whirl 「風子」

❀ ✧₊˚𓂃 even flowers will follow the soft breeze, as did the bird ˚⊹ ⋆ 𓂃

[xinoroxsah]

♡ ୨୧ writings by xinoroxsah ✧₊˚

　　　wind child 「風子」 ⊹˚₊ ✧ 𓂅

❝ what, am i crazy? ❞ — that girl who calls herself 『whirl』

☆ 𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐍𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀

todoroki shoto ༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖ questionnaire about your future dreams ↳ 01 | 02 ↳ ⌜ ao3⌟

aizawa shota 𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹ a short life, a long dream ↳ 01 | 02 ↳ ⌜ ao3⌟

☆ 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍

zenin naoya ₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 silently staring, my heart is burning ↳ 01 | 02 ↳ ⌜ ao3 ⌟

☆ 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 × 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

illumi zoldyck °❀.ೃ࿔* illumination in falling flower petals ↳ 01 | 02 ↳ ⌜ ao3 ⌟

⊹₊˚ ｡❀*:･

[xinoroxsah]

『 a short life, a long dream 』

aizawa shota

❝ If only he could specifically look at me, and take a second glance, then I would be happy. I would be very happy. ❞

☾ aizawa shota × prohero!reader ☾ chapter: 02 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟

01 | 𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

02

(Four Months Ago, March)

After graduating from UA, you worked as an underground hero with your friend’s agency. Two years had passed since then, enough time for you to establish a name of your own within the underground hero community. You weren't particularly famous among civilians, which was exactly why the Public Hero Safety Commission always has you on the top of their list for undercover missions.

The mission would take at least two months to properly begin. There were people to investigate, patterns to verify from the suspects, and information that needed to be gathered quietly before you could go in. Earlier that afternoon, you had sat through a long briefing alongside several other heroes at the Public Hero Safety Commission building, and found out that Aizawa would be working directly with you.

After the meeting ended, the two of you sat together in the lobby while waiting for the cab that had been ordered for you. Aizawa occupied the seat beside yours with several stapled documents from the briefing in his hands, reading through them again despite having already heard everything inside. 

“I’ll be your informant and backup if needed,” Aizawa told you while flipping through a few stapled papers. 

You nodded, the assignment itself didn't worry you since undercover work had become something of a specialty over the last two years. It was funny, compared to some of the situations the Commission had placed you in before, spending several months gathering information before infiltrating the suspects' organization was almost generous. 

You should thank whoever decided to pair Aizawa and you up together, never in your dreams did you think this would happen. So gathering up some courage, you asked, “So how is UA going? I haven’t seen you since the graduation ceremony.”

It has been too long, two years, in fact.

Aizawa’s attention was lifted from the papers “Good, but now I got rowdier students.”

“That’s a relief, something is keeping you busy.”

He shifted, like he wanted to say something, but then did not and only replied with a hum.

You had changed considerably since leaving U.A since your work demanded it, you were no longer one of the students trailing behind Aizawa during gym class. You had the right to be something more with him now, you had the right- you alone had the right to at least make your feelings known-

It was such an ugly, horrible feeling in your chest that was not pure in the slightest, yet you convinced yourself it was an innocent type of admiration. 

When the cab finally arrived outside, Aizawa folded the documents and stood. You rose with him, only for him to extend a hand toward you out of habit.

You looked down at it before placing your hand in his, unable to help the smile on your face, “Thank you, sensei.”

There was a small smile on his face as he helped you up.

Your gaze lingered on his hand and wished it could last like that forever, you had once been terribly in love with this man. Perhaps saying it in the past tense was being a little generous.

Still holding his hand for a second longer than necessary, you looked up at him with a grin. “Aizawa-sensei, are you still single?”

His eyes glowed red as they narrowed at you, nullifying your quirk that was not even being used, “That’s none of your business.”

You let out a startled sound somewhere between a laugh and a squawk and immediately pulled your hand free, “Sorry, sorry! No need to use Erasure on me.” 

Judging by his reaction, he must be single.

You waved your hands in front of you, trying to diffuse your failure at communication. “No! No, I meant as in if you did have a girlfriend I would be happy for you!”

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I don’t have anyone right now.”

You kept your expression perfectly composed, but internally you were considerably less dignified. It wasn't as though you intended to do anything with that information, in your defense. You had spent enough years carrying your feelings to know that wanting someone did not mean you were entitled to pursue them, Aizawa, especially since he was your former teacher. You never felt like you had the right to until now, you worked so hard to climb up the underground hero ranks, become stronger, forcing romance to the bottom of all your priorities since high school just so you can be on equal ground with him.

“I plan on being single for a while,” you told him as the two of you crossed the lobby. “But that’s the typical career path for a hero: single and focused on work for a few years, then get married. Right? Right?”

Aizawa glanced sideways at you. “You’ve planned that far ahead?”

“Of course, I plan everything.” Including every single interaction with him and how it will play out all inside your head, who can sue you for fantasizing about him?

Outside, the city was moving through the latter half of the afternoon. Office workers crossed between buildings, taxis waited along the curb, and the early signs of spring had begun appearing among the trees lining the street, though the air still carried enough of winter that most people had kept their coats on.

“You’re working for Haru’s agency right now?” He asked as the two of you walked out of the building, spotting the yellow cab in the distance.

“Yes, it’s his agency on paper," you nodded your head, "he’s the face of it. I’m the more masked one on the job.”

It was an arrangement that suited both of you. Haru had the temperament for cameras, interviews, and maintaining the agency's public reputation. You preferred work where being recognized was more of a liability, and when he is up in the daytime doing his hero work you can take on the night. It was a dream arrangement to have with your best friend from school.

The cab assigned to you was waiting farther down the curb, but neither of you hurried toward it.

“Also, we can do some patrols together at night if you’re ever assigned to my area,” you suggested. It was practical enough. The upcoming mission meant the two of you would need to become accustomed to each other's methods anyway, and underground patrols would give you plenty of opportunities to exchange information without constantly arranging formal meetings.

Aizawa seemed to consider it for only a moment. “That would be nice.”

There was something unexpectedly sincere about the answer, and you did not think too much about it anymore. “Then it’s decided.”

You walked toward the cab together.

At the time, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the arrangement. Two underground heroes assigned to the same long-term investigation would naturally begin coordinating their schedules, so sharing patrols was practical, exchanging numbers was necessary, and eating something together afterward when neither of you had eaten since afternoon, would eventually become convenient.

And once something became convenient often enough, it had a way of becoming a habit.

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

(Three months ago, April)

“So any new updates on the guys you and Team A spied on?” You flicked on the light switch, illuminating your apartment as Aizawa entered behind you. It was late enough that most of the neighboring units had gone quiet, though the city beyond your windows remained bright. 

Only one month had passed since the investigation began, and somehow your apartment had already become an unofficial base for the two of you.

There was no real reason for that since the Commission had secure rooms available for reports, your agency had an office, and Aizawa had U.A. There were countless places where two heroes assigned to the same investigation could exchange information without sitting together in your living room several nights a week, but your apartment was simply more convenient.

All perfectly reasonable. The fact that you liked having Aizawa inside your home had absolutely nothing to do with it, or the fact that you had started keeping his preferred energy drink in your refrigerator had even less to do with it.

You simply didn't see any reason to stop if it meant indulging in your fantasies in a harmless way.

“It’s just drinking and talking about work,” Aizawa told you, “but tonight with Team A we got more findings about what shops they were using for money laundering. What about you?”

You dropped your bag beside the sofa and immediately reached toward your face, resisting the overwhelming urge to scratch beneath the prosthetics.

“My undercover job is going well. The wives don’t suspect a thing. Most of them genuinely don't know what their husbands are doing, they think it’s some foreign trade business.” You grimaced as you carefully pressed around the edge of your false cheek. “I need to get all this makeup off of me. If I wear these silicone cheeks any longer, I'm going to tear my actual face off.”

Aizawa looked over.

You pointed accusingly at the false nose. “I've been wearing another woman's face since seven this morning.”

“It suits you,” Aizawa walked past you toward the living room as if he hadn't said anything strange, but you saw the grin on his face,

You stared at him, unamused, “Was that a joke? Calling my original face not pretty! Anyways, I have to do this again tomorrow at eight in the morning. They want to go do their nails and then brunch afterward.”

“Did they invite you?” Aizawa asked, settling on the crouch with you across from him. You sat beside him rather than taking the chair across from him, because both of you needed to compare reports. 

“No, but I planted a bug on them. I'm sure they will gossip," you then spied the clock on the wall and gasped silently.

Aizawa followed your eyes, seeing the time as well, “Did you need to go to the office?”

“Yeah.” You closed your laptop. “I forgot I promised Haru I'd leave the physical copies of today's surveillance notes there before morning. I’ll just get my makeup off first. Did you want to stay here or come with me? You can use my desk at the agency, Aizawa-sensei.”

Work came first, always, no matter how much you wanted to play ‘house’ with Aizawa.

“Sure, I’ll pack you some snacks,” he got up from his seat and made his way to your kitchen.

Within ten minutes, the two of you were out the door, and the moment the cool night air touched your bare face, you sighed in relief. April had brought warmer days to Musutafu, but the nights still carried traces of early spring, the wind slipping between buildings as the two of you walked toward the agency. 

“If I wore that prosthetic any longer, I would think it was my own face,” you told Aizawa, laughing to yourself. “It’s unlucky that I don't have a shapeshifting quirk.”

“Your quirk is already convenient.”

“That's such a nice way of describing it,” You replied, bumping into his shoulder.

Aizawa glanced at you, but you only smiled innocently.

You had been doing that more often lately, making little advances that could always be dismissed as nothing if he didn't return them. You stood closer when looking over his reports, remembered what he liked whenever you picked up food, and knew his patrol schedule almost as well as your own. You knew there was something excessive about it, but after years of keeping your feelings entirely to yourself, you had decided you were allowed to be a little selfish.

You were considering what subtle flirtatious thing you might try tonight when Aizawa took your hand.

Your steps nearly faltered.

There was no practical excuse for it because he wasn't helping you up or pulling you away from danger; his fingers simply slipped between yours as the two of you continued down the street. 

You looked at him, but Aizawa kept his attention ahead as though holding your hand was perfectly natural.

Instead of questioning him, you curled your fingers around his. His hand tightened slightly in return, and the small response sent something warm and terribly greedy through your chest.

“Your quirk is amazing,” Aizawa said after a while. “Without you, we wouldn’t have gotten any inner connections with the villains' families.”

Your cheeks warmed, “No, no, your quirk is better, Aizawa-sensei. It makes a wonderful hero.”

“No, you shouldn’t discredit yourself, your quirk is special.”

He rarely praised you or anyone back in school, even less so had he given any praises to coworkers which is what you were. If you had more courage and confidence, you would kiss him right now.

But you were a coward that wanted to coerce his love and attention, and this was probably all your overthinking. 

He hid his face away from you by looking away. “If you want, you can call me Shota.” 

After spending the past month carefully testing how close he would allow you to come, you hadn't expected him to quietly close the distance himself.

“Okay, Shota,” You smiled and continued walking beside him, your joined hands swinging faintly between you.

But was it really selfish if he allowed you to indulge in your delusions?)

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

(Two months ago, May)

It was a cool, spring night in the bustling central Musutafu with you and Aizawa in the middle of it all. 

The two of you had gone out for another late dinner after work, followed by a drink at the bar before beginning the familiar walk back through the city. It had become something of a routine by then. Neither of you ever formally decided where the evening would go after patrol, yet somehow there was always somewhere to eat, another drink to have, another street to walk down together before finally separating for the night. 

You were retelling your second Sports Festival while laughing. “Then after the second round, me and Haru decided to form an agency together when we graduate,” you recounted to him, laughing as you remembered how seriously the two of you had discussed it despite still being students. “And then Miki joined for a little bit after we graduated, but then she got whisked away to be a sidekick at another hero’s agency.” 

Aizawa could only watch breathlessly with a smile at the scene before his eyes. It felt domestic and everyday, with how you continued talking as the two of you crossed the city square, unaware that his attention had settled more upon you than your story. 

The night was busy around you, filled with people leaving restaurants and izakayas, the occasional taxi passing along the street, and illuminated signs spilling their colors across the pavement. Above it all, the cherry blossom trees had reached their bloom, their branches pale beneath the city lights as petals loosened whenever the spring wind passed through them. 

A cherry blossoms petal landed onto your forehead, freezing you in your steps and igniting a curious confusion on your face. Before you could remove it yourself, his palm settled against your face with such natural gentleness that a burning warmth immediately gathered low in your stomach, spreading upward until you were certain it had reached your cheeks. 

This was bad, you had thought, because you keep forgetting your place as his coworker and these romantic feelings you have had for years were not leaving. 

Then Aizawa brushed away the petal gently, and told you, “You look beautiful,”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

For years, you had imagined words like those from him. You had imagined him realizing you were no longer his student, imagined dates, confessions, kisses, mornings, arguments, reconciliations, and a future you had built without his knowledge. If Aizawa truly knew how much you did for him, maybe he would call you crazy.

And now he was standing beneath the cherry blossoms with his hand against your cheek, calling you beautiful.

You should have been happy.

Aizawa smiled, “You looked like you wanted to say something.”

Maybe this was your only chance to tell him, you could finally tell him that your feelings had begun years ago, sometime during your first year at U.A., and that despite everything you had done to bury them beneath school and work and common sense, you had never truly stopped loving him. You could tell him that becoming his coworker had only made it worse, that every time he came to your apartment some shameful little part of you wanted him to stay until morning- that everything was his fault for making you so love sick for him- it was his fault! He should take responsibility for making you love him-

Because you loved him, you understood him, and you knew he would not accept any part of you when he really realized what he was doing. 

“No, it was nothing, I was just surprised at the flower,” You shook your head, and the two of you continued on your nightly walk.

At first you just wanted to see him again, then you wanted his number, then you wanted his time, then you wanted him inside your home, then- if he kissed you, would that finally be enough?

No.

You would want another kiss, then another, then you would want all of his love. 

You had spent years becoming stronger. You graduated, built your career, climbed through the underground rankings, became someone the Commission trusted with missions other heroes couldn't handle. Somewhere along the way, your ambition had tangled itself around one selfish thought: once you stood on equal ground with him, perhaps you would finally have the right to reach for him.

Aizawa wasn't a reward waiting for you at the end of all that effort, he was his own person, and thus now you began to doubt your love. You could no longer tell where his feelings began and your careful orchestration ended, if this was all really his true feeling or what you forced on him.

You settled into telling yourself: If only he could specifically look at me, and take a second glance, then I would be happy. I would be very happy.  

“Are you tired?” Aizawa asked when he noticed your slow pace.

You blinked, “No, I was just spaced out.”

He studied you for a moment, apparently unconvinced. Then, without another word, he stepped in front of you and crouched down. “I’ll carry you.”

Your heart hurt, and maybe he offered so easily because he already knew you would say yes.

And unfortunately, he was right.

You had only just promised yourself that you would stop being greedy. Surely accepting something he offered willingly didn't count. Blushing, you sighed, “Yeah, sure.”

You climbed onto his back and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Aizawa's hands settled securely beneath your thighs before he stood, adjusting your weight with an ease that made it obvious he wasn't going to drop you.

You rested against him.

His back was warm. His steps were steady beneath you, and the city seemed a little farther away from this height, its lights passing slowly through your vision while cherry blossom petals continued to scatter across the pavement.

Quietly, you tightened your arms around him and rested your cheek near his shoulder, allowing yourself this one final piece of selfishness.

You loved him with all your heart, with enough selfishness to want everything from him and enough shame to know that wanting something did not make it yours.

So you wouldn't tell him, and you wouldn't ask him to choose you over anything.

If this was all he was willing to give- late dinners, quiet walks, and the occasional moment when his eyes found you in a crowded city- then you would take those small things and be grateful.

You will gladly quietly love him for a lifetime.

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

(One Month Ago, June)

You had already decided you would never confess to Aizawa.

That promise lasted approximately one month, but in your defense, you had tried.

After that night beneath the cherry blossoms, you stopped deliberately finding reasons to make subtle advances on him. You stopped arranging your patrol schedule around his whenever the mission didn't require it, stopped sending the occasional message asking whether he had eaten, and told yourself that if Aizawa wanted to spend time with you, he could be the one to ask.

The problem was that he did and somehow it became Aizawa asking whether you wanted dinner after patrol. Aizawa appearing at your apartment with reports that could have been sent electronically. Aizawa sitting beside you rather than across from you. 

Then tonight, he invited you to his apartment.

Several hours and far too many shots of liquor and soju later, you were curled against him on his couch.

