Emma went through her chores on the farm in a sort of daze. Half the time, she was paralyzed with an odd mixture of confusion and panic about her future. The other half, she remembered the ecstasy of Killian’s touch and she completely forgot what the hell she was supposed to be doing.
She ate lunch alone, and then dinner too. She got ready for bed, and Neal still wasn’t home. She didn’t even know how to feel about his absence. He was gone so much anyway, Even the ambiguity of his return was familiar.
Yet return he did. Emma didn’t hear the door open and close because of the fan whirring beside the bed. She heard creaking on the stairs, and then there he was, standing sheepishly in the bedroom doorway. Emma didn’t even put down the book she was reading as she looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. It even sounded genuine.
Emma gnawed at the inside of her cheek. Relief warred with disappointment. Relief that she still had a roof over her head. Disappointment that she would still be sharing a bed with this man.
“I forgive you,” she finally said. She hoped he didn’t expect her to apologize, too. That, she would never do.
Neal’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he gave her that boyish smile that she had begun to find more and more ridiculous. He fairly jumped into bed beside her, not even removing his shoes. She tried not to shudder as he ran a hand over her shoulder.
“I didn’t go find some other woman, just so you know.”
Emma pretended to concentrate on her book. He wriggled closer. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She knew that look.
“Want to make up?”
She stared at her book again. “I thought we just did.”
He chuckled, and dread sank into the pit of her stomach. She could brace herself, wait for it to be over, like she always had before. Somehow, though, it felt different now. Now that she knew what it should be.
“Alright then, I’ll let you read.”
She hoped he didn’t notice her breath of relief as he stood and began discarding his clothes. He slid between the sheets, and she gripped her book tighter.
“Goodnight,” he told her.
“Goodnight.”
************************************************************
Maybe Killian Jones was a foolish man. A fool who had bared his soul in life-shattering intimacy with a woman who wasn’t even free for him to claim. Or, then again, maybe she was free. That matter had not been clearly discussed.
Their lack of conversation the previous day was precisely why Killian was making his way to the Gold farm after his last delivery was complete. He couldn’t let Emma think she was nothing more than a conquest.
Since he wasn’t there to deliver ice, Killian climbed the front porch steps and knocked on the front door like a proper caller. He’d also changed out of his work clothes and into his brown wool suit. He was hot as Hades in it, but it was the only proper suit he had left. His suede fedora was also atop his head, fashionably askew. He straightened his dark paisley tie nervously before giving the door a quick rap.
When Emma opened the door, her expression went through an almost comical array of emotions. He enjoyed the bright look of appreciation that first lit her eyes - he hadn’t been this dapper even on their picnic. She blinked, confusion filled her face, and then was rapidly replaced with a mixture of panic and anger.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed. “It isn’t Tuesday!”
He recoiled slightly, blinking himself in surprise. Suddenly, he realized what was causing that bright red to flood her cheeks.
“You mean . . . he’s staying?”
Emma grabbed him by the arm and yanked him inside. The brief hope that she would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him was swiftly doused by her next words.
“Yes. The reasons I had for marrying him in the first place haven’t changed. I need a roof over my head and food on the table.”
Killian narrowed his eyes. “Not like he’s been fulfilling his part of the bargain there, love.”
Emma shook her head. “In a perfect world, I’d toss his stuff in the yard, but life’s far from perfect.”
“Swan,” he told her, drawing closer and grasping her gently by the elbow, “you deserve so much more than this.”
She shook her head. “You make me feel . . . you have no idea how deeply you make me feel, make me come alive, but I have to face reality. Not to mention the fallout if everyone in town knew what we’ve done. Your business would suffer.”
“Can we stop talking about money for five seconds?”
She backed away from him, shielding herself with her arms. He thought, not for the first time, how out of character that blue flowered house dress looked on her. The sleeves were slightly ruffled, and the neckline was high. The fabric wrapped around her torso, large wooden buttons decorating the left side. It was the dress of a farmer’s wife, and it didn’t suit her at all.
“Thank you for comforting me, yesterday,” Emma told him softly.
“Comforting you? Bloody hell, woman, you think that’s all it was?”
She rubbed at her upper arms and looked away from him. “Well, I was just thinking . . . I’m not the only lonely housewife on your route. Lots of men are off getting work where they can find it. Sending money home. So I understand if -”
He cut her off the only way he knew how - with his lips on hers. He practically pounced on her and backed her up against the nearest wall, cradling her head to soften the contact. Emma melted against him, a soft sigh bubbling from her throat, and he smiled against her lips. He pulled back, thumbing her wet, swollen lips.
“Only you, Emma. It wasn’t just a one time thing. And, by the way, I’m not comforting you.”
She was genuinely surprised by his words. “You’re not?” He shook his head, and she swallowed thickly. “Then what are you doing?”
“Don’t you know, Emma? I love you.”
She didn’t answer him. She just stood there looking at him with an awed expression, then a single tear tracked down her cheek. Slowly she leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly across his. She pressed herself against him, steadying herself by grasping his biceps, and deepened the kiss, though it remained tender. When they broke apart, Killian stayed close, his breath mingling with hers as he spoke.
“I can’t stay, can I?”
She shook her head, then dropped her forehead to his chest. “Neal had some deliveries to make, but he said he’d be back by supper.”
Killian’s brow furrowed. “Deliveries?”
Emma shrugged. “Some job he got while he was gone. He was really vague about it. It’s probably best I don’t know.”
Killian cupped her face in his hands. “He just better be careful. For your sake.”
She grinned defiantly up at him. “I can take care of myself.”
He knew. Bloody hell, did he know. It frustrated him, but it was also one of the things he loved most about her. If she felt staying married was how to do that, then he’d support her.
“Emma,” he told her, as he traced her jaw with his fingertips, “I’ll never ask for more than you can give.”
She wrapped her arms around him tightly and pressed her nose into his neck. “I know,” she breathed against his skin.
***************************************************************
The days blurred together for Emma after that in a hazy cloud of ecstasy. Killian came every Tuesday to deliver the ice, as usual, and her “tips” were now far more than dessert. He came by other times as well, unable to stay away for long. They came up with a system for Emma to warn him if Neal was home. She had a hanging basket of red silk flowers; a hideously ugly and pitiful Valentine’s gift from her husband. “Since nothing real will grow,” he’d told her. Emma only hung the ridiculous thing when her husband was home, so it was the perfect signal to warn Killian to stay away.
Not that Neal was home much; that didn’t change. Neither did his halfhearted apology change the way he treated her. The only thing that changed was the frequency of Killian’s visits which brought color and life to her drab world. They made love everywhere: the kitchen table, against the counter top, in the half-empty barn. They even made love right in the parlor on the Gold family’s antique settee. For Emma, it felt a bit like revenge.
Killian also took her on outings to what she had come to think of as “their tree.” They had picnics and talked, but they also made love under its barren branches. Especially under that tree, Emma could see the hurt in his eyes when she didn’t return his “I love you.” It wasn’t that she didn’t feel deeply for Killian. It was the words themselves. After all, she and Neal said them to each other, and they meant nothing. It wasn’t even that she doubted that Killian meant them with great passion. She knew he did. But was it lasting? The physical attraction between them was intoxicating, but would a day come when he tired of her? Once she was a young and naive girl who saw her parents as proof that true love was real. However, she wasn’t that girl anymore, and she was wary to open herself up.
Neal still demanded of her “wifely duties” as he called them. Though it was rare, Emma still felt revulsion every time. However, she feared refusing him. Feared his anger, his mercurial emotions, and also feared he would discover her affair. So to keep the peace, she did what she always had: she closed her eyes and tried not to cry until it was over. Afterwards, she felt so ashamed and dirty, but not for being an adultress. No, she felt shame for being unfaithful to Killian. Felt shame for sharing a bed with a man she did not love while withholding her feelings from a man she felt more and more truly cared about her.
Thankfully, Neal rarely wanted her anymore, and she’d heard about Tamara, the girl who opened her bar the minute prohibition was repealed. (As if everyone didn’t already know about the speakeasy.) As time went on, Neal wanted Emma less and less, to the point she no longer held her breath when he slid beneath the sheets at night. She was probably the first wife in history thankful for her husband’s mistress.
The only problem with how long it had been between her and Neal was when she realized something her body had been trying to tell her for about two months: she was pregnant. She was pregnant, and according to even the most basic math, it couldn’t be Neal’s. Yet, when she told him, he actually celebrated like a real husband would, whooping and hugging her tight. She never told Killian outright. There simply came the day he rested his hand against the swelling that had begun to show under her dress.