It was a cool summer night, the balcony door cracked open enough to allow the occasional breeze into the apartment. Neither of you had bothered turning on the brighter lights, at some point Aizawa's arm had found its way around your waist and your head had settled against his chest.

You had promised yourself that whatever he willingly gave you would be enough. If all he wanted was this strange place somewhere between friendship and something neither of you would name, then you would gratefully accept it. 

Your hand rested against his chest, without thinking much of it you slowly ran your palm downward.

Aizawa's body went rigid and his hand tightened around your waist, when you lifted your head to look at him, something in his expression had changed.

You knew immediately- there was no mistaking the way he was looking at you.

His gaze dropped to your mouth and he kissed you.

His mouth met yours with enough force to push you backward into the couch, and the startled sound that escaped you disappeared between his lips. For half a second you were too shocked to respond before all of your restraint snapped and you kissed him back feverously.

Your hands caught in his shirt and pulled him closer. Aizawa's arm tightened around your waist until there was barely any space left between your bodies, his other hand sliding into your hair as the kiss deepened. The taste of alcohol lingered on his mouth. 

You had imagined kissing him before far too many times, but none of those fantasies had prepared you for the desperation of being wanted back.

The realization that he wanted you back was almost dizzying.

Aizawa kissed you like a man who had spent too long refusing himself something. When you shifted closer, nearly into his lap, his hand moved along your waist and pulled you there without hesitation. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, feeling your hot skin, and his breath caught against your mouth.

You gasped, “Shota…”

Something almost like a groan escaped him, his mouth left yours and found the line of your jaw, then lower. Your head tipped back against the couch as his lips pressed against your neck, and whatever remained of your common sense rapidly abandoned you.

Then Aizawa froze, his hand at your waist still.

Slowly, as though waking from something, Aizawa pulled back.

You immediately recognized the horror on his face, but it wasn’t a shocked look directed to you. He was disappointed in himself.

“Shota?”

He stared at you, his hair disheveled from your hands, his mouth still reddened from kissing you. There could be no pretending nothing had happened between you.

“Shota, I’m right here,” you told him, placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but he pushed it away. The rejection sent a sting to your heart.

He stepped back immediately, putting enough distance between you that the warmth of him disappeared altogether.  “No, we can’t do this.”

Of course this was where his conscience finally decided to return, and he will finally realized how selfish you really were.

You looked away from Aizawa, scowling, “I always hated how virtuous you are sometimes.”

You loved his principles, which was funny. You loved the impossible standards he held himself to, the way he would exhaust himself protecting people, and then behave as though he had done nothing extraordinary. You loved that the man you had admired as an impressionable first-year hero student had turned out to be every bit as good as you believed. Including realizing that touching you like that was wrong of him.

But right now, you hated it because that so-called virtue had apparently permitted him to take your hand, it had permitted him to ask you to call him Shota, to seek you out when you tried to distance yourself, to invite you into his home and hold you against his chest, to kiss you until you could barely breathe.

Only now did that virtuous characteristic come back to make him remember you had once been his former student, and apparently it was not okay for him to love you.

“What will your family, former peers, and coworkers think?” He turned away from you, expression unreadable. He wanted to say goodbye yet could not bring himself to do so. “I won’t date a former student.”

Something inside of you broke, if not your heart.

Your voice trembled despite your effort to keep it steady. “I don’t care about any of that. Neither of us know when we will die… I don’t want to reject you, I’ve known you for so long,” almost begging him, you wished he could just look at you, but now he could not bring himself to even look at you.

You had promised yourself that you would take whatever he offered, but he had made that impossible. He had come after you every time you tried to retreat, he held your hand first, and he had kissed you first.

And now he wanted to stand there and pretend the only immoral desire in this room belonged to you.

“Please- Shota, I’ve loved you since my first year!” The confession tore out of you in all its raw, wrong, horrible form that made you feel nothing like the hero you try to be.

His face went completely still, shocked.

You almost smiled at his disbelief. “I knew it was wrong, so I never told you. I never expected anything from you. I graduated without saying any of it because it was my own feelings, you were innocent from what I did to myself. Even when we started working together again, I knew I was being selfish.” Your eyes burned with tears. “I know what I've been doing, Shota. I made excuses to have you around me, and notice me and start to like me, and I hated myself for it enough that I decided I would stop.”

His expression changed. “I know.”

You stared at him.

Aizawa's hand had risen to cover his mouth. For once, the conflict on his face was completely visible.

You didn't know it yet, but he loved you so badly that every word you said was tearing apart the argument he had spent months constructing against himself.

He had noticed when you withdrew in May because your absence bothered him immediately. The messages he once pretended were merely convenient had become something he checked for between classes, even your apartment had begun feeling more comfortable than his own because you were there.

And when you stopped reaching for him, he had been selfish enough to reach back.

Tonight had been worse.

Holding you on his couch had felt so natural that he had forgotten to be afraid of it. When your hand moved down his chest and you looked at him, he had wanted you with an intensity that frightened him. He had wanted your mouth, your body, your affection, and all the mornings that might follow afterward.

He still wanted them, which was why he had stopped.

“No,” Aizawa forced himself to say, “We can’t do this. I can’t bring myself to… It’s impossible.” 

“I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not asking you to announce it to the world, I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm not even asking you to date me if you truly can't,” Your tears continued despite the small smile you forced onto your face. “I just wanted you to acknowledge that you feel something too.”

Aizawa still believed denying himself was the same thing as protecting you, and you understood that because you loved him so much. You just couldn't help it, this was what you loved about Aizawa. He always wanted to do what he believed was right, even when doing so hurt him.

Even when it hurt you.

Maybe that was the answer you deserved in the end.

With an inhale of oxygen, you replied, “After we finish this mission, I don’t ever want to see you again, I’m quitting working on Commission work once this is finished.” What else could you have expected, you got your hopes up too high. 

“You don't have to do that.” 

“I do it because I want to.”

Your words echoed throughout his mind, the mistake of his words and hesitance to love has begun to haunt him already. Your sad, melancholic expression hurts him, but even now he believes this is for the best. As you have said before, the life of a hero is short but their dreams are big; subsequently only being able to only dream forever.

You reached for the bag you had left beside the couch and slung it over your shoulder.

Aizawa watched you as you left.

He wanted to take back everything he had said, cross the room, pull you against him and admit that you had been right. Aizawa wanted to tell you that you hadn't imagined his attention, that you hadn't manipulated him into wanting you, that the reason he kept returning was embarrassingly simple: He loved you back.

But wanting something did not make it right, so thus Aizawa remained where he was.

By the time you reached your apartment, the last of your composure disappeared. You dropped your bag somewhere near the entrance, stumbled into your bedroom, and buried your face into your pillow so deeply that breathing became difficult.

Then you cried with the humiliating desperation of someone mourning something you had never actually possessed. Worst of all, you couldn't stop wondering what part of you had not been enough.

Maybe if you were less selfish, If you hadn't spent months arranging opportunities to be near him, hadn't wanted so greedily, hadn't fallen in love with someone you knew from the beginning you shouldn't have wanted. Maybe then he could have loved you without being ashamed of it.

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

(Two weeks ago, July)

The mission went according to plan, the criminals were arrested and pulled into questioning immediately. Somewhere above you, heroes were calling for emergency medics while ambulances gathered outside the building, their sirens faintly audible even from the secret basement where you had ended up.

You sat propped against a concrete wall beneath a harsh overhead light, listening to your teammates frantically call your name through the earpiece.

You didn't answer from the lack of ability to even speak from the pain of your injuries.

There was a tracker inside it, so they would find you eventually anyways.

You couldn't exactly go anywhere with a bullet in your thigh and another buried somewhere in your stomach. You had tried stopping the bleeding yourself, but your hands had gradually become too numb to cooperate, leaving you with little to do except stare blankly at the light overhead and wonder how long it would take someone to reach you.

It looked like the moon- the same moon you stared at so often during your nightly patrols throughout the city.

Footsteps eventually came rushing down the corridor.

You blinked slowly, and a familiar figure dropped into a crouch in front of you.

“Sensei?” You mumbled, eyes downcast however with the feeling of hopelessness. “Stop my bleeding, I tried but I can’t really feel my hands. It hurts…”

Aizawa was already moving. His face had gone pale beneath the grime from the mission, cold sweat gathering along his forehead as he pulled out his binding cloth and pressed it firmly around your wounds.

“I never taught you to give up!” he stated frantically.

“So you’re really here, I thought you left already… You aren’t usually a part of search and rescue. I’m so tired, I got their bosses, they’re tied up somewhere down there but they got me first.”

Aizawa's hands were covered in your blood.

He shouted something into his communication device, demanding paramedics and giving your location again, but you barely listened. You only watched him with admiration that was barely detectable in your tired expression, there had been a time when this alone would have made you happy.

You used to tell yourself: If only he could specifically look at me, and take a second glance, then I would be happy. I would be very happy. 

What a stupid wish, what a stupid and selfish and childish wish it was to focus your entire heart on.

Aizawa was looking at you now and he couldn't look away. If only having his eyes on you was always this easy, maybe you wouldn’t have fallen to this point.

His entire attention belonged to you as he knelt in your blood, hands shaking despite how carefully he worked. Aizawa called your name when your eyes began to droop, every few seconds he demanded another update from the medics, his voice growing harsher whenever their answer wasn't immediate enough.

You felt so important to him at this moment, and it all should have made you happy but now you just felt tired.

You don’t feel happy. You hated the bitterness in your mouth, you hated how after chasing after him for years there was no progress in reality. If you had simply been a delusional girl chasing after a man who never wanted her, at least you could have blamed yourself and moved on. Instead, Aizawa had wanted you too. He had given you hope and then refused to call it hope, loved you in every way except the one that would require him to admit that he did. 

Is loving me really that hard to admit? You wanted to ask him. Does loving me bring you so much hesitation, that you rather not love at all?

The blood that left your body was making you feel lightheaded, even worse since all you taste is the metallic flavor of blood that came up your throat, luckily, Aizawa was here to see you in pain.  

“I hate this, I don’t like chasing after you,” you told him, struggling to stay awake, “I can’t stand this anymore. I hate how you want to be right.”

His expression crumpled, one hand rose to clasp over his mouth, muffling his shock and noises of panic.

You felt your hot tears trail down your cheeks from seeing how torn he was. “That guy told me he took away my memories, I still remember everything so I think it takes time…” you trailed off, eyes not meeting him but rather the concrete floor. “When I forget, I want to forget you, everything else doesn't matter anymore… His quirk was so amazing.”

You loved him with all your heart. Even now, bleeding against a basement wall and regretting every foolish hope you had allowed yourself, you couldn't honestly wish that you had never known him. There were too many precious things, but right now you simply didn't want to think about him anymore.

Why couldn’t I love someone who would love me without hesitation?

Love wasn't something another person owed you simply because yours was sincere. After everything, after all those days spent together watching the city change around you and migrating birds cross the sky above your patrol routes, you were tired of dreaming. Leave it to your dumb teenage-self to fall in love with a teacher, and proceed to love him after you graduate.

“Stay awake!” Aizawa's voice sounded distant now.

Then suddenly all you could recall was you, in your first year at U.A. You were younger again, standing outside the classroom with nervous excitement twisting through your stomach, worrying about things that now seemed insignificant to anyone but a teenager. You wondered whether your classmates would like you, or whether you could show off your quirk without making it obvious that you were trying to look cool. Just old, everyday teenage problems that were never about love. 

You had wanted to become a hero.

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

(present day)

You remembered everything now.

What was speculated to be a few weeks of amnesia and quirk-ability reduction had lasted only a few short days, your memories returning piece by piece as the drug gradually left your body. Somehow, after the last of them came rushing back, you must have fallen asleep right there on the living room floor with Aizawa right beside you, holding you close to him.

When you opened your eyes again, morning had already arrived.

Soft sunlight slipped between the curtains and stretched across the floor, warming one side of your face. Your headache had faded into a distant soreness, no longer strong enough to drown out your thoughts, and for the first time since waking in that hospital bed, there was no confusion about where you were, how old you were, or what had happened during the five years you had forgotten. 

You felt yourself crying, wondering how you almost died with the thought that the person you loved does not love you back. You had spent so long helpless against time knowing that heroes died young every day; both of you knew that better than most. You had been so afraid that one day time would simply run out, and all you would have to show for loving Aizawa with your entire heart were just faded memories kept only to yourself.

The sound stirred Aizawa beside you.

His arm tightened instinctively around your waist before his eyes opened. Sleep lingered on his face for only a few seconds before he noticed you were crying, and then it disappeared entirely.

Something gradually changed in his expression. Perhaps it was the way you were looking at him now, or perhaps after knowing you for so many years, he simply knew. 

“Shota…” You whispered.

His breath caught.

There was no need to explain after that.

His hand rose toward your face but hesitated halfway, as though he no longer knew whether he was allowed to touch you. The sight hurt enough that you closed the distance yourself, taking his wrist and pressing his palm against your wet cheek. “You remember,” he whispered.

You nodded once.

“I'm sorry for everything,” said Aizawa.

You lowered your gaze, but his hand remained against your cheek.

“I was wrong,” he continued quietly. “I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing because you were my former student, because I didn't want my feelings to hurt you or make people talk bad about you. In the end, I was the one who hurt you.”

Your throat tightened, it felt like that was all you had ever wanted him to understand.

“You made me feel so stupid, Shota, I wasn't asking you to give everything up for me. I just wanted you to admit I wasn't imagining it.”

“You weren't,” His answer came without hesitation this time, and Aizawa moved closer until his forehead rested against yours. “You didn't make me love you either.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“I knew what you were doing,” Aizawa admitted, and despite everything, embarrassment warmed your face. “I knew when you were finding excuses to spend time with me. But when you stopped, I was the one who wanted your attention.”

For months, you had carried the shame of believing otherwise. You had loved him so greedily that you convinced yourself you must have somehow manufactured his affection, arranging enough little coincidences until he eventually mistook familiarity for love.

The realization made fresh tears gather in your eyes, “You could've told me this a month ago.”

You wanted to be angry with him. Some part of you still was, and perhaps there would be time for that later. But morning sunlight was beginning to fill your apartment, you had only just recovered five missing years of your life, and Aizawa was looking at you with the same devotion you had spent so long believing existed only in your imagination.

“I love you,” Aizawa firmly said.

Your mouth trembled before you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Aizawa caught you immediately, pulling you against his chest with enough force that you almost lost your balance. You buried your face against his shoulder and held him just as tightly.

“I love you too,” you whispered. 

You remained there for a long while, neither of you saying much after that. There were still things that would eventually have to be discussed, but for now, Aizawa held you, and that was all you needed at this moment.

Once, you had thought you would be happy if he only looked at you twice. You had never imagined that one day, he would look at you like you were his everything.

[xinoroxsah]

『 a short life, a long dream 』

aizawa shota

❝ the lives of heroes are too short, but heroes dream for a long time. ❞

☾ aizawa shota × prohero!reader ☾ chapter: 01 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟ ☾ genre: romance, temporary amnesia, not actually unrequited love ☾ warnings: age difference, former student!reader, possessive behavior, drunken confessions, misunderstandings, obsessive behavior

☾ synopsis: “I always hated how virtuous you are sometimes.”

Is what you said to someone before, and is what you could only remember the few seconds you awoke from your slumber, nothing else but that. You couldn’t remember how you ended up in this hospital bed, but seeing the person sitting next to your bed sent a sharp pain to your head.

(In which you woke up and forgot the past five years of your life.)

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹ | 02

01　the former student & the hero

“I always hated how virtuous you are sometimes.”

Those were the words you once said to someone you loved with all your heart. You regret denying him that characteristic, saying it was wrong only because your selfishness would not allow it. 

For the few seconds after you awoke from your deep slumber, they were strangely the only thing you could remember. There was a dull ache throughout your body, and a stiffness in your limbs that made even moving your wrist feel tiring. Beneath you was a bed with too sterile of a smell that could only be a hospital bed.

A machine beside you beeped steadily, and when you tried to turn your head toward the sound, you finally noticed the person sitting beside your bed. Before you could properly gather your thoughts, you instinctively tried to move to speak to that person, your homeroom teacher.

“Don’t move,” Aizawa instructed you urgently as he pressed the call-nurse button, spamming it, while one of his hands always stayed holding yours.

You stared at your joined hands for a moment, still too dazed to think much of it. Perhaps you had been injured badly enough that even Aizawa-sensei was worried. 

“Sensei, what happened?” When the fog in your head cleared, the last thing you could remember was training for your first Sports Festival on UA’s track field. Wait, was it the track field or was it when you were in the forest? You couldn’t remember. 

Aizawa’s hand suddenly went still around yours, and you realized maybe you have said something that shocked him, yet you have not said a lot.

When you looked at him again, there was an uneasiness on his face that you rarely remembered seeing on your teacher. He had always looked tired, certainly, and frequently annoyed but this was different.

“Did you call me- sensei?”

Despite the enormous pain from your stomach and stiffness in all your limbs, you huffed out a laugh at his rhetorical question. “Yes, I can still talk, Aizawa-sensei.”

Aizawa shook his head, eyes fixated on your expression, “No… What is the date and year?”

“I can’t remember but isn’t the Sports Festival a week away? How did I even get injured like this?” The silence made you increasingly uncomfortable. You shifted your fingers beneath his without realizing it, trying to remember what day it had been when you last went to sleep. Has there been some kind of training accident? A villain attack? You couldn’t remember either one, and Aizawa’s expression was only becoming more troubling.

When he gave a small nod for you to continue, you confirmed your name first, then carefully listed everything else you knew. “I’m still a first year at U.A.’s hero course in your class, my family lives in Fukuoka…” You paused, looking at him expectantly. “Did I miss anything? Am I forgetting something? Memory loss?”

“This isn’t good,” Aizawa mumbled, a thousand troubling thoughts flying inside his head.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask any questions, too scared of the situation if even Aizawa is this concerned. A moment later, it was pushed open and two nurses rushed into the room, their arrival immediately filling the quiet ward with movement and questions.

You looked from them back toward Aizawa, and realized that he had stopped holding your hand.

For some reason, that made an empty feeling devour your entire chest.

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

After a few more days of care and a little rehabilitation in walking, the police came to speak to you about your predicament. 

Apparently, you had been injured during a mission, you were an underground pro hero. The mission itself had been successful, and the villains involved were already in custody, but somewhere in the middle of the ambush, you had been struck by a dart coated in an experimental drug they were developing. Since it was still a prototype, both its side effects and the duration of those effects were largely unknown. 

“A memory loss drug isn’t the case for what they are doing,” the policeman explained to you, his name you already forgot, “they were trying to lessen the power of quirks, and from what it seems like, it reverted your quirk to a less powerful state, but also the state of you when it was possessed when less powerful. So your mind regressed with this quirk debuffing drug.”

You stared at him for a moment, processing the explanation. “So I just have to wait a few days until it wears off, it’ll just leave my body like if I took sleeping pills, right?”

“Kind of like that,” the policeman confirmed.

So you got hit with a prototype. Big deal. It was certainly inconvenient, but everyone around you seemed much more troubled by the situation than you were. Besides, there was something almost unbelievable about learning that five years had passed without you remembering any of it. Apparently, you were already a twenty-year-old hero with your own apartment and career, even though you still felt like a first-year student who had gone to sleep one night and awakened several years into the future.

“As long as the necessary people are informed, then it can be kept under wraps from other people to not cause panic,” You sighed, thinking if anything it will just be considered medical leave for the people at the agency you work with. For now, only the heroes on the mission you were with and the Hero Commission know of the incident, and you planned to keep it as such until your memories return. Even your family you chose to not inform.

“How long will it take for her to go back?” Aizawa asked for you, somehow he was more concerned than you were. 

You watched him in admiration, even though you were his former-student, he came to see you in the hospital and is very keen on your well-being. 

Over the past few days, you had grown accustomed to seeing him in your hospital room. Sometimes he was there when you woke up, sitting beside the window or in the chair next to your bed. Other times, he appeared later in the day after finishing whatever work required his attention. Even though you were apparently his former student now, he continued visiting you and speaking with your doctors, unusually keen on every small change in your condition.

“As of now, we are unsure,” the policeman answered. “But the effects are not permanent. The doctor said it can range from a week to a month.”

A few more questions and answers later, the police-man had left and now it was only you and Aizawa in your patient room. 

“Aizawa-sensei, thank you for looking over me these past few days,” you thanked him with a smile, hoping to lighten the strange mood that had settled over him. Then another thought suddenly occurred to you. “Oh, do I have a phone?”

He looked at you and blinked once before shaking his head. “Your phone was destroyed during the mission.”

“Oh.” That was unfortunate.

You tilted your head from side to side as you thought. There were so many things about your current life that you didn't know yet, and every answer only seemed to create another question. You knew you had become a pro hero after graduating, but the details were still scattered and incomplete. “Hey, Aizawa-sensei, do we work together?”

He nodded. “Yes, and I was also on that mission where you got ambushed.”

That also explained everything.

Of course he had been taking care of you. If the two of you worked together now, then Aizawa-sensei wasn't only your former teacher, but also your senior as an underground hero. Maybe you had continued relying on him even after graduating, so the thought made you strangely happy. Five years had passed, yet somehow, you still had your U.A teacher looking out for you.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Aizawa-sensei. I can’t believe that even after school I’m now working with my favorite pro-hero!” You smiled brightly at him. “So, Aizawa-sensei, do you still teach?”

He tore his eyes away from you and you wondered if you said something wrong. “I’m still a teacher at U.A…” There was a slight pause before he continued. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to give you your change of clothes and you will be discharged.” 

“So soon already? Wait, are you leaving now?” If you had looked disappointed, Aizawa looked even more disappointed and tired.

“Yes.”

Maybe he had more stuff to do? He was apparently still teaching at U.A. while continuing his duties as an underground hero, and he had already spent far too much of the past few days sitting around a hospital because of you.

Were you taking up too much of his time?

The realization immediately made you feel guilty, and you didn't want to burden your former teacher simply because you were injured. Quickly, you brightened your expression again, “Have a safe trip, Aizawa-sensei! Thank you for all the care!”

Aizawa looked at you and for a brief moment, he didn't move from beside your bed. There was something complicated in his expression, something you couldn't understand no matter how long you looked at him. You wondered whether he was still worried about the drug, or perhaps blaming himself because he had been there during the mission when you were injured.

“Then, I will leave,” Aizawa nodded politely before turning toward the door.

You watched him leave, and the door quietly closed behind him.

The hospital room suddenly felt much larger without another person inside it.

For some reason, you kept staring at the closed door for a little longer, waiting for something you couldn't quite name. The same empty feeling from when he had released your hand days ago returned faintly to your chest, but there was no reason for it. You would see him again tomorrow morning, yet you still felt disappointed that he did not stay longer even if it was unreasonable of you to ask for that.

You were probably only lonely from being stuck in the hospital for so long.

Turning your attention toward the television provided in the ward, you reached for the remote. You guessed it wouldn't hurt to see what television dramas and movies there were now. Five years had passed, after all.

𓂃 ⟡˚☽ ⊹

Today was finally the day you would be discharged from the hospital, though instead of immediately returning to your hero duties, you were being placed on temporary leave until your memories returned and the effects of the drug completely disappeared.

There was not much for you to pack. Your hero costume had been cleaned and mended after the mission, folded neatly into a bag alongside the few belongings that had survived with you. The normal clothes you wore out of the hospital had been brought by Aizawa that morning, who apparently had access to your apartment.

You had questioned that at first, but it made more sense when you realized you needed a home to return to and someone was your emergency contact.

Apparently, you and Aizawa worked together rather often as underground heroes. According to him, there had been plenty of missions over the years where your work overlapped, enough that exchanging spare keys for emergencies had been practical.

“That feels like a dream when you say that,” you laughed with your eyes closed, leaning comfortably back into the passenger seat as Aizawa drove the two of you through the city. “Working together with Aizawa-sensei after graduating, haah, I wonder what my first-year self would say if she knew.”

When you opened your eyes again, you found him looking particularly sullen. One hand remained steady on the wheel while the fingers of the other clenched and unclenched around it, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't decide how to begin.

You watched him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That didn't look like nothing, I’m not saying I can read people well but I can pick up at obvious cues”

His eyes remained on the road. “You haven't changed much, is what I was thinking.”

You blinked at that before laughing. “Really? That's a little disappointing. Five years and I didn't become cooler? At least a bit more cool and mysterious if I am an underground hero?”

“Becoming more talkative is one thing.”

“That's mean, sensei!”

There was the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth, though it disappeared before you could decide whether he had almost smiled.

Outside the window, Musutafu passed by in stretches of buildings and crowded sidewalks. Some places you recognized immediately. Others were completely unfamiliar, new stores standing where you remembered older ones, advertisements for heroes whose names meant nothing to you displayed across buildings. Five years did not sound terribly long when someone simply said the number, but looking at a city that had continued living without you made those missing years feel much larger.

Then, while stopped at an intersection, your attention wandered toward a small convenience store on the corner.

“We've been there before, right? Like a lot.”

Aizawa glanced briefly toward you, a bit surprised that you said that. “You remember? Is the drug wearing off now?”

It wasn't a memory exactly. There was no image suddenly appearing inside your head, no forgotten conversation returning to you. You simply looked at the store and knew you had been there with him.

“Maybe places and things can trigger memories,” you said thoughtfully.

“Maybe.”

You smiled, strangely pleased by the discovery, however small it was. “See? I'll remember everything soon.”

Aizawa said nothing to that.

For the rest of the drive, he remained unusually quiet.

Just as you finished touring your own apartment, it wasn't a penthouse, but it certainly wasn't the tiny studio you might have imagined yourself living in after graduating either. There was enough room for a proper living area, a kitchen separated by a counter, and several doors leading farther inside. Everything was clean and lived-in, decorated according to tastes you could recognize as yours.

You spent the first several minutes simply flipping through drawers and cabinets.

There were shoes you didn't remember buying, coats you didn't recognize hanging near the entrance, hero equipment tucked neatly into places that apparently made perfect sense to your twenty-year-old self. There were framed photographs too, though looking at them for too long made your head begin to hurt, so you decided you could investigate those later.

Strangest of all were the moments when your body seemed to know the apartment better than you did. You reached automatically toward one drawer when looking for scissors and found them there. When you wanted a glass, your hand went toward the correct cabinet before you could think about it.

By the time you finished your little tour, Aizawa had gotten off the phone with your doctor. He had spent most of the conversation quietly discussing updates on your memory and current condition while you wandered from room to room. 

“I think there are some triggers for memories and it gets stronger as the drug leaves my body,” you theorized to your former-teacher, then went to the cabinets in your kitchen, found the medicine cabinet on the first try and you reached for the bottle of headache medicine. You still felt a bit nauseous, maybe you did develop car sickness. 

Before your fingers could close around the pill bottle, another hand caught your wrist. You hadn't even sensed Aizawa coming up behind you.

His body was suddenly close enough that you could feel his presence along your back, his hand wrapped firmly but carefully around your wrist as he stopped you from taking the bottle. Apparently, you had grown taller over the past five years, but still not enough to match your former teacher.

“Don’t,” he said beside your ear, his voice lowered into an almost whisper-like tone, like it was a secret. “We can go get prescription ones for your headaches.”

You froze, suddenly very aware of everything and wondered if this was allowed? You didn't know why that was the first thought that entered your head. He was only stopping you from taking medicine when neither of you knew how it might interact with the drug still in your body. There was nothing strange about that, yet this closeness felt forbidden in a way you couldn't explain.

Worse, it felt like a strange sense of déjà vu had settled over you, strong enough that you waited for another memory to come rushing back but nothing did to justify what he was doing.

Still, you had never been one to shy away from saying whatever was on your mind.

“Aizawa-sensei,” you began and he leaned off, closing the cabinet for you, “had this… were you ever behind me in this exact spot before I lost my memories?”

Aizawa gave you a surprised look from his eyebrows raising, he paused for a bit, “No, I haven’t.”

Clearly that was a lie, you could always tell when he lies- wait, how did you know? Why would you think he is lying, how would you know? But somehow, you felt like you did. 

There was an awkward and long silence, then you spoke, “I’ll go prepare tea.”

“That won’t be needed,” Aizawa shook his head, not wanting you to play host when you’re technically still a hospital patient.

You eyed your kitchen counter, seeing an expensive espresso machine. “Hmm, how about coffee? It's crazy that I’ve bought an espresso machine that fancy,” you rarely drank coffee, so having an espresso machine either means you got too much time and money on your hands, or you started to like drinking coffee. “I drink more juice and sodas than coffee.”

 “You do,” he remarked casually.

“Oh, so you know?” You teased, “what is my favorite juice?”

“You mix lemonade and white grape juice together.”

Looks like your tastes haven’t changed. 

So, by the time you figured out how to use the machine by looking up a video, and making the shots of espresso, Aizawa was back in your apartment with the prescription headache medicine from the doctor. 

While he drank the coffee you prepared, you took two pills according to the instructions on the prescription bottle.

“Not bad,” Aizawa commented after taking another sip.

You laughed. “There’s still a lot. I made six shots in case you didn’t like the one I made.” You settled across from him, pleased that your first attempt had apparently been successful. “Please, make yourself at home, sensei. I don’t know how to thank you for looking after me in the hospital.”

“There’s no need to do anything.” He shook his head, staring down into the mug of coffee you had prepared.

You watched him for a moment.

“What if I make some lunch? I’m kind of hungry,” you suggested. “I still know how to cook great pasta… I saw noodles in my pantry.”

Aizawa shook his head again. “I have other work to do, but I’ll write down a list of restaurants you frequent. Maybe that can help with your memory.”

“Then can we go together?” You offered.

“No, I still have other things to do.”

Your enthusiasm dimmed a little, “Oh.”

Aizawa either didn't notice or pretended not to.

He found a sticky note and wrote several places down for you while finishing the rest of his coffee. You tried peeking over at what he was writing, but his handwriting hadn't gotten any easier to read in five years.

Once he finished, he handed the note to you.

“Don't overdo it,” he instructed a bit firmly.

“I won't.”

“And call the hospital if the headaches get worse.”

“Understood, sensei.”

Aizawa looked like he wanted to say something else, but once again, he didn't and you chose not to push him for any answers. Instead, he gave you a small goodbye and left your apartment almost as swiftly as he had left the hospital room the day before.

The silence returned after the door closed.

You looked down at the sticky note in your hand and examined the places he had written. Restaurants, a café, a small noodle shop you didn't recognize.

Then your eyes stopped on one particular name.

You read it twice.

It wasn't a restaurant at all, rather it was a bar.

You went to the bar Aizawa had written down for you.

You had intended to stay only long enough to eat something and see if the place triggered any memories, but somewhere along the way, that sensible plan turned into trying nearly half the cocktails on the menu.

The bartender seemed to know you well. The moment you sat down, she recognized you as a regular, and after you vaguely explained that you had been hospitalized for a week, without mentioning the memory loss or anything concerning your work as a hero, she even gave you your usual order of potato fries as free service.

Apparently, your adult self came here often enough to have a usual order.

Unfortunately, neither the familiar bartender nor the food brought anything back. So you tried a drink instead, and then another drink. There had been a strawberry lemon sour on the menu, which was impossible for you to ignore when strawberry lemonade had always been one of your favorite drinks. After that, curiosity got the better of you. You wanted to know what else your twenty-year-old self liked, and before you realized it, several colorful glasses of nice cocktails had accumulated in front of you.

Eventually, the bartender quietly placed a glass of cold water beside your hand instead of allowing you to order another.

By the time you stepped outside, the cool night air immediately struck your heated cheeks and made you reconsider several of your decisions. Walking home alone while drunk or taking the train was obviously not a good idea. Unfortunately, you didn't have a phone to call anyone, either.

You would try hailing a taxi outside, then.

“Ah, I should’ve bought another phone first and asked for Aizawa’s contact,” you sighed to yourself.

The wind blowing between the buildings was colder than you expected, and you sniffled as you tucked yourself farther into your clothes. There wasn't a single star visible overhead. Between the clouds and the endless glow of the city, the night sky had become nothing more than a dark stretch above the buildings.

Musutafu was still lively despite the late hour.

The streets around the train station were washed in the glow of restaurant signs and advertisements, with the entrances of izakayas crowded by groups deciding whether to go inside. Salarymen loosened their ties as they disappeared into narrow bars after work, while taxis moved steadily along the main road. Convenience stores shone brightly from nearly every other corner, and you contemplated going in to get a hot tea.

There were also women who looked around your age- or rather, your physical age- walking together in groups, dressed prettily for a night out. Some had short skirts despite the cold, others wore fitted dresses beneath long coats, laughing amongst themselves as they headed toward karaoke rooms and bars.

You watched them as they passed.

It was strange.

Technically, you were the same age as them, you have the ability to go to bars, live alone, work as a pro hero, and pay taxes.

Yet looking at those women still gave you the strange impression that they were older than you. Maybe when your memories returned, being twenty would finally feel natural.

Since you weren't terribly drunk and your apartment wasn't very far away, you decided to walk for a while before finding a taxi. The cold air might sober you up a little.