“Have you had any milk today, Swan? The wee one needs milk, you know.”
And that was it. It was all he said, with a lopsided smile and a hint of sadness in his blue eyes.
Sadness and lust - were those the only emotions Emma was capable of eliciting from those eyes? She prayed not. One day, she wasn’t sure when, but one day, she would fix that.
****************************************************************
Emma lay in bed naked next to Killian, who was also naked. Her red house dress lay in a heap upon the floor. The fabric had been a birthday gift from all of the Joneses, and Anna and Elsa had taken her shopping for the pattern. Emma had tossed away her old blue floral once she’d finished her new dress that had a corseted waistband, a square neckline, and slightly puffed sleeves. The delicate, white, geometric pattern of the cloth suited Emma much more than the blue flowers. The waistband also allowed the dress to expand to accommodate her ever enlarging belly.
She’d used the leftover fabric to make a burp cloth and bib for Anna’s baby boy when he arrived. It seemed a pitiful gift, especially since the fabric had originally come from the Joneses in the first place. Anna, however, had hugged the items to her breast and teared up as she thanked Emma profusely. Holding little Rolf in her arms, Emma had wondered about her own little one’s arrival. Would he have Killian’s eyes? Her nose? Would it be obvious to the world who his father was?
An icy rain lashed against the window panes, but Emma was warm in Killian’s embrace. She rubbed her hands along the dark hair on his arms, relishing the feel of him around her.
“How is the business going?” she asked.
Ice delivery season had ended months ago, though the heat of an Indian summer had far outlasted the ice supply. Kristoff was already in Canada harvesting ice for next summer, and the Jones brothers were now trying to make it through the winter months delivering coal instead. A warm fall and a thus far mild winter wasn’t helping, however.
“It’s going fine,” he told her.
Emma rolled over so she could look up into his face. His smile tried to convince her of his words, yet she saw the worry in the lines around his eyes. She frowned and traced his jaw.
“You’re worried.”
He shook his head, then turned to kiss her palm. “We’ve had lean times in the past. Summer always comes again.”
Emma wriggled closer to him, humming in contentment. “This cold rain could help.”
“Perhaps.”
She could tell he didn’t want to talk business, so she fell silent. He ran a hand over her body, lingering on her abdomen which was growing larger by the day.
“God, you’re so beautiful.” His voice was husky when he said it, sending a shiver down her spine.
She bit her lip and searched his face hesitantly. “Truly? You’re not just saying that?”
“Of course not.” His brow furrowed with confusion.
“Neal says I’m disgusting right now. He can’t even look at me naked.”
Emma dropped her gaze and stared at the pattern of the sheets. She never thought Neal’s rejection could hurt her, but this felt different. This was revulsion. No woman wanted that reaction, regardless of its source. Killian was quiet for a moment, and fear sliced her heart that he would reject her, too. Yet just as the feeling gripped her, he tipped her face up and slanted his mouth over hers. The kiss was filled with passion and desire, and just in case she missed it, he caressed her body eagerly. His lips and tongue then followed the same path as his hands, until he had drifted down between her legs. Emma writhed as he worked her up, an orgasm washing over her with the talents of his tongue. Then he made his way back up her body, whispering words of awe against her skin before entering her for the second time that morning. She shattered around him, her body alive and vibrating. He made her feel beautiful in every way.
Still joined with her, he looked deeply into her eyes and spoke huskily. “Leave him, Emma. Be with me.”
With their bodies joined together, and that look in his eyes, she was tempted to give in. Then she really looked down the length of their bodies and saw the swell of her child within her. Truth, cold and sobering, washed over her.
“How can I?” She asked him, voice wavering, begging him to understand. “Especially now! Now that I’m -”
“Don’t you dare say that you’re carrying his child.”
Emma startled, her eyes growing wide. Killian sighed, dropping his face to hers, pressing their foreheads together. Neither of them had directly addressed this particular elephant in the room. He rolled away from her, and they both reached for towels near the bed to clean up. Killian stood and began gathering his clothes. He paused, still naked before her, his belongings clutched to his chest.
“I may be just a delivery man, but I can do basic math, Emma.”
She rolled away from him. “Don’t ask me to say it, Killian. Please.”
He was quiet for far longer than Emma would have liked. She swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, slipping on her underthings. She tried to reach around her pregnant stomach to grab her dress, but then Killian was in her line of sight. He picked up the dress and handed it to her. She took it wordlessly, then allowed Killian to take her hand and help her to her feet. He pulled her close to his chest, the buttons of his shirt brushing against the fabric of her bra. Her desire for him lately had been insatiable, and she suddenly wanted to wrap her legs around him and try for her fifth orgasm of the day - or would it be her sixth? She had lost count.
“Emma,” he said, softly, gently.
“Yes?” She tipped her head up to look up at him. In his gaze, she saw sadness. Again. She wouldn’t let it continue. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him with a hand to his lips. “Yes, the baby is yours. And yes, I love you.”
His answer was a passionate kiss that sent them right back to the bed. Emma never did decide on the exact number of orgasms.
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it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.
the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.
rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.
a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.
actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.
sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.
ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.
as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.
it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.
the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.
this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.
“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”
it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.
maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.
“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.
the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.
great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.
yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.
the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)
rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.
instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”
suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”
“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.
something occurs to you.
“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).
“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.
suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.
“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)
the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).
you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.
with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.
whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.
it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.
“not a chance.”
he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.
you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).
suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.
“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.
this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.
“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.
what to do...
well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.
as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!! x reader#hq x reader#suna x reader#suna rintarou x reader#happy birthday to me 🎉#<<< the way i typed that tag so long ago and now look what day it is#extras#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu!! imagines#hq imagines#i accidentally deleted part of this b4 i can’t believe#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu!! scenarios#hq scenarios#why did this take me so long to write + it’s so dumb this is embarrassing#hq!! x reader#suna imagines#suna scenarios#haikyuu fluff#suna rintarou
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Drunken Confession: Ben
Jae arrived in his typical outlandish behavior, wielding two large bottles of Fire Whiskey.
“Look alive boys, our Thursday night just got a lot more interesting!”
“Where did-” Charlie started but waved his hand, “you know what, never mind, I don't want to know.”
“I got cups in my trunk! Gather round boys, it's going to be a good night! Hope you don't have anywhere to go early in the morning.” He summoned his and Murphy's side tables and put them back to back to make a small table in the middle of the room. He then placed the two, rather large bottles on the tables, and went to dig in his trunk.
“This is?” Orion questioned, picking up one of the bottles.
“Irish brewed Firewhiskey, aged in barrels for years. It's the good stuff.” Jae mentioned, placing a array of cups on the table.
“You and I have different ideas of what good stuff is.” Murphy eyed the amber liquid that Orion was sloshing around.
Charlie got off his bed and walked over, looking at the small shot glasses.
“So... You brought it for us all to try?” He asked innocently.
“I have something actually more interesting in mind.” Jae said slyly. “Unless you are all a bunch of softies.”
“Hardly.” Ben replied deadpanned, picking up the second bottle to crack it open, and began to pour it into the glasses, filling them to the top. “What were you thinking Jae?”
“We've all known one another years now, lets get to know each other a little bit better.”
“This is your way of just trying to get information from us that you can blackmail us with later.” Murphy looked up at Jae, feeling very suspicious of him. Jae said nothing, just smiled slyly and took his shot before pouring himself another.
“Take a drink if you have ever used a unregulated potion, I'll go first.” He took a large gulp of the amber liquid. Ben lifted an eyebrow, but played along and poured himself a drink before taking a drink. Charlie, Orion, and Murphy simply nodded as they were handed their own drinks, not touching the liquid to their lips.
“Take a drink if you've ever... Seen a dragon?” Charlie tried. Jae, Ben, and Charlie took long sips.
“You are going to have to include something that we have done.” Murphy almost pouted with a smile on his lips. “Like if you've been voted most dashing Quidditch Commentator.” It was silly, but an excuse to take a drink himself.
About 20 questions, some laughter, light conversation, and the entire first bottle of Fire Whiskey, most of the boys were starting to feel the effects. Ben and Jae held their liquor the best, more then likely because this was not either one's first time drinking underage. Charlie and Murphy were about one drink away from being completely gassed, and Orion was one away from finding world peace.
“Oh, I've got a good one.” Jae slurred slightly. “Take a drink if you've ever had a crush-” All the boys lifted their drinks, but Jae finished his thought, “on Iris!” They all laughed lightly, but the laughter died out when all five of the boys continued to take a shot.