Unexpectedly, as you walked you began to walk towards the direction of your apartment, which in all honesty was not very far from the bar you were at. A close location and affordable drinks, maybe that’s why you went there often. Just a few more blocks and you will be back to your apartment. You will sleep. What was even the big deal about getting a taxi anyways?

Among the people passing beneath the lights, there was a familiar figure walking alone.

You recognized Aizawa immediately, the second you did you began to run towards him.

He wasn't wearing his hero costume. There was no capture weapon around his shoulders, nor the familiar black uniform you associated with him from school. He was simply dressed in civilian clothes, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark jacket as he walked through the city like any other exhausted man returning home after a long day.

As you got closer, the sight of him made something inside you lurch and a sudden wave of nausea rushed through you so strongly that you stopped in your steps.

Then, almost as quickly as it came, it faded. You stared at his jacket, blinking, realizing that you gave him that jacket. Your face immediately brightened. “Aizawa-sensei!”

He barely had time to turn toward your voice before you ran across the remaining distance and slammed yourself straight into his arms.

“Aizawa-sensei! I need a new phone and your contact, please!”

Aizawa's entire body tensed beneath you.

You didn't notice his expression with your face pressed against him, but you could feel the sudden stiffness in his muscles. Your arms had wrapped around him without thought, as naturally as your feet had remembered the way home.

Another hazy memory surfaced of you having walked through the city with him before.

“Did you drink?” He asked, sighing, “I didn’t expect you to actually go drink, I made a note telling you to only get the fries.”

“I did have the fries, but the drinks looked so good- there was a strawberry lemonade sour thing.”

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, perhaps he realized there wasn't much point reprimanding a twenty-year-old woman for legally drinking alcohol, even if said twenty-year-old currently possessed the judgment of a high school student. “Let’s take you home, alright?”

“Can you carry me, I’m too tired,” you asked him after considering the distance, “I remember you carrying me on your back before.”

Surprisingly, he did not say no or protest, which made you feel happy that he was willing to carry you. “You remembered?” He asked whilst crouching down for you.

You climbed onto his back, settling your arms around his shoulders. His hands came beneath your thighs, and a moment later he stood, lifting you from the ground with such ease that a small sound of surprise escaped you. 

 You hummed in confirmation, remarking in a teasing-tone, “Woah, you’re strong… So, what are you doing here?”

“I was down at the hospital speaking to your doctor,” He told you, beginning to walk towards your apartment.

You felt bad at how much time he was dedicating to your own wellbeing. When you get better you promise to treat him to a drink. “Hey, hey, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Hm?”

You lowered your face closer to his shoulder.

There was a familiar smell there of coffee, certainly. You recognized that immediately, especially after making it for him earlier. But underneath it was something else that your tipsy mind struggled to identify. Something familiar enough that you kept breathing it in without realizing what you were doing.

“You smell like coffee,” you whispered near his ear, words becoming slightly clumsy from the alcohol. “And, and, and you smell a bit like me. Like my body lotion.”

Aizawa's steps slowed but you didn't notice.

“I think you’ve been around me for too long.” You smiled against his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I will remember everything soon.”

He didn't answer.

The city continued around the two of you, indifferent to the silence that followed. Pedestrian lights changed from red to green. Somewhere farther down the street, people laughed outside an izakaya, while a bicycle passed beside you with the soft ringing of its bell.

The rest of the way was silent, until the two of you reached your apartment complex with Aizawa carrying you the entire way.

Once you reached the entrance, you stirred and made a small movement to get down, however his hands tightened around your legs.

“Don’t. I will carry you,” His voice had become softer than before. “It must be tiring for you to forget five years… I will protect you.”

There was something sad in the way he said it.

Your drunken happiness immediately morphed into concern for him.

“I’m not tired,” you quickly spluttered out. “My injuries still hurt a little bit, so I’m happy that I got temporary leave. Sensei is the one that is tired of taking care of me, right?”

“I don’t mind it,” he replied. “I should be the one doing this for you.”

You thought that was a strange way of putting it.

Why should he be the one?

But your thoughts were already becoming too sluggish to hold onto the question for long.

“Aizawa-sensei is an amazing superior,” you giggled instead, resting your head over his shoulder and snuggling closer without thinking anything of it. “Even though I’m not your student anymore, you still worry about me. I think the new first years are happy they got you as their teacher.”

Aizawa went quiet, you couldn't see his expression from behind him but you were sure he looked sad.

The elevator ride passed in silence as well. You watched the numbers climb above the doors while remaining comfortably on his back, occasionally letting your eyes fall closed.

When you finally reached your floor and stopped in front of your apartment, you insisted on getting down.

This time, Aizawa allowed it.

The moment your feet touched the floor, you stretched both arms above your head with a satisfied sound.

“I’ll get you more water,” he sighed, lowering himself slightly so you could lean your weight against him.

You wanted to tell him you could walk perfectly fine.

After that, however, the night became a blur.

You remembered the quiet sound of your apartment door opening. You remembered Aizawa helping you inside and the warmth of your bed when you finally collapsed into it. At some point, the headache that had bothered you earlier returned badly enough that you started crying, though whether you cried because it genuinely hurt that much or because you were drunk and exhausted, you couldn't remember.

When you awoke, it was still dark outside and the clock was around one in the morning. You stared at the numbers before slowly pushing yourself upright. The alcohol had completely left your system by now, leaving you sober but terribly groggy, with your mouth dry and a lingering heaviness behind your eyes.

There was a glass of water waiting on your bedside table. You picked it up and drank what remained, but it wasn't nearly enough. You called out Aizawa’s name but there wasn’t a response. He must have gone home, you weren't surprised. It was already past midnight, and Aizawa had spent nearly the entire day taking care of you again. He had probably waited until you fell asleep before leaving.

You pushed the blankets aside and placed your feet on the floor.

That was when you noticed what you were wearing.

A loose pajama shirt fell over your thighs, soft and familiar from however many nights your adult self had already slept in it. You stared down at yourself for several seconds.

You definitely hadn't changed into this yourself, or at the very least, you didn't remember doing it.

Fragments from earlier returned vaguely: your apartment door opening, your head hurting, Aizawa helping you into bed, water against your lips- 

Your face slowly warmed at the thought that Aizawa-sensei changed your clothes?

You looked underneath the blanket as though another answer might be hiding there. Your pajama shorts were on as well, and your clothes from earlier had been folded over the chair near the bedroom door.

Surely there was some reasonable explanation. Maybe you had changed yourself and simply couldn't remember. You had been drunk, after all, and you abandoned all the other thoughts that crossed your head.

First, you needed more water. 

With great difficulty, you dragged yourself out of bed and made your way toward the kitchen.

The apartment felt different at this hour. During the afternoon, sunlight had filled the windows and made everything unfamiliar painfully visible to you. Now, most of the rooms were hidden beneath shadows, with only the faint city glow slipping through the curtains and a small light above the kitchen stove left on.

You rubbed sleep from one eye as you entered the kitchen, only to stop when you saw how there were several empty beer cans sitting on the island.

You quirked your eyebrow, confused. “Aizawa-sensei?” you muttered when you saw him hunched over the counter, fast asleep while sitting on the bar stool. 

Something warm and strange settled quietly in your chest at the realization.

You didn't understand why he would stay. Your apartment wasn't far from wherever he lived, surely, and you were already asleep. There was no reason for him to remain here after making certain you were safely in bed, yet he had for you.

Instead of turning on the overhead lights, you left the kitchen dim and filled another glass from the sink. The cold water soothed your dry throat as you drank, your eyes wandering toward Aizawa again without meaning to. You frowned after counting four cans. Taking care of you must have been exhausting, if you were Aizawa you would have drank five. You leaned over the counter, finding yourself staring curiously at his features.  

You had seen Aizawa-sensei sleeping plenty of times before. He carried that yellow sleeping bag around U.A. without any shame whatsoever and had fallen asleep in front of the entire class more times than you could count. 

His face looked more peaceful when he slept. The usual exhaustion remained, but the sternness was gone from his expression. His dark hair had fallen messily around his face, and there was noticeable stubble along his jaw from however long he had gone without shaving. 

You wondered how it would feel to kiss him-

Why the fuck am I thinking about that? You glanced away, face red. 

That was Aizawa-sensei. Your teacher. Former teacher, technically, but that did not make the thought any less strange when, as far as your memories were concerned, you had been sitting in his classroom preparing for your first Sports Festival only a week ago.

Still embarrassed with yourself, you began collecting the empty beer cans from the counter. One by one, you quietly dropped them into the trash, careful not to make enough noise to wake him.

You paused when you realized there was a hero printed across the aluminum cans, someone you didn't recognize at all. Apparently, five years was long enough for completely unfamiliar heroes to start appearing on beer cans. There was still a swig left inside, and wasting it seemed unnecessary so you brought the can to your lips and swallowed the last bit.

The flavor was okay, it tasted familiar- then memories hit you like a truck, forcing you to heave over from the strong headache. You barely managed to catch yourself against the counter before your knees gave out beneath you, one hand flying toward your temple as a broken sound escaped your throat. Images came too quickly to understand, overlapping one another in flashes of color, voices, hands, warmth, the same bitter taste lingering on your tongue. 

You tried to stand, but another violent throb drove through your skull and forced you forward again, your forehead nearly touching the cabinet. 

( Weekly grocery shopping with Aizawa became a common thing when he practically lived at your apartment. 

“Look, Haru is on this beer! I’m going to buy a pack,” you told Aizawa while pointing to the advertisement on it, then proceeded to make teasing remarks on how much your former classmate grew up. “Did you know? In our former Class-A he is now the one with the most product advertisements? His face is very easy to market.”

He took the pack of beer and placed it into the shopping cart.

It almost felt domestic: going grocery shopping with Aizawa from time to time, cooking dinner at your apartment, drinking alcohol, and making him take home the leftovers.

“Oh, right, what did you want to eat tonight?” You asked him, dragging the cart to steer it in the direction you wanted while Aizawa pushed.

He thought for a while before settling on saying whatever you wanted.

“Alright then, oh and-” You placed in a pack of konjac jelly drinks, “did you also want the grape flavor? It’s all on sale now.”

“Whatever you like,” he smiled at you.

His smile struck a chord within you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “You look so pretty when you smile, Shota.”)

( You weren’t sure how this argument happened, but your apartment never felt so foreign before. 

“What will your family, former peers, and coworkers think?” Aizawa turned away from you, expression unreadable. 

“I don’t care about any of that. Neither of us know when we will die, so why are you refusing yourself to do what you want?”

Aizawa whispered your name, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. “You… You love too easily.”

But that was not true, in fact, for more than half your life you had no idea what it was. It was not him thinking he was unlovable, but rather he told you that there were better men out there for you. That was still far from the truth. Please, that will make you cry, you didn’t want him to think that.)

When you opened your eyes again, you were still crouched on the kitchen floor.

The pain had faded from something unbearable into a lingering ache behind your temples, but your thoughts felt worse than before. Too many things had surfaced at once, only to disappear again before you could properly grasp them.

You sat there for a while, one hand pressed against your forehead.

There was definitely something strange about your relationship with your former teacher, you knew that now. The memories had not returned clearly enough for you to understand what that something was, but there were feelings attached to them that didn't belong between an ordinary former student and teacher. 

Your head was far too muddled for this.

You pushed yourself upright and quietly returned to your bedroom for the medicine, moving carefully so another wave of dizziness wouldn't send you back to the floor. 

When you came out again, Aizawa was still asleep at the kitchen island, seemingly undisturbed by everything that had happened only several meters away from him.

You took two pills with another glass of water.

There were only a few hours left until morning, and perhaps everything would make more sense once the headache disappeared and Aizawa was sober enough for you to ask him questions.

You set the glass beside the sink and turned toward the hallway.

“Don’t go,” Aizawa mumbled before you could step out of the kitchen, he had awoken but was still in a drunken state. “I love you, please, I was wrong.”

For several seconds, you could only stare. Aizawa-sensei loves someone? Of course he did.

You look at him in the eyes, parting your lips but say nothing, too starstruck. Aizawa had lifted his head from his arm. His eyes were barely open, unfocused from sleep and the alcohol was still in his system. He looked nothing like the Aizawa you knew from U.A., always composed despite his exhaustion, rarely allowing anything more vulnerable than annoyance to show on his face. 

“Please.” His hand latched around your wrist.

You startled, but he didn't pull you toward him. Instead, he turned your hand over, holding it with an almost unbearable gentleness.

Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips into the center of your palm.

You forgot how to breathe.

His fingers tightened around your wrist as though you might disappear the moment he loosened them. “Don’t leave tonight,” Aizawa pleaded against your palm. “Stay with me, please. You said that if I ever asked like this…”

Who knew he was an emotional type of drunk. How cute, he was also a sentimental type of boyfriend, his girlfriend was lucky-

Your smile disappeared. A bitter feeling rose so quickly that you almost frowned at yourself, what did his girlfriend have to do with you? You had absolutely no right to feel so pressed over your former teacher's relationship. Whoever he loved, whoever he kissed or begged to stay with him at night, was none of your business.

Still, jealousy sat ugly and heavy inside your chest.

You hated it.

Coldly, you pulled your hand away and was met with his quiet gasp. “Say that to your girlfriend, now come on, I’ll get you into the guest room.”

“She can’t hear them, she forgot about me,” he said quietly, but you heard it loud and clear in the midst of pin-dropping silence. So he broke up with his girlfriend, big deal. That explained his behavior, didn't it? Maybe the breakup had been recent. Maybe that was why he had been drinking alone in your kitchen after you fell asleep. 

“Then you might as well forget about her, too,” You frowned, “or don’t take my advice, I’ve never fallen in love before. I don’t know what it’s like.”

His chair pushed back and Aizawa stood up, looking at you in disbelief, “What?”

You whipped around your head, narrowing your eyes, swallowing, “ Are you sober now? If she forgot about you, then just forget about her. She obviously doesn’t want you anymore. Heroes should focus on their jobs-” You stopped.

There were tears in his eyes. You had never seen Aizawa cry before, and you doubt anyone ever really did. Even imagining it had seemed impossible, yet now his eyes were reddening in front of you, tears gathering despite the way he tried to hold himself together.

His voice broke. “Please don’t say that, don’t say something so harsh.”

Right. You were being unnecessarily cruel after he was so nice to you for the past few weeks.  

With each step he took, you took a step back. He took another step, you retreated again.

The two of you crossed the living room that way until the backs of your legs struck the sofa, you lost your balance and collapsed onto the edge.

Then he swooped down with you, shakingly putting his hands on your shoulder to square them.

Another tear trailed down his face and you brushed them away without thinking, both of you felt just helpless at the hands of the other. Your thumb lingered beneath his eye, and something inside you whispered that you had touched him like this before. Perhaps not exactly like this, not while he cried, but enough times that the shape of his cheek beneath your palm didn't feel foreign at all.

Aizawa leaned in closer, “Tell me you will never leave… Tell me, make me believe it.”

Maybe you should have told him again that you weren't his girlfriend, that whoever he was imagining wasn't here, and that tomorrow morning the two of you would pretend this embarrassing drunken conversation had never happened.

It’s not like you could leave him, he was your superior at work, although you might regret this tomorrow who is to say he won’t forget everything. The lives of heroes are too short, but heroes dream for a long time. If such a simple promise could comfort him tonight, you saw no reason not to give it- but that was all just an excuse to be selfish.

You were a horrible, selfish, immoral person that wanted to be that important person at his side.

His eyes were red, his face exhausted and unguarded. “Tell me,” he whispered.

You nodded at his request, firmly resounding his wishes, “I will never leave you.”

Aizawa’s eyes widened, a smile forming on his face then he shook his head, “No… I know you will never. You promised me that before.”

Before you could form a question, he closed the gap and his lips were on yours. The faint bitterness of beer remained on his lips. His hand shifted from your shoulder as if guided by a habit older than your memory, and the familiarity of it struck you harder than the kiss itself. 

Every fragment of your hidden memories surfaced at once.

(One day it just clicked for you that you were in love with him. 

It was spring, near the end of your first year at U.A., when the cherry blossoms had finally bloomed across campus. Petals gathered along the walkways and occasionally slipped inside the classroom whenever someone left a window open.

When the bell rang for class you were fiddling with a flower petal between your fingers, cheek resting against your other palm. Then Aizawa walked in, in his same black, hero outfit and capture weapon, everything was per usual except for you. 

A number of things were different that day when spring came, signaled by the cherry blossoms that bloomed all over campus. One, your usually poised self was sitting with terrible posture, playing absentmindedly with a cherry blossom petal. Two, your usually attentive self let that petal slip from between your fingers because you had become distracted staring at your teacher. Three, your usual aloof self had found your first love and it was your teacher. 

You stared at Aizawa as he placed his things down and began class as though absolutely nothing had changed. Perhaps nothing had. He hadn't done anything special that morning, he hadn't looked at you differently or said anything that he hadn't said a hundred times before.

It was only you who suddenly understood.

Although, you could never be sure if it was that day you fell in love. It just happened someday and you realized it later. )

You blinked, not knowing you had begun crying until hot tears slipped down your cheek.

“Aizawa-” you sniffled, pushing him back, “Aizawa-sensei, I- I’m confused…?” There were more missing pieces, memories of which you needed, but now you felt overwhelmed. 

Your former teacher had always been so terribly virtuous about things like this. You knew that much. Even now, with his arms around you and the lingering warmth of his mouth still on yours, you couldn't imagine him willingly crossing that line without hating himself afterward.

Then what were you doing? Or rather, what have you been doing all this time? You knew yourself better than anyone. Horrible- horrible- horrible- you wanted this to all happen, you wanted him to love you to the point of not becoming himself. You did all this to him.

Aizawa cupped your cheek with his calloused palms, and you cuddled closer into his warmth to gain a stronger sense of stability. You should have pulled away, but you chose to not because you were selfish.

“Why do I feel so sad?” You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so much emotion, a mixture of yearning, melancholy, and love. “Don’t let go, I want to be like this for a little bit more.”

Yearning tangled painfully with melancholy, confusion, guilt, and a love so familiar that it seemed to have been sitting quietly inside you all along, waiting for you to recognize it again. 

“I will be here, please, stay with me,” Aizawa pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, “I love you.”

He loves you? You can’t take his drunk words for truth; nevertheless, you leaned forward to capture his lips into another kiss. This time, neither of you separated after the first kiss. His mouth returned to yours when you chased it, and yours found his again whenever the two of you parted for small breaths of air. There was no urgency to go anywhere else. You remained folded within his arms at the foot of the sofa, held so securely that, for those few moments, you could almost stop being frightened by everything you couldn't remember. 

This time, Aizawa promised himself, he would value you the way he should have before.

(One day it just clicked for Aizawa that he was in love with you.

It was a cool spring night in central Musutafu, several years after the spring when you had first realized the same thing. 

After another late-dinner at a restaurant and then a drink together at the bar, the two of you walked down the city together. You were retelling a story while laughing, and Aizawa could only watch breathlessly with a smile at the scene before his eyes. Cherry blossom trees were blooming throughout the city square, their pale petals catching beneath streetlights before being carried away by the spring wind. However, everything was normal except for him. 

A cherry blossom petal landed onto your forehead, freezing you in your steps and igniting a curious confusion on your face. Therefore, a number of things were different that day when spring came. One, his usual poised self raised a hand to brush away the petal, only for his fingers to linger and caress your cheek without a second thought. Two, his usual attentive self forgot about the petal entirely, now only focused on how beautiful you were at this very moment. Three, his usual aloof self had found his first love and it was his former student. 

Although, he could never be sure if it was that day he fell in love. It just happened someday and he realized it now. 

When he came back to his senses from admiring you, he brushed away the petal gently. “You look beautiful,” he told you. 

Your eyes darted away, a shy blooming on your face.)

[xinoroxsah]

『 questionnaire about your future dreams 』

todoroki shoto

❝ Then you saw it, just a fleeting look in his eyes that made him look a bit crazy in love, and everything you thought you knew about how he saw you shattered and reformed in an instant. ❞

☁︎ todoroki shoto × classmate!reader ☁︎ chapter: 02 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟

01 | ༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

02

The next morning in the Endeavor agency breakroom, you paced back and forth, glancing toward the hallway from the glass walls every few seconds like a guilty criminal awaiting judgment. The low hum of the refrigerator and the faint chime of the coffee machine did nothing to calm your nerves. You clutched a paper cup with hot coffee in your hands.

As soon as you heard familiar footsteps echoing down the corridor, you quickly straightened up and checked both ends of the hall. Empty. Good. You bolted to the door and yanked it open just as Shigure stepped in, still adjusting the collar of his hero jacket.

Without a word, you shoved the coffee into his hands.

He arched a brow, mildly concerned. “Well, aren’t you attentive? Did you poison my coffee?”

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at the floor for a moment before lifting your gaze with a strained sigh. “You were right, fire-ice did like me.” you told him, a bit dejectedly.

“Ohohoho?” he sipped his coffee, not at all surprised but smug about being right.

“He kissed me so I ran away.

Shigure stared, wide-eyed. “What? He kissed you?”

“That was it, now I just want to avoid him. I rejected him and told him that I never saw him that way.”

“...WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Shigure sputtered, a look of shock on his face.

“Be more quiet- what if Endeavor hears?” you winced.

Then you explained to him the whole confession, Todoroki’s hug, the kiss, and the absurd claim about some middle school questionnaire where you apparently said you wanted to marry him.

“Well, I was right anyway about him liking you, so what will you do now?” Shigure asked, “I don’t think he wants to remain friends, and like- if you leave it like this unanswered then how will your teamwork be affected? The entire class will feel suffocating."

“But I already rejected him,” you frowned. “I’m not obligated to say yes.”

“You changed his life,” Shigure pointed out.

You gasped, scandalized, “Huh? So if I change it, then I have to be responsible? If I save a person from a collapsed building as a hero, then do I have to take care of them for the rest of their life?”

“Why did that sound like something I would say? Anyways, what is there to not like about Todoroki Shoto other than the fact you think you’re not good for him?” Shigure asked, curious, “he’s one of the strongest, smart, he cares about you, he looks handsome, and he’s rich.”

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, not at all disagreeing, “true, he is perfect in every way. But- but what about…” you broke to a whisper, “...Endeavor? I think him being a father-in-law would be too scary.”

Shigure copied your hum, “I think Endeavor already approves of you. Or else he will probably tell you to leave and that work study is finished if you don't meet his standards.”

“Is that even allowed?” 

“Who knows, but he said to the sidekicks that you are a great student. He totally approves of you, so he won't be one of those parents who pays 100 million yen for you to leave their son.”

You nodded in thought.

“You don’t sound like you hate him at all or not have any interest, you just think you aren’t good enough,” Shigure said, “do you have an inferiority complex? Or are you just academic crazy and don’t want to be distracted by a relationship? Or you can’t commit?”

“I don’t know,” You titled your head, “but is dating right now really the best for people like us? Villains are everywhere, and aren't programs like work study right now just to make us stronger?”

“There’s nothing wrong in romance and loving someone, but if you really don’t like him then imagine another girl at his side. If he suddenly got a girlfriend who he holds hands with, and just ignores you, how would you feel?”

You thought about it and you stopped yourself, your brain suddenly feeling heavy, “I don’t really know?”

“Well, what I’m hearing is that it’s not like you don’t care.”

You imagined holding Todoroki’s hand, reaching out for him yourself. “Maybe… Now I’m getting confused,” you admitted with a sweatdrop. “I think I need time to think it through, if I say that my heart is beating quicker, or say I suddenly like him then who will believe it? I just rejected him last night.”

“He will believe it.” Shigure stated quickly.

“At least he needs to ask me on a date first, what kind of person just confesses and steals a kiss and says the ‘love’ word?” you argued, frowning a bit at the thought of what transpired last night. “That was my first kiss, too.”

“You’re only a dumb teenager once. He just likes you too much, so when he calms down and you two get together, take something of his as repayment. Wait, you already slapped him, I think you two are even?”

You ignored his crazy words and then something popped in your head, not really an idea but a thought. “Wait-” you voiced out, “-how do I even face him after this? I still have to go back to the dormitory today and see him!”

Shigure muffled his laugh at your panicked expression.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself wondering how everything had shifted so suddenly. One moment you were calmly shadowing Endeavor through a patrol assignment, walking alongside Shigure through a polished, high-end shopping district filled with midday shoppers, glossy window displays, and the low murmur of casual conversation. The next moment, noise erupted.

The storefront behind you exploded.

The glass shattered with a deafening crack , and the heavy door splintered outward in a rain of sharp wood and steel. You felt the wind of it hit your back even before your instincts kicked in.

Shigure’s arm wrapped around your shoulders without hesitation, pulling you down and with his shielding quirk had made a bubble wrap-like wall to protect the civilians. The echo of screams rose behind you, chaos breaking out like a wave.

Ahead, Endeavor surged forward, expression grim and unreadable as fire crackled across his shoulders.

“Stay behind me,” Shigure shouted as he moved to cover more civilians.

But then another explosion.

This one came from across the street, the impact strong enough to rattle your teeth. Your instincts screamed, and you lifted off without thinking.

“I’ll get there!” you shouted, compressed air lifting you into the sky like a jetburst. Your vision blurred from the speed, but you adjusted quickly, soaring high across the avenue in an arc. Below, shattered pavement and smoke revealed a second scene but nothing came out of the store other than the employees.

From your earpiece, Shigure’s voice buzzed in, calm and calculating.

“These explosions are distractions. Puppets came out of the blasts, it was nothing real. It’s likely domestic terrorism.”

Your brow furrowed as you swooped overhead, eyes scanning for the real target.

“So they’re after something else?” you asked, slowing mid-air to gain a wider vantage.

That’s when you saw them.

Three blocks down, four figures bolting through a narrow road lined with tall, curving buildings. The path twisted into alleyways and sharp turns, perfect for losing pursuit. They moved fast, but not too fast for your eyes to catch. Not with your air-powered lift.

“We found them speeding down 14th Street!” Endeavor’s voice cut sharply through your earpiece.

“I spotted them!” you called back, and without waiting for confirmation, you dipped into a nosedive.

The wind howled in your ears as you dropped like a bullet from the sky. Your blood surged with the thrill of velocity, a focused heat coursing through your veins. As you neared the ground, you corrected your angle and shot forward, straight toward the group. You caught the look of alarm on one of their faces a second before impact.

Endeavor came crashing in from the opposite side, his body a wall of flames knocking two of the figures into the concrete like they were made of paper.

You struck the remaining two with precision, slicing through the air and forcing them down with a blast of compressed wind. Your knee pinned one man’s shoulder while your hand locked down on the other’s collarbone, but then his hand latched onto your forearm.

You barely registered it before your body went rigid.

A shock that was not electric, but something stranger like static had surged through your skin. It wasn’t pain, not exactly. It felt like being unmoored, like the gravity beneath you had shifted and your thoughts scattered like sand in a gust.

Your vision blurred instantly, colors smearing like paint in water. For a heartbeat, you couldn’t tell if you were upright or falling.

Then your back hit the pavement.

You blinked up at the sky, your chest rising too fast, breath shallow. You weren’t unconscious but the world spun and your limbs trembled like your body couldn’t catch up to your mind. You blinked hard again, the edges of your vision crawling with static.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Past - Corusan Middle School)

Questionnaire about your future dreams! Due at 4PM in the work basket.

Surprisingly. It was only you and Todoroki Shoto still in the classroom, with a clear autumn season behind the windows. Other students either had gone home or participated in club activities.

You were sitting near the back, while Todoroki Shoto sat in the front of the class. 

It should be simple. Jot something down. Make it as easy as possible, like working a stable job, having a lot of money, getting a cool sports car, yet everything you could think of, you already had in mind or felt too far away. What was your future dream, really? Being a hero? Yes, but that’s what everyone put down, and what elementary school kids would put down as well. 

Unable to think of anything, you looked at Todoroki Shoto, the one who is set to go to U.A.’s hero course on recommendation. The idol of the boys and heartthrob of all the girls, but he was just a closed-off ice cube that paid no one any attention. You really weren’t sure what to think of him as, you acknowledged that he was good-looking, smart, and talented in his quirk, but he felt so untouchable and far away. So, you only talked to him a few times, but never enough to really call yourself his friend. 

It was funny to you how you used to hate him for scoring higher than you on every exam, but that hatred stopped since you only kept it to yourself. It was like a one sided rivalry. 

He sat in the second row in the front of the class, silent but his pencil did not move. From your angle in the near back of the class, you noticed that it was blank, like your paper.

Even he didn’t have an idea? You frowned, weighing your options on talking to him. It was your third, last year of middle-school before going to highschool. You also got into the hero program, but you weren’t sure if you will be in the same class as him, but you doubt it. With nothing really left to lose, you decided to go talk to him, and if he ignores you then no hard feelings. 

You got up and walked over to his seat. “So, you couldn’t think of anything?” you said, holding up your blank paper to show you were in the same predicament.

This must have been the first time the two of you really talked. There were times during class where you would ask him something, he would reply and you’d be on your merry-way, or you would offer him candy and he would decline. But this felt different than any other time, this felt more personal because it was only the two of you in this empty classroom.

“Yeah,” Todoroki replied straightforwardly.

You noted that he didn’t seem like a big talker. “How about we think of something together?” you offered.

Todoroki stared at you.

“I guess it’s not your dream to be a hero? You got into U.A. on recommendation.” you added offhandedly, watching his expression.

“Well, I didn’t have to think about it to have it.”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Hm. How about in the future, we marry?” The words slipped out not because it was desirable- though maybe it was- but because marrying him would not be realistic, and that made it feel funny. You hoped he understood your joke, it was just to get a reaction, afterall. 

He blinked. “Well, that’s… very unrealistic.”

“I’m just poking fun at you,” you admitted with a small laugh, “Okay- okay, but after saying that, I think I’ll write it down. I want to give the teachers a laugh.”

And you did, right there in front of him, borrowing his pencil after plopping your paper on his desk:

I want to marry Todoroki-kun when I grow up.

When you looked up, expecting a shake of his head and a look of disgust, you were surprised to see his face still and quiet, processing. Not laughing. Just watching you like you’d done something cool.

From your hands, he took his pencil back. “Well, if you did it, then I should do the same.” He copied your example in neat writing on his own paper:

I want to marry (Name)-chan when I grow up.

You gave a happy little nod, but his eyes were still on the words. Like he couldn’t stop rereading them. Your heart did a jump, but you didn't let it show on your face.

“This is just pretending to be young,” you teased, rolling your eyes, though you didn’t bother to erase any of your writing. “After studying and trying so hard for the U.A., I think this is one of the only fun things I did in my middle-school years. Graduation is tomorrow, I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

Todoroki didn’t answer, maybe you teased him a bit too much.

"Let loose a bit more at U.A., alright? I'll see you there, even if we might be in different classes," You smiled.

The two of you placed your worksheets into the basket at the front of the class, and went separate ways to go home.

Would it be awkward if the two of you end up in the same class? Not really, you didn’t care that much because you didn’t think you were good enough for Todoroki Shoto, to the point where you didn’t think it was possible.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Present - A Few Hours After the Attack)

The Central Hospital was quiet but also bustling with nurses and patients in a way that pressed against one’s ribs. The hallways were sterile, polished white and silver.

Todoroki Shoto stood outside your door for a long moment before knocking softly, even though he knew you wouldn’t answer. He had come right after his father informed him of your situation, since Todoroki had asked Endeavor to update him on whatever you were concerned with during this internship, and with persistence had gotten permission from Aizawa to leave campus and visit you at the hospital. 

Inside, the room smelled faintly of antiseptic. Monitors beeped in steady rhythm, tracking your vitals. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in the orange glow of a sky that had started to dip into evening. You lay in the hospital bed, hooked up to a drip, your chest rising and falling steadily but your eyes remained closed.

Like you were just sleeping.

But he knew better.

The doctor’s words before he ran to your hospital room was: "She’s in a coma-induced state from the attack of the quirk, many others are also in the same predicament. We’ve seen recovery times vary, usually it is just a few hours from what the quirk user said during police interrogation. She will wake up by the evening- wait- where are you going kid?"

Shoto pulled the chair closer to your bedside and sat down carefully, as though any sound might disturb you. His fingers hovered for a moment before resting on the back of your hand. You were warm but unnaturally still.

You weren’t bruised or bandaged, not visibly, but he could see the exhaustion written in your face even in sleep. Your lips were a little pale, your lashes unmoving. It unsettled him in a way few things could. There were entire years of his life where he never feared for anyone but himself. But now?

“If you wake up right now,” Todoroki whispered, voice so soft it barely rose above the sound of the heart monitor, “then I’ll do all your homework for the rest of the year.”

It was a quiet, desperate prayer.

And then, your fingers twitched.

He stilled.

Your hand shifted, weak but real, and your eyelids fluttered before finally opening. Your gaze was unfocused at first, pupils adjusting to the soft light.

“Todoroki?” you croaked, blinking a few times, until your eyes found him and widened. “Wait- how… How long has it been?! Why are you here? Is everyone else from the class here?”

He was still frozen in place, breath caught in his throat. “Since I learned of your hospitalization, just five hours,” he answered finally, voice taut with disbelief, as though saying it aloud would break an imaginary glass.