Murphy and Charlie almost immediately sobered up, and Ben froze like a statue.
“Soooo, we have all had dreams of Iris Rosewood?” Orion clarified.
“Is that a question we are suppose to drink to?” Murphy questioned, looking down into his glass.
“More clarification, perhaps I shall word it this way...” Orion drawled, “if you have a crush on Iris.”
Again, the room fell silent as all five boys took another shot.
A couple of the cleared their throats, Jae coughed into his hand. It had become incredibly awkward, incredibly fast.
“This is uncomfortable.” Charlie broke the silence.
“You all may have crushes on her... But I've loved her.” Ben admitted, swirling his Firewhiskey in his cup. “We have been through too much, and she's been there every step of the way for me.” The other boys stopped murmuring and looked at him. “She brought color and vibrancy into my world and I repaid her by hurting her. Hell, all I ever wanted to do is make sure no one ever hurt her and I think by doing that I've been the one to hurt her the most.” He stated more to himself then anyone else in the room. “I think I've done so much damage that no matter how much I love her, what hope I ever had that she could reciprocate is gone. It died when Rowan did.” The air in the room when from light and jovial to heavy and dark in just a few sentences. “I'm going for a walk.”
“If you get caught after curfew-”
“What? Get detention?” Ben stood, grabbed a jacket of his that had been on the end of his bed and left the dormitory.
His foggy mind supplied that going to the Forbidden Forest was a good idea, and he headed that way. Thunder boomed and lightning popped overhead and he thought briefly about heading back but he continued.
Half way down to the forbidden forest, the sky opened up and let down a torrential rain like Hogwarts had not seen in a very long time. Ben hated getting caught in the rain and made a beeline for Hagrid's hut, hoping the half giant wouldn't mind if he waited out the storm in his house. In about twenty steps he was pushing the door open and going inside.
It was dry and he pulled his wool sweater off and shook his hair to remove excess moisture.
“Hagrid?” He called, but there was no light on and Fang lifted his head up to give him a look. He figured Hagrid must not have been there and walked over to the fireplace and put some logs in a pile to start a fire. He ran his hand over the mantle feeling for matches or anything, but decided to cast a simple spell to ignite the wood. There was instant warmth in the hut as he held his hands out, warming his fingers.
The door to the hut opened, and he turned, his wand at the ready to see a figure in the doorway that was far to small to be Hagrid.
“Ben?” The voice called, before stepping into the light of the fire.
“Iris?” He asked, sliding his wand up his sleeve. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was looking for Moondew for growth potion, I need it for my Herbology project and Snape is being greedy.” Iris explained as she peeled her wet rain slicker off and hung it on the coat rack. “What are you doing out here? Isn't it past curfew?” Ben opened his mouth to tell her, she cut him off. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“You'll just say something snarky and I've had a good day, so we'll just leave it alone.” Iris stated as she took out the little jar from her bag and inspected her Moondew leaves. He was about to remark that he wouldn't have done that, but that in itself would just prove her right.
She placed the small corked bottle on the table and stepped over to the fire.
“Where's Hagrid?” He asked.
“He's presenting at the Ministry about Thestrals. He won't be back until tomorrow I think.” She informed him, holding her hands out to the fire, a content look on her face. “Fancy a snack? I know where Hagrid keeps his tea, and I have some chocolate and orange scone in my bag.”
“Why do you have scones with you?”
“I wasn't sure how long I'd have to look for the Moondew, so I brought something to eat with me. Plus sometimes I have to bribe Fang to come with me.” She explained as she went to collect the tea he had stashed on a shelf and get the kettle ready over the fire. Ben felt himself blink rather hard, the effects of the Fire Whiskey starting to turn on him. He was suddenly very hot, and the room was a bit spinny.
He had already shed his sweater, and unbuttoned his collared shirt before he made to sit down on the rug in front of the fire. In hindsight, he should have sat farther from the fire, but he honestly wondered if he would even be able to make it to the chair without spilling himself on the floor anyway. Iris was also Head Girl, if she found out he had been drinking she would either have to report him or deal with it herself and he didn't want to incur her wrath.
He twisted his neck, feeling a pop that seemed to relax him as Iris held out a plate with the scones on it. He took a bite,
“these are really good. Did the house elves make this?”
“Oh no, I've made friends with Pits, he let me make some yesterday down in the kitchens.” Iris explained as she tenderly added the tea into a pot and poured the hot water into the hilariously floral teapot that Hagrid had.
“You could make friends with a dung beetle.” He joked, only partially. She laughed lightly.
They sat in silence for a while before the tea was ready and he watched as Iris poured the tea into two mix matched floral cups and handed him one. He reached for the cream and noticed that Iris blew on hers and drank it straight. It was a new little tidbit of information for him to lock away.
“Do you remember back in 2nd year, you wouldn't go up into the astronomy tower so we turned the artifact rooms ceiling into the night sky?” Iris asked suddenly.
“What made you think about that?” Ben asked as he looked over at her. She shrugged.
“We had tea and scones then, remember?” She gestured at the scones with her teacup. “I just... I like that memory.” Iris admitted.
“Back when I was afraid to even-”
“Would you just shut up!” Iris snapped, clacking her teacup loudly against the saucer. “It's a memory that makes me smile, and that I enjoy, why do you constantly try and belittle things that make me happy? Are you that full of bitterness anymore that you won't let anyone enjoy something as simple as a memory?”
“You're defensive tonight, what has you so wound up?” He snapped back just as angrily.
“I'm defensive?” Iris shouted, standing up to tower over Ben, ready for a fight that had been brewing for weeks. “You're the one that can't even let me relive a memory from when we were twelve without you belittling it!”
“I don't like reliving those memories, it was when I was weak-”
“It was when you were kind.” Iris cut in dangerously. He placed his hands on the floor and hoped that he could stand without falling over. He stood on his feet and looked down at her, truly looked at her for what felt like the first time in weeks.
Iris used to have this childlike innocence about her, with her round baby face, porcelain skin, blue eyes that were wide open for the world. He wasn't exactly sure when the last time he took the time to study her, more then likely before Rowan died, and it looked like everything she had experienced had finally caught up with her.
It was only a matter of time, one can only keep loading the camels back before something as simple as a napkin will break their back. He wondered when it was that Iris had finally broke, and wondered if anyone had even noticed. Iris was the unbreakable, she was the epitome of what people wanted to be, of course people thought she was sturdy as stone. They had taken her for granted.
Hell, he had.
Her lips were almost always in a natural smile, now seemed to be downturned in nature. Her eyes, those were what had grabbed him when he first made eye contact with her because he had never seen eyes that were just that blue, had always been bright and happy. Now, they looked like the good china that people put away for safe keeping, dust piling on it where you can see the color, its just muted. Everything about her seemed muted. Her skin, her hair, she was a soul with the weight of a Kingdom on her shoulders. There was more expectations on her at seventeen then that of twenty people.
Ben felt regret in his belly, and he couldn't keep up this conversation. He knew she was far too close and one push would send her over that edge. He had done enough to push her there, he wasn't going to be the one that pushed her to the breaking point.
“I'm not going to have this conversation.” He shook his head, beginning to button up the few buttons he had loosened earlier. Rain be damned, if he had to get soaked to get away from her and let her cool down, he would. He was just about to walk to the door when Iris called,
“You want to know what I think?” Iris told him firmly, it was not really a question but a thinly veiled declaration masquerading as a question. “I think that you're still terrified.”
That stopped him in his tracks. His hand hovered over the door knob, and the rational part of his brain that would have told him to walk away was flooded by Firewhiskey. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She was not going down this time, and she was not going to be ignored. “You are still the terrified Muggleborn you always were, only it's the fear that people will still see you as that person.”
“I am not-”
“I can see it in your eyes! You may be able to fool everyone else, but you can't fool me.” She pointed at herself. “I know you better then anyone, Benjamin Copper!” It was a fact that was mildly terrifying, and he hated to admit that. “It's a different type of terror, but it's still there and it still controls you down to your core-”
“No it doesn't! I'm a not that person anymore!” He shouted at her. It wasn't the first time he had raised his voice at her, but it felt much different then the times before.
Because she had struck a nerve.
He wasn't the one in control anymore.
His delicate control that he had been clinging to since after the buried vault was quickly disinigrating in his hands and he was scrambling to keep it.