You turned your head toward the clock on the far wall. 20:47.

It had been about five hours since the attack.

The realization brought a flood of sensations, weak limbs, a dull ache in your ribs, the foggy residue of the nightmare you’d only just escaped. 

“I heard you got caught in a quirk attack,” he said quietly. “Everyone in the class wanted to come, but the hospital’s limiting visitors right now. So we voted and I came. Aizawa-sensei is outside, too.”

You hadn’t let go of his hand. You noticed it then of how tightly you were still holding it, and maybe it was the comfort of his voice, or the warmth of his palm grounding you, but you didn’t pull away.

“Did you want to come?” you asked gently, eyes searching his face, “or did they just pick you because they think we’re together?” But you felt stupid asking that question when you already knew the answer, but you still doubted him.

He blinked, lips parting but his answer came without hesitation. “No,” he said, voice firmer now. “I wanted to come see you, and make sure you were okay.”

Your throat clenched. You didn’t know why you felt like crying, but maybe because it was too much, too sudden, but the emotion pricked behind your eyes sharply.

Then, his voice dropped lower, a little hesitant.

“I know you don’t like me back,” Shoto said, and his hand gave the faintest squeeze. “And I’ll try to forget my feelings. I just… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Your breath caught.

Because in that moment, it wasn’t his quiet voice or the pain in your body that made your vision blur again, but it was the way he was still holding your hand like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment. To you.

“I don’t want you to forget your feelings,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper. 

And so, aching all over but steady in your heart, you leaned forward. It wasn’t graceful or easy, but you reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand, pulling him into a breathless kiss.

His body stiffened just for a second before melting into it.

“No,” you whispered into his shoulder after you pulled away. “Don’t apologize, I misled you.”

Todoroki stared at you, lips parted and tears began to well up at the corner of his eyes.

“I think I needed time,” you admitted. “But I had a long dream, and when I woke up… I just knew that I should. Maybe I shouldn’t be scared anymore.”

Todoroki only nodded, like if he said anything more then the moment might shatter or it was all a dream.

The room was quiet, the only sound was the steady beep of the heart monitor. Your breath was still shaky, one hand still on his cheek, index finger gently on his reddened scar. Shoto leaned into your touch, forehead resting against yours, and his hand smoothed down your waist, as if you would disappear if he blinked.

Neither of you spoke as you enjoyed the moment. 

Then-

The door creaked open.

You and Shoto both froze like statues.

A nurse peeked in, followed immediately by Endeavor’s towering silhouette and then Aizawa, whose arms were crossed and hair slightly disheveled.

The three of them just stared blankly, no one spoke.

You and Shoto were still incredibly close, your hand on his cheek, his hand still holding your other hand between the sheets. To anyone watching, it looked exactly like what it was: a moment that was absolutely not meant to have an audience.

Shoto, to his credit, didn’t flinch though a faint red started to creep up his ears.

The nurse was the first to react, awkwardly clearing her throat. “Oh. She’s… awake, that’s why her heart monitor shot up.”

Endeavor said nothing. His face was completely unreadable, though a small furrow between his brows hinted that he may or may not be buffering.

Aizawa, of course, was the one to break the moment. “Todoroki,” Aizawa said in that slow, tired tone that somehow carried the weight of a thousand lectures, “you’re supposed to press the nurse call button if she wakes up.”

Shoto blinked. “Ah.”

Everyone’s eyes flicked toward the wall where the button was clearly marked with a glowing green light, and although Shoto was seated two feet away from it, everyone knew Shoto hadn’t even looked at it.

“I forgot,” Shoto admitted flatly.

You let out a half-laugh, half-sputter. “I didn’t know either.”

The nurse gave a polite cough to hide her smile and finally stepped fully into the room, clipboard in hand. “I’ll just check her vitals and call the doctor.”

Endeavor, without a word, turned and walked away.

You thought that was it until Aizawa added dryly, “Todoroki, go wait outside.”

You covered your face with your hand. “Please tell me I’m still dreaming.”

Todoroki gently squeezed your hand, the corner of his mouth twitching. “No. But if you were, I think this would still happen.”

The nurse smiled faintly, scanning the monitor. “Vitals look good. I’ll let the desk know she’s awake.”

She left quietly, and Aizawa remained by the door for just a moment longer. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said at last.

And with that, Aizawa slid the door closed.

You let out a long breath, then looked at Shoto.

“I feel like I just got caught making out at school.” You sighed.

Shoto blinked. “Is that a thing people do?”

You smiled, shaking your head, “I’ve never seen it, but maybe some people do.”

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Two Weeks Later)

The morning light poured through the tall windows of Class 1-A as the hum of students settling in filled the room, chatter about training schedules and upcoming quizzes. You were halfway through unpacking your bag when Shoto came up to you, casting a subtle shadow across your desk.

Shoto held a small pink envelope delicately between his fingers. His expression, usually calm and unreadable, was touched by something softer. His dual-colored eyes lingered on you as he tilted his head slightly. “Did you write this for me?” Shoto asked, his voice low and curious. “I found it in my shoe locker.”

There was a light blush dusting his cheeks that was barely there, but noticeable to you. 

You blinked in surprise, brows lifting as your eyes dropped to the letter. “Eh? The letter you’re holding?”

“Yeah,” Shoto nodded, his gaze sincere, still holding it out as though offering it back to you.

You let out a soft laugh, taking the envelope from his hand. “No, I never wrote any letter.”

At that, the trace of a schoolboy blush vanished from Shoto’s face like a switch flipping.

You gently unfolded it, fingers brushing over the neatly folded edges. The letter was typed which erased all traces of who wrote it, each word evenly spaced as if the writer had agonized over them. You read it aloud with a light-hearted chuckle.

“ ‘Todoroki-san, please meet me at the school fountain in the courtyard during lunch.’ ” You raised an eyebrow, amused at the boldness. “Oh, a confession letter?”

Shoto looked at you, lips slightly parted in disappointment. “I thought it was you who wrote it.”

You smiled at the misunderstanding, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Ah, this reminds me of back in middle school, Yua-chan wrote a confession letter to this upperclassman. She confessed in the science club room, though. But a bunch of friends were spying on them and Yua-chan got too embarrassed to confess.”

“I’m not going then,” Shoto interrupted bluntly, voice flat and final.

Before you could say anything else, he plucked the letter from your hands and walked toward the classroom’s trash can.

“Wait- Todoroki-kun,” You jumped up from your seat and chased after him, sweat-dropping in disbelief. “Don’t you want to at least hear her out?”

Shoto stopped mid-step, turning his head slightly, his expression a mix of disbelief and something you couldn’t quite place. “You want me to go see her?”

Shoto’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but it was genuinely surprising as though the very idea never occurred to him.

You tilted your head, innocently saying, “Well, would it be so bad to at least reject her and not just ignore it? If you don’t set it straight, she might try again.”

“I don’t care what she thinks,” Shoto said, eyes steady on yours. “I only like you.”

Your cheeks went hot instantly. His words came out so matter-of-fact, so sincere, that you couldn’t help but blush.c “I just thought it would be cruel not to show up,” you murmured, fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“If you want me to, then I will,” Shoto said simply. “I’ll tell her I already have a girl I want to marry.”

Your breath caught slightly. He said it so effortlessly, as if it were a fact rather than a sweet declaration.

Lunchtime arrived with the usual chatter in the hallways.

Students flooded the halls, filling the stairwells and courtyards, but the majority was in the cafeteria. You walked at your own pace, thinking of how the confession would unfold as Todoroki went a step ahead of you in order to reject the girl quickly before coming to the cafeteria to have lunch with you.

As you made your way across the sky bridge between buildings, a group of students, mostly girls, were gathered at the center, clustered around the windows that overlooked the central courtyard.

From your vantage point, you could see the wide stone fountain glistening in the sun below, surrounded by a circle of trees and bushes. Standing near the fountain was a girl in the General Department uniform, nervously clutching something behind her back. Her posture was tense, shifting from one foot to another.

You remarked to yourself that she wasn’t bad looking.

The other girls on the bridge watched with bated breath, some pressing their faces close to the glass, others whispering eagerly. They were most likely her friends, offering silent encouragement from above.

You lingered for just a moment, eyes scanning the scene. Todoroki stood a respectful distance away from the girl, hands calmly at his sides. Whatever he was saying, he was being kind but direct. You could tell from the girl’s slowly drooping shoulders and bowed head that the answer wasn’t what she’d hoped.

Satisfied, you turned away without any words and headed for the cafeteria.

The lunchroom was lively as always, the clinking of trays and murmur of conversation filling the space. You picked a table near the window, a little off from your usual crowd. Today, you wanted to wait for Todoroki alone.

As you stirred your miso soup idly, Midoriya appeared at your table, a bit out of breath.

“Hey!” he greeted. “Just wanted to let you know, Todoroki-kun rejected her, so you don’t have to worry.”

You blinked in amusement, lips curving into a small smile. “Oh, I know he wouldn’t accept it.” You laughed softly, voice tinged with affection. “I wasn’t worried.” And you realized all the boys in the class, who were definitely listening to your and Shoto’s conversation in the morning, went to go see it in person.

Midoriya sighed in relief, scratching the back of his head. “Oh, yeah, sorry for assuming.”

You turned back toward the window, resting your chin in your hand. Outside, you could see Todoroki walking back toward the main building, the breeze ruffling his hair. Whatever angle you saw him at, he was always so good-looking. Your heart did a quiet little flip. 

“But thank you for looking out for me,” you said to Midoriya, your tone gentle but genuine. 

Midoriya blinked, caught off guard, then chuckled a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah- no problem. I guess I just thought you were worried.”

Your cheeks tingled again, not sure if he was talking about Shoto or if he was just being tactful. You didn’t press. Instead, the quiet between you turned thoughtful, comfortable.

Midoriya tilted his head, green eyes thoughtful. “Can I ask something?”

You looked up at him, nodding. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Why did you want to become a hero?”

The question was sincere, but it still caught you off guard. It hung in the air longer than it should’ve, and you realized you’d never really said it aloud to anyone, at least not honestly.

“I…” You hesitated, eyes lowering. “Honestly? I just applied to U.A. for fun. Like, it was a checklist item or something. One of those ‘shoot your shot and see what happens’ things. If I didn’t get in, no hard feelings.”

Midoriya blinked. “But your hard work got you past the written exam, too. I remember you during the practical exam, you took down a lot of robots. You were impressive.”

You looked at him in surprise. “You saw me?”

Midoriya laughed softly, sheepish. “Yeah… I thought you looked really cool, but I was too stressed out to actually talk to anyone back then.”

You looked down at your tray, suddenly shy. “Well, I did study a lot for it.” And yet, even as you said that, there was that old habit of minimizing it. Hiding the truth of just how much you’d pushed yourself. You didn’t tell people about the late nights poring over textbooks until your eyes hurt, or the quiet training sessions in your room where your body ached from pushing your quirk to its limit. No one knew about how your muscles were sore after exercises that left you trembling, or the cram school you dragged yourself through like your future depended on it because it did.

You always said you “just got lucky.” You wanted people to believe that it was effortless, and that you weren’t trying so hard just to keep up. Because at U.A., there were students who could split the sky with their quirks, or people born with legacies, or stronger quirks. You didn’t want them to know you barely scraped by.

Midoriya's voice broke through your thoughts, gentle and honest. “I get that, I used to be really weak.”

You looked at him again, unsure if you heard him right.

“I trained every day,” he said, nodding, “changed my diet, worked out nonstop. I definitely became stronger since I started middle school. Back then, I was kinda wimpy. Everyone thought I couldn’t do anything.”

You stared at Midoriya, you could not imagine him as a quiet, skinny kid being overlooked. However, you could relate because you’ve been like that too, hiding your ambition behind nonchalance and silence.

“I used to be like that,” you told him. “In middle school. I was scared to talk to people and everyone thought I was shy. Maybe we have more in common than I thought, I never really related to you before now.”

Midoriya blinked, surprised but clearly pleased. “Really? I always kind of thought you and Todoroki were similar.”

You gave him a startled look. “Where? Where is it similar?”

Midoriya tilted his head thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re both thoughtful. You’re from the same middle school, right? And you seemed close during the Sports Festival. Todoroki really likes you.”

You stared at him, wondering if it was obvious to everyone except for you?

“I never thought me and Todoroki were similar,” you murmured.

(The past, Corusan Middle School

The hallway on the first floor of the school was packed with students craning their necks, nudging past each other to get a better look at the newly posted scoreboard. You stood at the edge of the crowd, bag still slung over your shoulder, eyes scanning the rankings.

And there it was again with Todoroki Shoto’s name in first place.

You didn’t even have to look down to know your name would be second. Or maybe third, if Igarashi-kun or Arata-san had done better this time. But your name was never first. Not once.

Todoroki’s name was always there at the top like it was his birthright. Untouched. Unbothered. Unbeatable.

You never really cared because being near the top of the class was already more than enough, and you were proud of that. But as the terms passed, something small and bitter began to grow in you, a quiet resentment and one-sided rivalry with Todoroki Shoto.

You started to hate him, in that strange, reluctant way. Not because he had done something to hurt you because he never spoke to you, but because he was always one step ahead. Always quietly outshining you without trying.

During lunch, you and your friend’s desks had been rearranged into a little four-person island in the back of the classroom, chatting over your lunches.

You were laughing, sort of, but mostly complaining about Todoroki. “He either doesn’t eat or eats alone,” you muttered, poking at your food and glancing toward the window where Todoroki always sat alone, eyes unreadable and working on some classwork. 

Your friends giggled.

“He probably just doesn’t like talking to people,” Miya-chan said, sighing with hearts in her eyes. “But he’s so cool, though. Do you think I should ask him to eat lunch together?”

That made all four of you break into stifled laughter, covering your mouths with your sleeves like the secret was too sweet to share.

Miya’s cheeks went pink. “I wasn’t serious!”

Hada-chan took a bite of her onigiri and waved a dismissive hand. “He won’t even spare you a glance. If he was interested in any girl, Y/n-chan would know. They’ve been in the same school since, like, elementary school, right?”

All eyes turned to you. You looked up, frowning.

“And he never looked at our cute Y/n-chan before?” Yua-chan teased, nudging your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, trying to hide the little flicker of irritation. “What is there to look at?” you muttered, voice low. “His dad’s a celebrity, his family’s probably so rich he has to marry into some business deal or something. He’s not looking at anyone.”

And they nodded, satisfied with the explanation. But you weren’t.

Because as much as you talked, you hated being compared to him.

You hated being compared to him because you felt like you earned everything yourself, while he was handed everything. Todoroki got first again on exams? He probably doesn't even need to study. Todoroki got into UA? He got in on recommendation and did not even take the exams like you did. Todoroki doesn't have friends? He doesn't need them because they hold him back. You were not like him, you tried your best and on your own accord got into UA taking the exam like everyone else, and you had lots of friends at school. You were not like him. 

He had practically everything handed to him, and you hated it sometimes but respected him that he did not throw away a promised future like other rich kids. 

And as much as you were compared to Todoroki, you slowly began to just not care about it anymore.)

“Oh- Todoroki-kun’s back,” Midoriya said quickly. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Have a good lunch.”

You turned your head just in time to see Shoto approaching, his expression unreadable as always, but his steps light. He gave Midoriya a short nod of acknowledgment as the green-haired boy walked away with a polite wave.

Shoto slid into the seat right next to you, his hands rested on the table, neat and still.

“I told her the truth and rejected her,” Shoto said simply.

You tilted your head, waiting.

“I said I appreciated the letter,” continued Shoto, “but I already have someone I like. She was understanding but did start talking a lot.”

Your lips curved into a smile. “You handled it well.” You picked up a piece of tempura shrimp from your plate, still golden and crisp from the lunch line. Without thinking too much of it, you held it out, offering it to him.

Shoto’s eyes widened a fraction, then almost shyly he leaned down and took the bite. He chewed thoughtfully, blushing at the public display of affection.

“You didn’t have to-” he started, but you were already laughing under your breath.

“It’s fine,” you said, amused. “You didn’t get lunch yet, did you?”

“I was going to,” Shoto admitted, his gaze dropping for a second. Then he glanced back at you, more determined than before. “I want to feed you too, wait for me”

You blinked, surprised by how serious he sounded. “You’re so cute sometimes, Shoto-kun” you said, shaking your head as you picked up another bite of food.

Todoroki stood, pushing his chair back carefully, but not before offering you a handsome, bright  smile that he doesn't even realize he is giving you.

“I’ll be back soon,” Shoto said before walking off to the lunch stations.

You couldn’t help but admire him.