“You haven't become brave, you've become cruel!” Iris told him. He could almost see it like an actual image in his mind, she was taking a sledge hammer to his carefully constructed statue of power, bravery and control. Others had chipped away at it, but Iris had come in and went for the Achilles heel that only she seemed to know existed. “Your trauma is what navigates every single decision you have made! Every decision has been made in fear from the moment you stepped into Hogwarts!” Another critical hit, cracks that could never be fixed started to grow threatening to topple over all of himself.
“That's not true!” He yelled back at her, as though he was trying to convince himself.
“Really? Give me an example.” She dared him.
Her attack seemed to stop because she had chipped away and found the one part of his bravery that wasn't an act. That one tiny part of himself that had been bright and true since the beginning.
The part that she overlooked.
Because it was her.
“You.” He stated simply. Iris jumped a bit at the declaration, clearly not seeing his answer coming. “You terrified me. You were loud, outspoken, brave, already good at magic and dueling, you came from a pure blood family, and you were attractive. What wasn't intimidating about you? Especially to a muggleborn like me?” It was his turn to talk and he was going to seize the opportunity, as it seemed he had shocked her into silence in the middle of a fight. “But I approached you first, remember that? I thanked you for standing up to Merula. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, I felt like I was going to vomit, yet I rejected that fear to talk to you because there was something about you that felt like a damn gravitational pull!” He took a step closer to her and she held her ground, starring up at him. Her eyes were still alight with fire but there was something else there, a vulnerability that he had seen in her eyes too often since the buried vault. “From brooms and books, to time in the artifact room, I cared about you more then I cared about anyone else, so much so that I went with you to the buried vault! Despite the fact that I thought I would die, I went because I cared more about you then I did myself!”
Iris's lips were in a tight line, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head.
“Ben don't.” She warned, almost knowing where he was going.
“You're right, every decision I have made has been in fear... The biggest fear I have above all others-”
“Ben stop!”
There was no stopping now. He had regained the control.
“The fear that some how, in some horrible way that I can't control, that you will be hurt or die because you put everyone ahead of yourself in the most reckless and honorable ways!” He felt like he had become a new man, and that he had become braver in the years since the buried vault, but the fire whiskey in his veins was a form of liquid courage that he was sure no potion could replicate. His thought process was interrupted by stinging on his cheek.
Iris had slapped him.
“Don't you dare say it.” She warned, her voice like ice. “Not after the way you have treated me-”
“I love you!” He wanted to shout it at her, hoping that if he yelled louder then her that she would realize he was being truthful, but all it would do is prove her point that he had just became cruel. She closed her eyes, and he watched a her fight within herself, her fingers curled into fists and he was worried for a moment that she was going to deck him. “Iris.” He reached out and placed a hand over her curled fist, “I love you.”
She shook her head but made no effort to pull away from him. They had went to war with one another and now both stood in front of their dismantled battlements.
Iris was the first to move, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his sternum.
“I miss you, Ben.” Iris almost sobbed. His hands let go of her fists, and wrapped protectively around her back, holding her tightly. He lowered his head, his nose resting on the top of her head and breathed deeply.
He had finally admitted it, and said it out loud, given it a sense of being. He felt like a weight had been lifted, and he didn't know he had been carrying it around with him.
“I'll work on being less cruel, and more kind again.” He promised her.
“I'll accept that.” Her hands that had been balled up and resting against him opened and she laid her palms and fingers out flat against his chest, before moving them up to wrap around his neck and pull him into a hug. She had to stand on her tip toes in order to get her chin to rest on his shoulders. “Remember when I used to be taller then you?” There was a lightness in her voice that he had missed, and he smiled.
“Yeah, now you're short.” He joked.
“You're no giant yourself.”
“At least I'm taller then you.”
“Everyone is, except for Professor Flitwick.”
“Even that's pretty close.” He laughed and she tapped the back of his head with her hand. She pulled back and looked into his eyes, and smiled gently, placing the hand that had previously slapped him delicately on his face.
“I'm sorry I slapped you.”
“I'm just surprised it took you this long to slap me.” He told her honestly. “I'm sorry that I've hurt you, and I'm going to endever to do better.” Iris nodded and wrapped her arms around him again and listened to how fast his heart was beating, and smiled, knowing hers was beating just as fast.
He had not expected his drunken evening walk to end like this.
#hphm ben copper#hphm ben#hphm fanfiction#hphm jacobs sibling#hphm imagine#ben copper#ben copper x jacobs sibling#ben copper imagine#ben copper x mc
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Finally done with this chapter and this arc. Can’t believe I have an entire post that’s just about Tsukauchi Naomasa. The discord server is so happy. There’s a lot of Naomasa love in there, and I mean, can you blame them? Dude is the straight man in a world of shounen bullshit. Gotta respect his ability to take everything happening in stride.
[No. 21 - In Each of Our Hearts]
We have brief passage of time wherein the police arrive at the USJ. We see Tsukauchi doing a headcount of the students while Sansa is directing the other police in containing and leading the villains out of the building. Naomasa is able to determine that, aside from the one with the messed up legs (Izuku), all of the students are unharmed. As if to confirm this, we get some wide shots of the class in two panels, showing everyone to be perhaps roughed up, but not really injured.
Hagakure puts her hand on Ojiro’s shoulder, commenting on how he’d ended up in the fire zone, and on his own at that, with a small congratulations. Ojiro admits he’d thought everyone was alone, and that he’d only survived with hit-and-run tactics. He then asks Hagakure where she was, and she points out Todoroki before stating she’d been in the landslide area, and that Todoroki’s crazy strong. We see Todoroki and his worry that he could have frozen her, while Ojiro in the background just says that he’s glad she’s okay.
Aoyama, of course, then tries to take center stage. Aoyama seems like he’s about to reveal where he’d been, but then turns to the other students to ask them if they have any ideas.
He first tries the group consisting of Tokoyami, Koda, Kirishima, and Kaminari, but all of them are busy with a conversation. Tokoyami makes a comment on how he guesses ‘those lowlifes’ were spread out, waiting for them. Kirishima slams a fist into the palm of his other hand and complains about how the villains had been looking down on them because they were kids.
Then he turns to Tsuyu, asking her where she thinks he was. She plays along for a bit, asking him where, only for Aoyama to dramatically turn away and pose while stating that it’s a secret. Tsuyu turns her attention back to Tsukauchi, completely uninterested in his shenanigans.
Tsukauchi states that they (likely meaning the police and pro heroes) are going to get the students back to the classroom for now, and that this is no time to take their statements. Tsuyu asks after Aizawa, and Naomasa gives her the details - both arms smashed to splinters, face is fractured. Thankfully, there’s no brain damage, but his eye sockets have been pulverized, so there’s a chance he may suffer long-term loss of vision - or so he hears. He seems to be on a call with the hospital at the time, or perhaps the station where all of this cleanup and investigation are being processed.
This is not exactly the welcome news Tsuyu or Mineta were looking for, both of them looking pretty torn up over it.
Tsukauchi continues down the list of injuries - Thirteen has terrible lacerations across her back and upper arms, but her life isn’t in danger. All Might’s injuries aren’t life threatening either; it’s likely that Recovery Girl’s healing will be enough for him, so he’s gone off to the nurse’s office instead.
Ochako and Tenya, basically in unison, ask after Izuku, worry etched across their faces. Naomasa takes a second to place the name, but confirms that Izuku also made it to the nurse’s office in time. He then states that he happens to have business there himself, so he’ll leave the rest of the cleanup to Sansa. Sansa gives a salute and confirmation.
(Meanwhile, Ochako and Ashido are both puzzled because Sansa’s not a dog. Don’t be rude, girls.)
Nedzu notes that UA will need to completely revamp their security systems. Midnight adds on how teleportation quirks are rare enough, and that it’s a shame one of them had to go and turn villain.
Another officer shows up to report to Tsukauchi, stating that they’ve apprehended what seems to be a villain in a thicket about 400 meters from the USJ. Tsukauchi asks what condition the villain is in, and the officer states that the villain seems unharmed, and that he didn’t resist arrest. He also adds that, oddly enough, the villain isn’t responding in any way, and appears to be mute.
Tsukauchi turns to Nedzu, asking for the opportunity to go over the school with a fine tooth comb. Nedzu gives him the go-ahead, saying that some won’t be happy, but the police certainly have jurisdiction. He notes that investigations are Tsukauchi’s field of expertise, so he can do what he feels is necessary.
We transition to the nurse’s office, with Izuku and Toshinori both stuck in bedrest. And honestly, I just cannot get over how tall Toshinori is, like.
Look at that. If he picked up Izuku for a hug, Izuku’s feet would maybe reach his knees.
Anyways. Plot. Yes. Recovery Girl tells the two of them that, the situation being what it was, she can’t really scold them this time. Toshinori says that he thinks he’s probably shortened his time limit again, and that he’ll be lucky if he can still get an hour a day. Izuku’s worried about him, but Toshinori shoves himself up into a sitting position with a groan, shrugging it off with a ‘what can you do? Bad things happen.’
The nurse’s office door opened, Tsukauchi letting himself in with an apology for the intrusion/interruption. He greets Toshinori as an old friend, while Toshinori’s surprised Tsukauchi is here. Izuku shoots up into a seated position, worried about if it’s okay for Toshinori to be seen while he’s not buffed up. Toshinori says it’s fine, then gets a bit silly about his introduction of Tsukauchi to Izuku.
Tsukauchi calling him out on the weird intro though. Like I said, this man really puts up with so much shounen-world bullshit as the straight man.
Tsukauchi then bring up his reason for stopping by - not to rush Toshinori or anything, but he’d like to ask about the villains. Toshinori interrupts him to ask if the students are alright, as well as Aizawa and Thirteen. Tsukauchi’s quiet for a moment, before huffing a laugh. He says that besides Izuku, the students have nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. The two teachers are also out of danger for now. If the three hadn’t put their lives on the line, the students wouldn’t have made it out unscathed.
Toshinori acknowledges the report, but tells Tsukauchi he’s got one thing wrong, which draws a surprised frown from him. Toshinori goes on to explain how in that fight, the students put their lives on the line too. To be thrown into a real battle so young and survive - now these first years know how scary the wider world can be. Has he ever heard of such a class? The villains picked the wrong fight, because the members of class 1a are going to be might heroes indeed - and he’s going to make sure of it.
All Might really does have completely faith in this class, it’s incredible.
As an aside, I know it’s probably a small editing mistake, but Izuku lying back down in one panel just to be back up in a seated position the next one is just. Fucking hilarious.
As a last weird bit. Tsukauchi just. Tapping his ear here? Either that’s a teeny foreshadowing of the quirk the fandom believes he has, or it’s just. A really weird gesture.
(I want to clarify, for people who aren’t aware of it, but Horikoshi has never actually confirmed that Tsukauchi has a truth-sensing quirk. His sister’s quirk, which is touch-based lie detection, is confirmed in the Vigilantes side manga, but not his!)
We get some narration as time passes - classes were cancelled the next day (Thursday), but the class couldn’t rest easy. After that (presumably the day after, which would be Friday), we come back to all of the class waiting for morning homeroom to start. Tenya is vibrating as he directs the class, stating that morning homeroom’s about to begin, so everyone to their seats. Sero points out that everyone else is sitting, and that he’s the only one up.
The classroom door opens to reveal a heavily bandaged Aizawa, who gives them a brief greeting as he wobbles his way in. The class is shocked that he’s back already, calling him an undeniable pro. Tenya, who finally is in his seat, snaps his hand up as he states he’s glad to see him doing well, which Ochako mutters about whether you can really call that ‘doing well.’
Aizawa shakes his head, stating that his welfare isn’t important, because their fight is far from over. The class is confused at that statement, with Katsuki, Izuku, and Mineta all questioning his statement. Aizawa clarifies himself - UA’s sports festival is fast approaching.
The class gasps, clamoring about how that’s so totally ordinary.
And with that, we’ve wrapped up the chapter and the USJ arc. I’ll probably do a few side posts before moving on to said arc, since the sports festival is 23 chapters long (ch 22-44) - longer than everything that’s happened up to this point in the manga!
If you have any questions / thoughts / observations you want to share, feel free to! I like hearing what y’all think about this early stuff, especially those of you who were anime-only and so seeing some of this stuff for the first time or used differently by the show.
#chapter 21#usj arc#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#readthrough#midoriya izuku#yagi toshinori#tsukauchi naomasa#asui tsuyu#aizawa shouta#nedzu#kayama nemuri#recovery girl#uraraka ochako#Iida Tenya#these kids#these heroes#naomasa really puts up with a lot of bs#and what an arc#even if it took me a lot longer than it should have to get this done#but it IS done now#hoorah
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Walking Home (v)., the Tourniquet
For you @thursday-knight. Lysm
They’re going to let Billy out of that horrible, gray padded room on Tuesday, which Steve snorts at over the phone.
“What, you think that’s fuckin’ funny or something?”
“No, It’s just.” It’s kind of funny. Steve wraps the phone chord around his hand. Nice and tight, like a tourniquet. “Tuesday’s weird.”
“Tuesday’s...weird?”
“Yeah.”
Steve can hear something, like. The clack of a pen. It’s a common nervous tick, a way to cope, but. Steve’s never seen any one hold a bic the way Billy does.
Barrel in his palm. Clicking the register with his pointer finger, like. He’s pressing Reagan’s Big Red Button. The one to blow up the world.
“What’s so weird about a Tuesday release, man?”
“Ruining the start of a week by spending it in the hospital and then having to use the rest of it adjusting to life outside?” Steve shrugs, remembering that Billy can’t see him. “They could at least give you a Friday. Then you’d have the weekend, right?”
Billy’s grin is somehow manifested in the honey drip of his voice. “Been locked up for six months, Harrington, what’s two more days?”
And that could be true.
Steve doesn’t feel like so much time has passed. The rise and fall of the moon, the turn of the seasons, the way Billy has to wear fuzzy socks with those little grips on them to stay warm in beige corridors, have been lost on Steve.
Tainted. Wrapped in paper the exact shade of survival. Surgeries and afternoons carpooling the kids to Hawkins general, paying Barry Mildred to do Billy’s algebra homework for him, and.
Convincing everyone.
Himself, too.
That Billy would be alright. Steve had to do everything he could to get Billy ready for the world, or.
The world ready for him.
“Has it really been that long?” Steve wonders.
And Billy laughs. “Maybe not for you, King Steve. Some of us had to spend the whole of it in one room.” It doesn’t sound as painful as it usually does.
Steve just nods again. To himself.
He remembers the leaves changing around the time Billy learned to walk again. Halloween. Bringing left-over contraband to spoil Billy’s strict diet of organic bullshit while his body healed itself. Amber leaves complimenting blue eyes as they made unsteady laps around the courtyard together.
Steve holding his arm out time and time again, and. Billy taking it.
Christmas. Snowball fights with the kids, crystals on long blonde eyelashes while that stubborn mouth fought to return every smile Max threw his way. Those very same lashes, wet with tears, when Billy opened a vintage copy of Cider House Rules, on Christmas Eve.
All, you really shouldn’t be spending the holiday in a psych ward, Harrington.
But they held hands for the first time that night. Steve said, where else would I want to be?
And Billy, just. Took what he could get--nothing more.
Steve remembers a lot of things. Happiness. Rocky, at first, unearned, a slide into friendship which turned into peachy cheeks that rivaled the setting sun.
Summer, Fall, Winter, and.
February.
Steve must have missed it. All of it, while he was busy being grateful that Billy was alive.
He checks the calendar.
“You’ll be out in time for Valentines,” He says. Because that’s important, somehow. “Got any big plans?”
“Oh, for sure.” Billy clicks his pen. One-two-three. “Got a girl waiting for me on the outside, thought we could catch a movie.”
Steve knows.
He knows it isn’t true, that Billy’s just yanking his ridiculously short chain, but. Steve’s heart beats in time with the click of a pen. Advancing and overtaking the tempo to orchestrate a symphony of worry.
Of fear.
It used to taste like copper. Black slime and dirty snow, but now it tastes like mashed potatoes served on a hospital lunch tray. Contraband sweets. Change and forced endings and--
Steve chokes on something. A laugh that falls wrong halfway through, like a sob colored to fit summer days. “What are you doing after?”
The clacking stops. “Just fucking with you, Harrington.”
“I know.”
“Was a joke, I’m not.” Billy clears his throat. “Everyone who matters came to see me while I was here.”
Steve just nods. Frantically, because he hears words that aren’t there. Meaning that couldn’t possibly color his life in broad strokes. He thinks about what Billy’s saying, what he really means.
Everyone who matters.
“Where are you staying? Like, when you get out,.” Steve mutters. The chord is wrapped around his hand again. He leans against the wall, wincing as the pins from his bulletin board pinch his shoulder blades. “You got a place to crash?”
Billy doesn’t say anything.
Steve clears his throat. “You aren’t going back, right? You’re not going. Home?”