(Later that night)

The dorms had long gone quiet. Only the occasional creak of floorboards or the low hum of distant appliances broke the stillness. Your room was dark, with only a little bit of moonlight peeking through your curtains. 

You lay curled up against Shoto beneath a blanket, both of you tangled in a position that had grown more natural over time. His arm was wrapped around you, firm but relaxed, his thumb brushing small, rhythmic circles into your side.

You had your head tucked against his chest, your ear to his heartbeat that was slow and steady,

“I can hear your heart,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost sleepy.

“Is it loud?” he asked, quieter still. You felt his lips brush against the top of your head.

“No,” you smiled. “I like it.”

A silence passed, comfortable and familiar, until Shoto shifted slightly, just enough so he could see your face as his eyes already adjusted to the darkness. His fingers brushed a bit of hair behind your ear as his eyes lingered on you, the kind of gaze that made your skin feel warm from the inside out.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you said softly, “but you haven’t said anything.”

Shoto blinked, almost like he hadn’t realized. “I’m just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

He grinned, barely, the corner of his mouth lifting in that rare way he reserved only for you. “About how lucky I am.”

Your breath caught for just a second, and your fingers curled gently into the front of his shirt. “You don’t have to say things like that just to sound romantic, you know.” You reprimanded with a blush.

“I’m not,” he said, “I mean it.”

You searched his face, still not fully used to how earnestly he spoke when it was just the two of you. But he was already leaning in.

The kiss came slowly, unhurried. His lips were warm against yours, gentle at first, then more certain as you melted into him. His hand cupped the side of your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing softly along your jaw.

“You always do this,” you whispered when you broke apart, your forehead resting against his.

“Do what?” he asked, quietly breathless.

“You kiss me and expect me not to want more.”

You felt the way his breath caught against your skin.

“You make it too easy,” Todoroki murmured, brushing his nose lightly against yours before kissing you again, this one longer, deeper, more intentional. You could feel the warmth of it coil low in your stomach.

Eventually, you pulled back, lips tingling, heart thudding a little faster.

Shoto’s gaze flicked down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Are you uncomfortable?" he asked out of nowhere, voice low but genuine.

You blinked. “Eh? What?”

But then you realized what he was referring to.

Something hard was pressed just below your stomach, and you gasped with a smirk. “Shoto?” 

His eyes darted away briefly, color rising quickly to his cheeks. He didn’t move, but his arm around your waist tensed just enough that you noticed. “I wasn’t trying to-” Shoto started, voice rough with embarrassment. “You’re so warm and soft, I just love you so much.”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh that was not out of mockery but affection. “It’s okay,” you said softly, hand resting gently against his chest. “I’m not uncomfortable.” You leaned up to kiss him again, slower this time, fingers trailing up the side of his neck. When you pulled back, he was still red-faced but smiling just barely, the kind of smile you could feel more than see.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(The Day Before Christmas Eve)

The warmth in Todoroki’s room wasn’t just from his quirk, it also came from the AC that you turned up in his room. The two of you were nestled in his futon, cuddled up together with you in his arms. His room was as neat and minimalistic as ever, but there were subtle signs of the season which was only a tiny snow globe you’d gifted him last week perched on his desk.

Snow drifted silently outside the frosted window, the world beyond hushed and peaceful. Inside, it was just the two of you, your head tucked beneath Todoroki’s chin as he absentmindedly traced small circles along your arm. His breath was steady, the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek slow and comforting.

"Hey," he murmured quietly, voice low and warm in the stillness.

You glanced up at him. "Hm?"

"I was wondering... for the next work study session. Would you want to join me again? With Bakugou and Midoriya. We’re going back to work under my dad. It’s the same group."

You blinked, surprised by the offer — not because he asked, but because you’d already made other plans. You shifted a little under the covers, your leg brushing his.

“I was actually going to do mine with Fatgum this time,” you said softly. “I decided on his offer.”

He paused for a beat. “Fatgum?” His tone wasn’t disappointed, just a bit surprised.

“Yeah!” you said, sitting up a little, your eyes lighting up. “He’s seriously my favorite. He’s so cool, and he’s a great mentor. I mean, no offense to your dad, but…” You trailed off, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

Shoto gave a small nod, one corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Understandable.”

You gave a laugh.

“I still feel weird around your dad,” you admitted suddenly, almost mumbling into his shoulder.

“I know,” he said after a pause. “He’s… a lot. But you don’t have to worry about him. Not when you’re with me.”

That warmed you more than the blankets ever could. You looked up at him, cheeks already starting to pink, and reached up to gently cup his face. “By the way, congrats again on getting your full hero license,” you said, a soft smile playing on your lips before you leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

His face immediately flushed a deep red.

“I, uh… thank you,” he muttered, clearly trying not to combust from how hot his face had become.

You giggled at how cute he looked when he was caught off guard, even after dating for a while now, he still got shy with affection. That’s when he shifted slightly and glanced toward his closet, something clearly on his mind.

“By the way,” Shoto said quietly, “I got you an extra gift.”

You tilted your head. “Mm? What is it?”

He stood, padding over to his closet, and pulled out a sleek, neatly wrapped box. It had a dark red ribbon and a gift tag with your name written in his clean, neat handwriting. It definitely looked like it came from one of those fancy department stores in Tokyo, the kind with glass counters, soft piano music, and heavy price tags.

“You can open it whenever,” Shoto said as he handed it to you.

You sat up properly and placed the gift on your lap, untying the ribbon carefully before peeling away the wrapping paper. “Ehhh?” you gasped, eyes wide in excitement. “It’s those chocolates I like from that expensive place in Shinjuku!” You gently opened the box to peek inside, seeing perfectly arranged truffles, shiny and dusted with gold, some shaped like tiny Christmas ornaments for the season.

“When can I eat this? Wait-” You looked at the clock. “It’s already night…”

You pouted, carefully closing the box. “Mm. We’ll have it tomorrow after breakfast. We should taste every single one!”

He gave a soft chuckle and settled back under the blankets with you. “If you like it I’ll get it whenever you want,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your arm, “I like making you smile.”

You turned toward him with mock offense. “No, something so expensive should be for special occasions.”

Still, you couldn’t help but melt at the gesture. You cuddled up to him again, placing the box gently on his nightstand before burying yourself against his side.

“Whatever you say, but you deserve the best,” he murmured into your hair.

Your heart did a little flip at that, and you smiled into his shirt.

“Tomorrow,” you said softly, half-dreaming. “We should go build a snowman outside.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied, arms wrapped around you, safe and warm.

And with the snow still falling outside and the soft lights twinkling, it really did feel like the start of something magical.

[xinoroxsah]

『 questionnaire about your future dreams 』

todoroki shoto

❝ I used to think that as long as you’re by my side, where I can reach you and see you, that would be enough. ❞

☁︎ todoroki shoto × classmate!reader ☁︎ chapter: 01 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟ ☁︎ genre: slow burn, pining, romance, slice of life, fluff & angst ☁︎ warnings: obsessive & possessive behavior, jealousy, quirk accident, shoto is very bad at feelings

☁︎ synopsis: a questionnaire about future dreams, given on the second-to-last day of middle school, shouldn’t have meant anything to todoroki shoto. he never thought much about dreams, not when his future was already decided for him. but then you came up to him and gave him a dream when you wrote on your paper, as a joke, "i want to marry todoroki-kun when i grow up."

that day, he realized he might have a dream of his own after all.

(through snippets of your first year together at u.a., with a sports festival, training camp, dorm move-in, and a quirk-induced dream. plus, some extras.)

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖ | 02

01　the classmate & the hero prodigy

(Corusan Middle School - Todoroki Shoto)

The chalk board in the front of the class room read: Questionnaire about your future dreams! Due at 16:00 in the work basket.

The classroom had gone quiet. The usual noise of chairs scraping, students chattering, and footsteps shuffling into the hallway had long since faded. Only two people remained.

Him, and you.

Todoroki Shoto sat motionless in his seat, a pencil poised in his hand but unmoving. His paper remained untouched, stark and white under the muted gold of late afternoon light filtering through the windows. 

This should be easy. Write something down. “I want to be a hero.” That would’ve been enough. That was what was expected of him.

But Shoto couldn’t do it.

He already had a path laid out for him. Future guaranteed. A dream? What was the point in dreaming when his father had already chosen his destination?

He glanced up, as if looking away from the blank page might suddenly fill it. That’s when he turned his head around and noticed you.

You sat toward the back of the classroom, pencil in hand but not writing either. Your eyes weren’t glazed with confusion. More like thoughtfulness. Still. Focused. You were frowning at your paper in the same quiet frustration he felt, like something in you refused to settle for anything easy or hollow.

He looked back at his own paper, his pencil about to write something down but something else compelled him to just think harder. 

A few minutes later, he heard you stand up from your chair and begin to walk towards the front of the class, where he sat.

You stopped by his desk.

“So, you couldn’t think of anything?” you asked, your voice light and a little teasing, holding up your own blank page.

Todoroki felt his posture shift just slightly. “Yeah,” he replied simply. He didn’t need to say more. You didn’t seem to need more either.

“How about we think of something together?” you offered.

He hesitated, caught off-guard. 

“I guess it’s not your dream to be a hero? You got into U.A. on recommendation,” you added, almost like you were trying to figure him out like a word puzzle.

“Well, I didn’t have to think about it to have it,” he said, honestly. 

And then you tilted your head, as if some idea was forming. “Hm. How about in the future, we marry?”

Todoroki looked at you, confused, unsure if he’d heard you right. But your expression was open, playful and teasing with an easy-going smile on your face.

“Well,” he said slowly, “that’s… very unrealistic.” You would likely need to have a strong quirk to win over his father, and in all honesty, he did not really know what your quirk was, you always kept it lowkey and never showed it off. However, you did get into U.A.'s hero course, just not sure if you're in the same class as him, though.

“I’m just poking fun at you,” you laughed, and the sound was clear and warm. Something about it he didn’t know how to describe, but it made his chest feel lighter, just for a moment.

“Okay- okay,” you continued, “but after saying that, I think I’ll write it down. I want to give the teachers a laugh.”

Before he could stop you, you dropped your paper on his desk and borrowed his pencil.

He watched you scribble, quick and sure:

I want to marry Todoroki-kun when I grow up.

When you looked up, he wasn’t sure what expression was on his face. You probably expected him to roll his eyes. Say something cold or dismissive.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Your handwriting wasn’t perfect, but it had this soft energy to it just like you. And the words felt oddly grounding, like someone had named something he’d never allowed himself to want.

From your hands, he took his pencil back. “Well, if you did it, then I should do the same.” the words and action flowed out before he realized what he was doing. Slowly, deliberately, he copied your example onto his own paper, each stroke neat and careful:

I want to marry L/n-chan when I grow up.

He didn’t lift his eyes right away. He just looked at the words. The longer he stared, the more real they felt, like something he might actually choose, like it was the first time he’d ever written something that felt like it was his.

You gave a little nod, happy. “This is just pretending to be young,” you said with a light roll of your eyes. “After studying and trying so hard to get into U.A., I think this is one of the only fun things I did in my middle-school years. Graduation is tomorrow, I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

He still didn’t answer.

But his heart was beating faster than it should.

He wasn’t sure what made him do it. Maybe it was your smile, or the strange warmth still lingering in the space between your desk and his. Maybe it was because for the first time in forever, he wanted to make a friend and talk to someone who wanted nothing in return. No expectation. No pressure. Just a conversation.

Just a dream.

And even if it was a joke to you, even if it would never happen- he still wanted to keep that paper.

Just a little longer.

"Let loose a bit more at U.A., alright? I'll see you there, even if we might be in different classes," You smiled.

So the two of you turned in your worksheet into the basket at the front of the class, and went your separate ways to go home after leaving the school. 

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

The next day, the school was buzzing with emotion after the ceremony had ended, as hugs, handshakes, and photos snapped beneath the school’s stone gate as students clutched flowers and diplomas. It was the last day for the third-years. For you and him.

Todoroki Shoto stood at a distance from where you were, his uniform neat, expression unreadable as always as his other classmates were all talking amongst each other. A few girls even came up to him to confess their crush on him, but he returned none of it. His gaze, instead, would drift to you. 

You looked happy. Surrounded by your group of friends, arms linked, laughing as you made silly poses for the photos. He found himself staring at you longer than he should have.

He had thought maybe he would get a chance to speak with you after the ceremony. Say something. Even just “thank you.” Exchange contact info. Anything to make sure this connection wouldn’t dissolve into just a passing, warm memory before high school started. What if the two of you aren't even in the same class?

But you were gone before he realized.

The school gate closed behind you and your group, your laughter fading like the end of a song.

He stood still for a long moment, jaw tightening slightly as he turned away.

He walked back into the school and quietly to the teacher’s office. His footsteps were steady, his voice calm when he knocked and stepped inside.

The teacher, an older man with glasses and a gentle disposition, looked up from a stack of papers. “Ah, Todoroki-kun, what’s the matter? You haven’t left yet?”

Todoroki bowed slightly. “Excuse me. I’d like to retrieve two of the questionnaire worksheets from yesterday.”

The teacher blinked. “Oh?”

“L/n-chan’s and mine,” He kept his tone even, eyes steady. “We would like to keep them.”

There was a brief pause. The teacher’s brow lifted just slightly in surprise. “Ah… I see,” he murmured, flipping through the stack of papers at his desk before pulling out two sheets. “They aren’t for a grade or anything, us teachers just like to see what our students will write. Yours and L/n-chan’s were very lovely.” The teacher handed the pages over without question. 

Todoroki’s reputation preceded him, polite and responsible, a model student so the teacher trusts him without question that you also wanted your paper back. Still, there was something unsaid in the teacher’s curious glance.

He thinks we’re together, Todoroki realized but didn’t bother correcting him.

“Thank you, Matsuwaka-sensei,” He took the pages with both hands.

"No worries," the teacher smiled, "good luck at U.A. to the both of you. I'm very proud as a teacher."

Shoto bowed again, and left.

Once alone in the hallway, Todoroki looked down at the two papers, only creased slightly from handling, but otherwise perfect and whole.

I want to marry Todoroki-kun when I grow up.

I want to marry L/n-chan when I grow up.

He didn’t smile but something in his chest loosened just a little.

He folded both papers carefully and slid them into the front pocket of his uniform jacket, right over his heart.

Even if he couldn’t say goodbye or stop time, he could keep this one piece of you for now until he sees you on the first day at U.A.. 

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Morning of the First Day of U.A.)

The train platform was quiet but bustled with salary men and students in the early morning, the kind of silence that existed only between the passing of trains. Shoto got off his morning train, hands in his pockets, school bag slung over his shoulder. The first day of U.A. felt distant, even as the uniform on his back reminded him it was real.

He was focused ahead, on nothing in particular until someone came off the train on the opposite side of where he was, and you caught his eye.

You.

Your hair was caught in the morning breeze, and you brushed your hand across your skirt to straighten it out, looking around the station with searching eyes to see if you can find anyone familiar. When your gaze finally landed on Shoto his heart startled in his chest, just once, like a match struck too close.

Your eyes lit up the second you saw him.

“Todoroki-kun!” you called out, checking both sides before jogging across the platform to him, your school shoes clacking softly against the pavement.

“So quick to see you again! What class are you in? I held in the urge to ask back then, but now that I see you I can’t help but want to know now.”

Shoto blinked, caught between surprise and something quieter. Relief? No, something heavier. Hope. “I’m in 1-A,” he said, and at that moment he wished you were in the same class, too.

Your smile widened, eyes going round and bright.

“Me too! Let’s walk together.”

He nodded, relieved on the inside.

The both of you fell into step naturally, like it had always been this way. And maybe it should have, since now Shoto thinks he wasted all his years in middle school not talking to you.

You spoke the entire walk from the station to the front gates of U.A., about your nerves, your excitement, how you were nearly late to your train because you tried to find the perfect lip balm shade. Todoroki only nodded and answered with small hums or single words, but he listened to every syllable you said and noted down everything in his head. 

He once told himself he didn’t need friends, that such distractions were dangerous. In a way, it changed a bit after you wrote those words on your questionnaire on the last few days of middle school. 

“Say, L/n-chan, what’s your quirk?” he asked as the two fo you crossed the school gates. “Sorry... I never really got to notice.”

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don't blame you. I kept it quiet during school. It’s called Compressed Wind. I can pressurize air to create blasts and use it for speed, mobility, and cutting force. It uses a lot of energy, so if I overdo it then I get really tired. What about you? Tell me more about yours.”

Shoto opened his mouth to reply, but he hesitated for a beat.

Because in that moment you asked a question, the breeze lifted your hair just right. The sunlight turned your eyes warm, everything about you from your easy smile to the way your steps matched his without effort, it was so quietly beautiful it was impossible to commit you to memory.