“To Neil’s?”
And Steve gets the distinction. Feels it settle like an axe between his first three ribs. “Yeah.”
Billy sighs. “No, fuck that. Figured I’d ask around. See if there are any beds open at RCA.” Recovery Centers of America, that’s.
“That’s in Indianapolis.”
“Yeah,” Billy says flatly. Steve thinks, distantly, that he sounds almost. Annoyed. “Owens says there’s a car. It’ll take me wherever I want, long as I stay in State.”
“You want to go away?”
“Sure,” Billy says bluntly. “Wouldn’t hurt to leave this place behind, you know. Maybe go somewhere new--”
“Stay with me.”
Steve’s heart is beating in his eyeballs.
The world falls silent. Only for a moment, for as long as it takes for Billy to drop something on the ground and then swear under his breath. His voice shakes, like strands in the wind. “What?”
“At my apartment,” Steve clarifies. He untangles the phone chord which has somehow worked its way to his elbow. “It’s small and shitty, and the couch only has three legs, but.”
Steve closes his eyes and hopes against hope, praying to every god who has ever existed since the beginning of time and everyone who will come after, that Billy can hear every meaning, every hidden word.
“You could.” Steve says softly. “If you wanted to.”
The clacking starts up again, slow and measured. Steve can hear Billy’s breath. The ragged intake of air that sounds painful, like a boy clinging to life in smoke filled memories. Holding on to his hand, saying, I don’t want to die, Steve, please.
It plants Steve’s feet in an ambulance. It tips the string of a tourniquet, bloody and wet with slime in his hands. It makes him remember.
Pull it tighter, kid, come on.
And.
He’s losing a lot of blood.
And.
Steve, we’re losing him.
And.
Kid, step away from the body.
Billy clears his throat. “You mean it?” He asks, and.
Steve lets go of a breath. “Of course I do.”
“You’ll get tired of me.” Billy’s voice, it sounds like shattering windows. Steve doesn’t say anything. Can’t respond, because. Nothing in life is more impossible.
The world falls silent.
Only for a moment, as long as it takes for Steve to close his eyes. “I can’t watch you get in that car and walk away, Billy.”
It’s nothing. Only a part of how he feels. Only a drop of what he wants, but. It sets things in motion again.
Billy clears his throat. “Alright,” He says. “Give me the address.”
--
Steve wants it to be something other than what it is.
He buys new sheets. Fern green satin, five-hundred thread count and worth a third of what he has in savings.
They aren’t what he’d usually go for, color or texture, but. The lady at the department store says muted colors are good for preventing overstimulation after trauma and satin is gentle on the skin. Warm, too, which is always a good thing.
Billy says it feels like winter, now. All, I’m a goddamn human snow globe.
Buying sheets on Valentines, it.
Makes Steve hope that this is something else.
That Billy will insist on putting his new sheets on Steve’s bed instead of the couch in the living room. That they’ll sleep together here, just how they always did in Billy’s hospital bed.
Chest to chest.
Billy’s head tucked under Steve’s chin, but.
Mostly Steve being eaten alive by the guilt.
For feeling like this is the start of their lives. That everything before now--living with his parents, fighting monsters, feeling useless in every sense of the word...
All of it was a dream.
Preparation for the day he would open the front door and find Billy there, waiting.
Steve takes the sheets back to his apartment. He makes up the living room, rearranging the furniture so Billy can have his own space. The couch as a bed and the coffee table as a book shelf.
Billy has a lot of books.
More than anyone Steve’s ever met, more than Robin and Nancy Wheeler combined and Steve doesn’t own any books himself, or. A place to put them. His apartment is the size of a shoebox.
He’ll get rid of the stuff he doesn’t use anymore.
He’ll make room.
In his apartment, in his miniscule life, so that Billy has something of his own.
And maybe after they’re settled in and the bills are paid for the month, Steve will pick up extra shifts at the video store until he can afford buy one.
A nice, big oak bookshelf for Billy to house his favorites.
--
He locks himself in the bathroom an hour after moving in.
Which, you know. Throws the evening for a loop.
He seems happy when Steve opens the front door, dropping his box of books by the shoe rack and toeing his boots off with a grin.
His body is loose, and. Open, Like he’s comfortable. Billy pokes around the apartment, making fun of the weird shit hanging up on the walls while Steve cooks dinner.
“You gotta get some real art in here, man.” Billy says. It sounds like he’s by the record player, digging through the stack of vinyl's Steve keeps in a shoe box by the T.V. “And some real music, holy shit. How have you been living like this?”
“I’ve been living just fine, fuck you very much.”
“You have three copies of Waterloo,” Billy snorts. As if that proves something.
He’s crouched by the mosaic of finger paintings left by Holly Wheeler, studying a particularly abstract piece when Steve hands him a glass of sparkling cider.
“Everyone’s gotta have their backup copies of Waterloo, you know, extra in case you gotta dole them out to strangers.” Steve clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.”
Billy swishes the drink around with a lift of his eyebrow. “You trying to get in my pants, Harrington?”
“It’s not alcohol.”
“Why is it bubbly?” Billy accuses, lifting the glass to sniff at it suspiciously. His nose wrinkles, like a bunny rabbit.
Steve laughs. “It’s sparkling cider. Cherry flavored.”
“Cherry?” Billy snorts, his cheeks glowing pink like little love hearts. “That’s definitely a sex flavor.”
“It’s a celebration flavor, you dick.” Steve chuckles again. He files through the records he does have, selecting one he thinks Billy can tolerate. “What do you think of Rumours?”
Billy’s wandered to the kitchen. “Hate the activity, dig the album.” He calls.
The sound of cabinets opening and slamming shut echo through the space while Steve figures out the settings for this vinyl, fiddling with the tiny knobs until Songbird filters through at a pace that seems right.
“Ice is in the freezer,” Steve announces, and.
Billy rounds the corner with a bag of chips, happy little smirk on his face. Steve frowns.
“I’m fixing dinner--”
“I haven’t had Doritos in almost a year, Harrington.” Billy says roughly. He rips open the bag, collapsing next to Steve on the floor by the music stand. Billy takes one and licks the cheese dust off the chip, holding the bag out, like. “Want one?”
Steve face hurts from smiling so much. “Nah, I’m good.”
Billy leans back against the wall, rolling his eyes. “What, don’t eat carbs after four p.m. or something?”
And Steve filters through a million answers, all of which make it sound like he’s trying to get laid, so. He settles in next to Billy, letting his eyes fall closed with the sway of the music.
“No, just. Don’t wanna ruin my dinner.”
Billy snorts, bag crinkling loudly as he dives in for another handful. “I could eat twelve bags of this shit and still go ape on whatever rich boy thing you whipped up.” Billy asses him, head cocked to the side. “Bet the cheese makes you fart.” He concludes.
Steve blinks at him. “You’re disgusting--”
“Processed cheese makes everyone shit their pants, man, that’s like.” Billy wipes his hands on Steve’s leg. “Common knowledge.”
Steve makes a noise like a runover chicken, wiping frantically at the trousers he bought at the Goodwill, just for tonight.
He wets his fingers with spit, wincing and scrubbing at the bright line of orange nacho cheese that stains his corduroy flares.
The shape of Billy’s fingers is unmistakable. “I’m starting to regret asking you to move in.”
“Thought I was just crashing here until--”
“Now that you’re here I’m no letting you leave,” Steve smiles at him, the weight of it softening when Billy’s cheeks glow pink again. He knocks their shoulders together. “You’re stuck with me.”
Billy falls silent after that.
Shoveling in handful after handful of Doritos and crunching so loudly that Steve can’t get wrapped up in the bass line on the Chain.
“Dude, you gotta chew so loud?” Steve asks, shoving Billy’s hand away when he reaches to smear nacho dust down the length of Steve’s neck. “My god, you’re a menace.”
“You love it,” Billy giggles, and.
They stare at each other for a moment. Sort of watching the brush of eyelashes against cheekbones while the music plays.
A backdrop to the start of something Steve doesn’t have a name for.
--
Night falls and Billy doesn’t come out of the bathroom.
The food has been stored, the dishes put away, but the light which escapes like neon strips of gold to kiss the mouth of the hall carpet never flicks off. Never giving way to rest.
Steve thinks about waiting for him.
He thinks about going to bed, jiggling the handle to make sure Billy’s okay, breaking the door down when two hours turns to three but that seems intrusive.
If Billy wanted company he would ask. And if he wanted to come out he would, right?
Steve feels like an idiot.
Pacing back and forth between the living room and the hallway, trying not to make it obvious that he’s right in the thick of gut-wrenching worry. Violent, intrusive images of brain splattered tile fill his mind.
Billy could be hurt, or. Asleep in the bathtub. Maybe he slipped out the bathroom window while Steve was turning down the couch for him, making the space comfortable.
Maybe he was never here to begin with. Maybe Steve dreamt him up.
Steve paces back and forth, back and forth, wrestling with the urge to call Dr. Owens and ask what he should do, until the clock above the stove reads 11:34 pm and he has no choice but to call it a night.
His knuckles sound like a machine gun when he taps on the door.
From behind the oak barrier, Billy makes a noise like he was startled out of sleep. Steve can hear him moving around, when he asks, “You okay? Been in there for a few hours.”
Billy opens the door.
His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks a little flushed, like.
“Have you been crying?” Steve doesn’t want him to cry. Tears and hallow feelings, they have no place in the stretch of nightfall that Steve has built for them.
He feels himself reaching for Billy on impulse, trying to pull their bodies together, but Billy steps back.
Away.
To make room for Steve in the bathroom or to make a run for it, Steve isn’t sure. He knots his fingers together for safe keeping.
“Of course not, don���t be fucking.” Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle, like. A loaf of bread that has been in the oven for far too long. His eyes are glassy when he looks up, and.
Distant.
Steve feels like an asshole. He leans against the door jam. “I can call Dr. Owens, if you want.”
Billy stares at him. “Why would I want that?”
“You just seem--”
“I seem like what, Steve?” Billy spits. “You gonna psychoanalyze me too, huh?”
Steve grits his teeth against the urge to. Fight back. “It’s just when I started getting the couch ready, you seemed.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. “Nervous? Afraid, maybe, just a little. Which is alright. It can be scary sleeping alone in a new place, and--”
“I’m not five years old, Harrington, I can handle a sleepover at my friends house.” Billy snarls. He pushes against Steve’s chest until there are rivers between them. Mountains and oceans.
It’s the first time since Starcourt that Billy seems.
Like himself.
The old self, the one that used his fists to keep wandering eyes from getting too close. Figuring him out. If Steve were a younger man he’d fall for it, hook and line, but.
He knows better.
Six months and a lifetime with Billy Hargrove have taught him a thing or two. He nods, stepping back down the hallway.
Billy’s eyes track him. Wide and nervous and so, so blue.
“‘M going to sleep, dude.” Steve waves a thumb over his shoulder, taking a deep, needed breath. He calls over his shoulder to give Billy some space. “Come to bed when you’re ready. I’ll leave the light on.”
Billy’s footsteps don’t pass his bedroom door until Steve is settled under the covers.
--
He’s starting to think Billy won’t show.
The t.v. is on in the living room, tinny sounds of Yogi Bear filtering through the wall and Steve wonders if he made a mistake in assuming, that.
Look.
Just because they slept together, like, actually slept together while Billy was in the hospital doesn’t mean anything.
Maybe Billy is just scraping the bottom of his energy reserves. Maybe he’s getting to the end of the rope when it comes to his friendship with Steve, and didn’t want to move in but had to.
For lack of better options, and like.
Income and shit--
“Scoot over.” Billy says.
Steve jumps, poking his head out from under the covers to glare wildly at him. “When did you--”
“Move over.” Billy insists, eyes burning like flame in the darkness.
Steve does, all, “Jesus Christ, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” But there are butterflies in his tummy. Gently flapping wings that turn into stinging wasps when Billy manhandles his way into the bed, yanking one of the extra pillows out from under Steve’s legs to punch into shape on his side of the bed.
Steve squawks. “I was using that.”
“It was under your knee caps, dork.” Billy mutters, bullying his way into Steve’s space like he did so many times on warm summer nights at Hawkins General, stiff as a board on his government issued mattress.
Steve’s bed isn’t anything like that, it’s like. A marshmallow. Swallowing the two of them whole when Billy presses his face into the length of Steve’s neck, legs coming up to pin him in place.
“I got weak ankles.” Steve pouts.
Billy doesn’t say anything as he goes limp and heavy on top of his human pillow. Steve instantly feels like he’s over heating; the guy’s a fucking furnace, but.
Billy’s eyelashes are tickling his collar bones.
His breath fans out over Steve’s skin, like cool breezes on summer nights, and. When he starts crying Steve is there.
Like always, Steve sings him to sleep.
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if i could keep cool | 2
pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader
length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters
summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.
tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings
warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut
You spent the next week with your stomach in knots.
Why had you told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself? He was being a total asshole, sure, but couldn’t you have kept your cool for like thirty seconds? He was going to call your boss at the cleaning service and tell her exactly what you had said to him, and then not only would you be dismissed from service at his apartment, but then you’d be so fucking fired from your entire job. You could kiss more than your Netflix subscription and fresh vegetables goodbye--your whole food and rent budget was going to hemorrhage and bleed dry.
You’d clocked into your next few shifts with baited breath, just waiting for the moment your boss demanded to speak with you in her office, shock and disappointment twisting her matronly features. Only, the entire week passed, and the call never seemed to come.
Even more confusingly, no guidance had seemed to be issued at all about the fact that you weren’t welcome in Todoroki’s apartment anymore. Your manager never said anything, never spoke to you about reassignment or a schedule change, had only asked if you felt well enough to continue to pick up your shifts in the week after the incident. She’d made a little quip about hazard pay, but hadn’t even acknowledged the incident beyond that.
So when the next Thursday rolled around and your morning lecture let out, you had no idea if you were supposed to head over to Todoroki’s apartment or not.
You stood outside the lecture hall, considering. On the one hand, you could call and ask your manager exactly what the expectations were. On the other, however, if she didn’t already know, then you telling her was going to surface the fact that he’d fired you, and that was going to lead to a more uncomfortable conversation about your employment overall. But maybe she did know, and just hadn’t mentioned it to you? What if Todoroki had just assumed that you would tell her, though, and they would send someone else in your place? If no one showed up to clean, he was going to call, and then you were going to get fired.
You started a slow path towards his apartment. Maybe you could just show up to check and see if any of your coworkers had been sent in your place. And if they hadn’t, you could finish out your last shift there. Besides, the schedule had been set specifically for when he was supposed to be out of the apartment, so it wasn’t like he was going to be there to see that it was you who was doing the cleaning. You could grab the last of the hefty tips and store that up for when you had to switch out with someone in the next week. And then all would be solved, and your Netflix subscription was the only thing that would really suffer for it.
You tapped your foot nervously as you rode the train further into downtown where he lived. Come to think of it, no one had asked you to pass off the keys to his place. Had he really not told your manager that he’d given you the boot?
The flames of your suspicion were fanned when security in the lobby of his building seemed unphased by your presence, and were confirmed when you took the elevator up to his floor and unlocked his door to peek through--none of your coworkers were in sight.
He hadn’t told anyone.
You took a few nervous steps into the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind you. You shouldered off your backpack, dumping it on one of the high stools at the kitchen island and looked around curiously. The glass from the shattered windows had been swept up, and the windows already replaced. Nothing else appeared out of order, no other evidence that the last time you’d been in here, you’d been kidnapped and almost killed.
The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You’d clean this place at lightning speed, grab your tip, and peace the absolute fuck out before anything more could happen.
You ducked down under the kitchen sink to fish out your usual supplies, pulling on a pair of gloves and grabbing the duster, a microfiber cloth, and a couple of the disinfectants and solutions. You had just piled it all on the counter and were reaching down to grab more when you heard the soft snick of a door opening.
You immediately ducked down behind the counter, and your arm shot out to grab a bottle of windex like it would do anything to protect you from whoever was approaching the kitchen with quiet footsteps. Maybe you could spray it in their eyes and make a run for it.
You stared in the direction of the footfalls, heart beating wildly in your chest.
There was a pause, and then a deep voice issued from over the counter top. “I know you’re there.”
You bit back a swear. You knew that voice, and this was even worse than encountering another villain in his apartment.
Slowly, you climbed to your feet, stomach sinking. That pair of two-toned eyes fixed on you unblinkingly, and a carefully-crafted mask of blank stillness slid over his handsome features. It was too deliberate, and your last hope that maybe he wouldn’t remember you was snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you said by way of explanation, cringing. You were so absolutely fucked.
He considered you carefully. You noted he was wearing a deep blue button up over white trousers, which was decidedly not his hero uniform, and any hope of him being on his way out to patrol was similarly extinguished.
“I owe you an apology,” he said quietly.
You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”
His eyes tracked you closely, and you felt like you might burst into flame from the intensity of his focus. “I was...mistaken about who you were.”
You stared at him incredulously. How could he be mistaken about who you were if he had no damn idea in the first place?
Your confusion must have shown clearly on your face, because he sighed. “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were--that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”
You gaped. He’d thought you were a crazy fan? Suddenly, his comments about your stupidity and you invading his privacy made complete sense. Maybe just after being rescued was not the time for him to have made those comments, but you could see why he had, if he’d thought you had forced your way into his home and had been in the process of going through his things before you were surprised by a villain.
“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you managed. Well, yes a fan, but not in a breaking and entering kind of a way. And not a fan in the last week. Your twitter, which had previously featured the occasional retweeted shot of his abs, had now been filled with a lot of anti-Todoroki content, including one truly horrible picture of him photoshopped with a half ice, half flame beard, looking horrendously like his father.
Todoroki let out a slow breath, and you thought you could see it mist in the apartment air. Was his quirk acting up? He must still be annoyed, regardless.
“Well glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily. When you stood back up, you almost had a heart attack, as he had rounded the counter so quietly that you hadn’t heard him, and was now standing in between you and your escape.
“Wait,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d just been kidnapped by a villain.”
You eyed the space between his hip and the counter, wondering if you should make a break for it anyway, and if his hero reflexes were fast enough to stop you. The air in the apartment was growing increasingly discomfiting and it was clear Todoroki hated this.
You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”
Something flashed behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I'd like to apologize properly.”
Your own sense of shame slowly crept up on you and your face burned as you suddenly remembered the way you’d told him to go fuck himself. He’d been a douche to you, yes, but he’d literally saved your life and you’d told him to go fuck himself.
You accidentally blurted as much. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself.”
He stared at you, and your cheeks heated. Jesus Christ, you needed to leave.
“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled, suddenly desperate to put conversational distance from the phrase go fuck yourself. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”
You could admit, now, that you knew it had been extra embarrassing for him. Even though it wasn’t your fault, in the past week, you’d seen nothing but headlines exploring the rumors that Todoroki had a secret lover. Luckily your name had been kept out of things, but even you could tell it was costing his agency a lot not to just throw the real story out there and the contact details to your cleaning service to calm the media firestorm.
You could only imagine how uncomfortable things could get for you if all of Japan got wind of what had happened, and just what you’d said to him afterwards.
“I hadn’t really planned on it,” Todoroki said, and you tilted your head in question.
“Hadn’t planned on what?”
“Fucking myself,” he clarified, looking serious, and you choked on a laugh.
A small smile tugged at his mouth, then, and some of your discomfort with him evaporated. So the hero had a sense of humor.
“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you added, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”
He raised a white eyebrow. “Not you, too.”
You threw him a smile. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”
It took him a moment, but then Todoroki smirked. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”
“Cute pet name, too,” you said.
Todoroki let out a low laugh. “You fucking fuck, was it?”
You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Maybe Todoroki wasn’t all bad, then. He had a sense of humor, it seemed, and he’d apologized to you for what he’d said. Maybe you wouldn’t be fired after all, and you could just peacefully transfer your shifts without any blowback from your manager. You could probably weasel your way into a friend’s Netflix account anyway. You’d miss the vegetables, though.
“As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology,” Todoroki said, pulling you out of your thoughts.
You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”
He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. They hadn’t been there any of your previous shifts, but you hadn’t really taken note of them when you’d walked in today. You’d just assumed they were sent by a fan or something.
“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” he said. He looked a little self conscious again.
“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.
He coughed suddenly, like he was stifling a surprised laugh. “I hadn’t expected them.”
Your eyes were drawn back to the tulips. They were pretty, their petals thick and full like they had just been about to bloom before they were picked, and they were stark white, like fresh snow, or the right half of Todoroki’s distinctive mop of hair. You hadn’t ever been given flowers before, except for the time you’d graduated middle school. Flowers from your aunt didn’t really count, though.
“Thank you,” you said, looking back up at Todoroki. He was watching you closely, and you felt embarrassment prickle over your skin at being stared at with such intensity. Was he always this intense? Various twitter memes had suggested yes, but it was one thing to know it abstractly and another to experience it in real life, especially when he was even more overwhelming to look at in person.
Now that your anger with him had burned away, you could admit that Shouto Todoroki was way too handsome for anyone’s good, least of all yours. He was tall, leanly muscled, and broad across the shoulders with a trim waist and impossibly long legs. His face, too, was almost unreal, so carefully and perfectly structured with a high-bridged nose, a soft, sensuous mouth, and bright, intelligent eyes. Even the scar only added interest, and did absolutely nothing to detract from the striking beauty of his features.
It was honestly a surprise that you’d managed to get any words out around him at all. You supposed you had the novelty of the situation you’d found yourself in to thank for that. If you’d met him under any other circumstances you probably would have choked on your own tongue and tried to disappear as fast as you could manage.
Pretty boys were not your area of expertise.
“I also wanted to make it clear that I didn’t mean what I said,” Todoroki added in his low tone. “About your being unwelcome here. I don’t intend to interfere with your employment.”
You considered him in surprise. Did this mean...you weren’t resigned to ramen for the next two semesters?
“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then you smiled, feeling charitable. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”
Todoroki smirked. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”
“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”
He let out another surprised laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”
You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. “The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”
Something strangely like a challenge glinted in his eyes. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”
“You don’t even use them,” you complained, “I can tell. But message received, I’ll spare them.” Your eyes searched back over them, and it dawned on you that you hadn’t been fired, and should probably actually be cleaning them if you intended to keep the job after all. “Now clear out, I do actually have to clean them now.”
Todoroki allowed himself to be bullied out of the kitchen fairly easily, though he didn’t go far.
He took a seat in the living room, which thanks to the open floor plan of his modern apartment, allowed him to supervise you easily enough. He pulled down a book from one of his shelves, but either it was super boring or he wasn’t any good at pretending to read, as it stayed flipped open to the first page for a very long time, and you thought you caught more than the occasional flash of curious grey and blue from the corner of your eye.
He didn’t last long past the first hour of pretending to read, however, and eventually wandered back over to sit at the island while you worked. He launched into a series of questions about you, and seemed genuinely curious about you now that he’d confirmed for himself that you weren’t a crazy stalker fan.
You couldn’t understand why he seemed so interested, but you found yourself telling him anything he wanted to know, detailing your classes, your cranky roommate, your job at the cleaning service to feed you during the semester, the fattie deal on broccoli you’d scored at the grocery store last week, and finally your hobbies including your love of reading, though you hadn’t had much time or budget for books since the school year began. You made sure to steer clear of any mention of your twitter, though, and the multitude of ab shots and recent slew of anti-Todoroki content on it. There was only so much of your life that could be shared with a celebrity hero.
Eventually, you’d covered all your usual ground, and had shouldered on your backpack to leave for the night, but Todoroki stopped you, and insisted on calling you a car home as it had gotten dark. You tried to decline, but on this point he seemed adamant, and not long after you found yourself bundled into the backseat of an agency car, vase of white tulips clutched in your hands.
It was only after you’d let yourself into your apartment and set down the tulips and your bag that you discovered a much thicker bundle of a tip than usual tucked into the side pocket of your backpack. You blanched as you unfolded the bills, staring somewhat stupidly down at the amount. A slim note had been tucked into the fold of the bills, and though you weren’t familiar with the neat handwriting and hadn’t even seen him go for a pen and paper, the note for vegetables was so clearly from Todoroki.
Worse, it told you that Todoroki had actually been listening to your ramblings, and you wondered what other weird things you’d said that had caught his interest enough for him to remember. You hoped nothing else, and that he’d forget it all soon enough anyway. You’d made nice now, but it wasn’t like you guys were going to be fast friends or anything.
You considered the money for a long while, then picked out the amount that was usually left out for you and added it to your wallet. Torodoki had admitted earlier that his manager handled the cleaning service scheduling, and it was likely she was typically responsible for leaving a tip aside for you as well. Todoroki probably didn’t know how much she usually left, and as much as you desperately wanted to pocket the rest of the cash and make a break for the nearest vegetable aisle, you felt weird accepting it.
You could return it during your shift early next week, and that would close out the weird fever dream that the past week had been.
And then, you could finally get back to normal.
#shouto todoroki x reader#bnha#todoroki x reader#fanfic#boku no hero academia#bnha x reader#shouto todoroki
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