He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze ahead and he started to explain the intricacies of his quirk. As his words left him, he realized that all he could really think about was you.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Sports Festival)

After the first obstacle course and the cavalry battle, you had made it into the final tournament from being on Todoroki’s team. Now it was lunchtime. You ate quickly because you wanted to call your parents, and so slipped away to your class’s empty break room tucked inside the arena. 

Once seated at a table, you dialed a video call to your mom. Even if your body ached from the events so far, hearing your family’s voices made everything feel lighter. They congratulated you through the screen, full of energy and pride like they’d been cheering from the stands themselves.

“Hey, who is that hot guy that held your hand during the start of the obstacle course?” your older brother asked. “The ice-making guy who froze everyone to the ground, but he held your hand to pull you with him!”

“Oh, that’s Todoroki-kun,” you replied, adjusting your phone’s angle. “He’s Endeavor’s son. Like- I didn’t even know he was going to do that, like not freeze me with everyone- so I helped him across the cliff with my quirk to kind of pay him back.”

“Oh my god, Endeavor’s son got a crush on you!” your brother gasped, making your entire family start muttering and shouting the pros and cons of the situation. 

“No he doesn’t!” you snapped. “We went to the same middle school, remember? We’re just a bit closer because we came from the same school.”

Your mom sighed, giving you the kind of look only moms can give. “Okay, whatever you say.”

After talking to your family for the rest of lunch, you checked the time to see that the next events were about to start. “Anyway, I gotta go. The recreational matches are starting soon, and I think we are also gonna know who to battle against for final tournaments,” you finished touching up your lip balm, making sure you looked camera ready.

You hung up with your heart feeling a little lighter. Even if the match-ups ahead were brutal, you knew your family was already plenty proud of you for coming thus far.

Back in the main arena, you blinked in confusion as you walked up and saw a cluster of your female classmates in cheerleader uniforms.

“Wait. What did I miss?” you said aloud in a panicked tone, slowing your steps. “Fanservice!? Is this required?”

Yayorozu looked like she was mourning her dignity. “No, L/n-san… we got tricked. Mineta-san and Kaminari-san tricked us.”

You listened to the rest of her explanation, not sure whether to laugh to try and cheer them up, or feel bad at how there will now be forever pictures of them like this on the internet. “Well,” you said after a pause, “there’s recreational games next, right? Let’s focus on that.”

Before anyone could answer, Mineta scuttled up to you with a too-eager grin. “Hey, do you also want to put on a cheer-”

A hand landed on Mineta’s head, ice began to creep along his scalp and spread. “Eh?!” Mineta cried in horror.

You didn’t even have to look up to see that it was Todoroki who also came back into the arena. 

“You dare?” Todoroki’s voice was low in a whisper, it sent a chill through the air more than his quirk did.

“Todoroki-kun?!” you yelped, immediately flailing your hands as if that would erase the frost. “It’s alright, the cameras are watching!”

To your relief, he pulled his hand back before the ice went any further. Mineta scrambled off.

Todoroki gave you a glance, not an apology but something close to concern, maybe. 

You blinked, trying to ease the tension. “Are you going to play in the recreational games? Or are you preparing for your final match?”

Todoroki returned the question instead. “Will you play?”

You nodded. “I just want to do the scavenger hunt. I think that one’s fun, but other than that I think I need to rest to ease my nerves.”

“I’ll play that one too,” Todoroki said without hesitation.

Was he trying to stick close to you? It was subtle, so quiet you could miss it, but you thought you saw the tiniest warmth behind his usually unreadable eyes. In fact, your older brother could be right that Todoroki had a crush on you, but you? You need to get into your own lane and not wish that the class ikemen would ever really have a crush on you. If he was the sun in the sky then you were just the pebble bathing in the light. 

Soon after drawing lots to see who will battle who in the final tournament, the names appeared on the big screen. You searched for yours and found it, and it was right next to Todoroki’s.

You drown out whatever the other students are saying about their matches, because your eyes widened and both you and Todoroki looked at each other. There is an air of awkwardness. He was your first round match.

“Well,” you said, not hiding that although you did feel a bit scared, you had prepared for being unlucky, “this is interesting. I guess I won’t hold back.”

Todoroki didn’t say anything right away, so you added, “I don’t hold any grudges, if you’re wondering that.”

“No, I just don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted.

“That feels unavoidable, doesn’t it?”

You weren’t going to ask him to go easy on you. This was still a hero competition, and he had more pressure on it than you did because you assumed since he was Endeavor’s son, his father expected him to win. But you also wanted him to understand that you wanted this fight. Even if you lose.

“For now,” you said brightly, changing the subject, “how about we just enjoy scavenger hunt?”

There was a pause, but he nodded. That was all he needed to say.

You already knew Todoroki was going to win between the two of you, and go on to defeat whoever will come out victorious from Midoroya and Shinso’s battle. “But if being defeated by you ends up being my greatest honor,” you said offhandedly, facing forward and away from him, “then I hope I at least land one hit.”

You didn’t think much of the words at all. You admired his strength and quirk, that was simply it. 

“If that’s what you wish,” Todoroki said quietly, “then I won’t hold back.”

He was still looking at you, but you weren’t focused on him. He admired everything about you, the way you carried yourself and how graceful you made your quirk to be. Hopefully, Todoroki thought, his father was watching you and considering you to be a marriage partner.

(Scavenger Hunt – Extras

The field was buzzing with noise as students scattered left and right, each holding a small card with a mystery item or description on it. Shoto looked down at his: “Candy.” His eyes scanned the crowd, not for sweets, but for you.

Across the field, you were doing the exact same thing- eyes darting from face to face as you clutched your own card that read: “Red hair.”

You spotted him almost instantly.

“Todoroki-kun!” you shouted excitedly, waving your hands to make sure he saw you.

Shoto stiffened, his card forgotten because even if you didn’t fit the word on his paper, it didn’t matter, not when you were the one running toward him. He could barely hear what you were saying, but your excitement was clear. You were so excited to see him- Todoroki felt like he could die happily.

When you reached him, a bit breathless but smiling, you said, “Come with me!”

You almost reached for his hand, but caught yourself thinking maybe he wouldn’t be comfortable with that kind of contact.

“Come on-” Before you could turn away, his hand moved first and without a word he grabbed your hand firmly. 

Your heart skipped a beat, but you rolled with it, letting him follow as you led him toward Midnight. 

“Red hair!” you announced, showing your card and gesturing proudly toward Todoroki.

Midnight chuckled and gave a playful wink. “Approved.”

Shoto glanced at the card still in his own hand. “Mine said ‘Candy,’” he murmured.

Laughing, Midnight pointed to the different cards laid around her. “If you can’t make your card work then feel free to pick up another one, but you must report to the other side of the field to Ectoplasm!”

“Try it, maybe it’ll be an easy item,” you encouraged Todoroki.

And so, Todoroki stood there with the new card between his fingers, eyes trailing the black letters like they might change if he blinked: “Someone you admire.” The universe is either on his side or playing a cruel joke. 

When you turned to him from your chatting with Midnight, your expression softened. “New card?” you asked.

He gave a small nod but didn’t show you.

“What does it say?”

Shoto hesitated.

The paper felt heavier than it should. “...It fits,” was all he said to you.

Before you could question further, he looked at the stretch of field between them and the far side where Ectoplasm was stationed. He noticed how you subtly breathed like you were out of breath, but trying to hide the fact, trying to ease out the fatigue from sprinting across the field just earlier to reach him.

“Are you tired?” he asked, already moving closer.

“I’m fine, why?”

And that was the last thing you managed to say before his hand slipped around your back and under your knees. Your breath caught as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground, carrying you in his arms like you weighed nothing.

You blinked, wide-eyed. “Todoroki-kun?!” The cameras! They are sure to capture how he is princess-carrying you, and both your families are probably watching. Mortified but unsure of what to say, you tried to squirm to get off but he held you firmly. “Todoroki-kun?! The audience might misunderstand-!”

“You ran all the way here earlier,” he said, not looking at you as he started to run across the field. “It’s nothing.”

“Is this allowed?” you wondered if players can get other players to fulfill their card item. 

His voice was calm, but his grip never faltered. “Ectoplasm-sensei will decide.”

You didn’t ask again what the card said, far too embarrassed as Present Mic’s voice boomed through the arena speakers: “WOOOOAH! We’ve got a full-on PRINCESS CARRY across the field, folks! Is this the scavenger hunt or a shoujo anime?!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter, and you immediately buried your face in your hands with a muffled, “Oh my god!” Was Todoroki just someone with no social experience? This rich hero student ikemen might just be why you will be on the internet as a new meme pack.

Todoroki didn’t react visibly, but his ears were definitely turning red.

Present Mic wasn’t done: “Make sure to tune in next round to see Todoroki Shoto and L/n Y/n’s battle! Why are two supposed-enemies getting so close!?”

You gasped, fully prepared to dig a hole and disappear. Todoroki, still carrying you toward Ectoplasm across the field, said nothing, but the corner of his mouth almost twitched upward into a smirk. He hoped the camera was still on the two of you. )

Final tournament! L/n Y/n vs. Todoroki Shoto

The arena buzzed with anticipation as the next match was about to begin. The crowd roared, and Present Mic’s voice boomed through the stadium speakers: “Thanks for waiting, folks! It’s time for the next match!”

Cheers echoed across the arena.

Both you and Todoroki stood on the arena platform, far too away from each other to really see any facial expressions, and you didn’t know how cameras are trained on you right now so you can’t afford to look scared.

“Coming in first, it’s the girl who’s been blowing away the competition with her speed and pressurized wind quirk!” Present Mic bellowed. “With high-speed mobility, aerial maneuvers, and pressure-based wind blasts that’ll hit everyone’s hearts- especially her competitor- from the hero course, it’s L/n Y/n!”

Cheers rang out for your name.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You wondered. 

“And facing her,” Present Mic continued, as a hush fell over the crowd, “Taking second, and then first in the prelmins! You're way too strong, kid! He wasn't recommended for admission for nothing! Also from the hero course is Todoroki Shoto!”

Todoroki had his usual calm, unreadable expression.

You recited your plan to yourself: be faster than Todoroki, he will use his ice quirk to try to immobilize you so matter what you have to react fast- 

“And now for the second match of the finals! Ready… Start!” Present Mic’s voice echoed.

You shot forward in a burst of compressed wind just as Todoroki sent ice forming your way, the sheer force of your movement had kicked up dust in your wake and you maneuvered out from the ice path. Right to where he was in an instant, your heel connected with his side to land a solid hit. 

“The first hit! L/n is not being faint-hearted for Todoroki!”

You didn’t want to take the risk to be near him, so you jumped back just as ice rose quickly in retaliation from his hands touching the ground. 

You twisted, landing on the ground only to launch yourself again towards his side, and with all the energy you could summon you zipped right to his side again and drove a kick into his back-

“Another hit!”

- You theorized that you only had mere seconds, so you grabbed his collar to drag him out of bounds-

Suddenly, your foot stopped moving.

“When did you-?” you gasped in horror at the sight of Todoroki with his hand on your ankle, ice spread and the entire lower part of your body froze to the ground, enclosed in frost.

Todoroki’s voice was low. “You didn’t kick hard enough.”

Your breathing was ragged at the sudden change in temperature, you now knew how horrible it is to be entrapped in ice. 

Midnight called out, “Can you continue?”

You stared at the sky, vision going blurry. “I can’t… feel my legs.”

“Todoroki advances!” Shouted Present Mic. 

The crowd responded with stunned awe and applause.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Your limbs were shaking not just from exhaustion, but from the bitter cold that clung to your lower half like a second layer. Out of the haze in your vision, Todoroki knelt down beside you, his usually unreadable expression clouded now looked like he was very, very apologetic. 

He could tell you overworked yourself from how out of breath you were, but you did not want him to look at you with such pity when it was you who hit him two times, and asked for him to go all out. 

Silently, Todoroki crouched beside you and placed his left hand gently against the ice encasing your hip. Steam hissed as the frost began to melt in bursts, evaporating around you.

When the ice had finally loosened, leaving only slick patches clinging to the ground, you tried to move but your body refused to cooperate. Your muscles trembled violently even when you tried your best to control your movements, then you began to stumble.

Without hesitation, Todoroki moved his arms to slip under your back and beneath your knees as he carefully lowered you to the ground, supporting you with ease.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “They’ll bring a stretcher. You overused your quirk.”

You blinked in disbelief and hazily, unsure what really was happening.

“I told you to not exhaust yourself,” he said quietly. 

You were trembling but as much you wanted to mooch off his warmth, it isn’t appropriate when thousands- even millions- are watching. With enough strength, you stood up yourself and made it seem like Todoroki was only displaying good camaraderie . “It’s okay, Todoroki-kun, I will be alright after I take a shower,” you told him with a shivering smile. You know how some people on the internet will be trying to find couples or pairs to ship during events like this, and you did not want to cause any misunderstandings. 

Todoroki frowned, not at all happy he had won against you. Todoroki thought that if you were more tired, maybe then you would stay in his arms and allow his quirk to warm you up. Why didn’t you want to stay? Was there something wrong with him? Did he make you lose that badly? Were all thoughts that raced through his head. 

You were still dazed as Midnight helped you onto the robotic stretcher, you closed your eyes to relax yourself as you were wheeled away. 

Up in the stands, Present Mic’s voice rang out again, amused, maybe even a little touched.

You were still dazed when Midnight appeared beside you, gently helping you onto the approaching robotic stretcher. You let your eyes fall shut, trying to settle your breathing as the stretcher began to roll forward.

Up in the stands, Present Mic’s voice echoed with barely-contained excitement.

“Oooh man, what a match! Somebody call Recovery Girl for L/n, but more importantly somebody call the tabloids! Looks like our icy-hot contender’s got a soft spot! Or maybe L/n’s the real ice-” SMACK! And Present Mic’s voice disappeared. 

Aizawa’s voice followed, dry and unamused. “Please be seated. The next match is about to begin.”

Your eyes cracked open at the sound of footsteps beside you, seeing Todoroki was walking alongside the stretcher, silent. Then, without a word, he took your hand.

“I’m sorry, L/n-chan,” he said quietly, the tunnel walls softening his voice as you both headed down the direction of the infirmary.

“I’m not hurt,” you replied, forcing a small laugh. “I just burned through all my energy out there.” You sighed, making a mental note to train your endurance. “Can you get my bag from the break room? I have a change of gym clothes in there and my makeup bag.”

“I’ll go,” he said immediately, and turned and jogged off down the hall.

You watched him go, then closed your eyes again with a soft sigh, already picturing the hot shower, blow-dried hair, and a little makeup to keep yourself from looking like a total wreck for the cameras if they will still show your face.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Training Camp - Early Morning of Arrival)

The ground trembled as another earth beast crashed to the earth, a puff of dirt and broken branches flying in all directions. Pixie-Bob’s quirk sent chills to your bones at how mastered the veteran hero was at controlling her quirk, easily sending your entire class down a cliff and forming numerous earth beasts for your class to defeat. 

Jiro had just reported that you were only halfway to the lodge.

And there were still more beasts coming.

You staggered back, chest heaving, your hand trembling as it held your last butterscotch candy. The foil wrapper gleamed in the afternoon light, half-unwrapped through your hesitation. Your quirk worked off the energy you have, mainly refueled by you eating fats such as oils and dairy. Butterscotch candy was not the best solution, but it was all you got. 

You hesitated again in eating the candy, and then looked at where Sato was and you slammed down the earth beast he was facing with your pressurized wind.

“I’m in trouble! This is bad!” you cried, ducking behind a tree just as Sato delivered a crushing blow to that beast’s jaw, making sticks and dirt fly everywhere.

He turned toward you, concerned. “Do you need something? I’ve got sugar cubes!”

“That doesn’t help too much! I need something with fats, or I’ll pass out!” You didn’t wait for a reply, and so tossed the butterscotch into your mouth and let it melt for just a second before Tsuyu shouted your name. In a flash, you blasted forward on a gust of compressed air and lifted her from the ground, tossing her upward just enough for her to swing the weightless beast into the treetops like a slingshot. Uraraka gave the two of you a thumbs-up.

You gently set Tsuyu down and barely caught your breath before Aoyama shrieked, “L/n-san! Assist me!”

You vaulted upward again, wind propelling your leap, and hurled him to a nearby tree branch so he could shoot his laser from above.

Flying burned through your stamina and energy quicker since you had to pressurize wind around your entire body just to stay in the air, and that was hard to control in general. Maybe one day, you could train your quirk to only concentrate the pressure beneath your shoes to lift you, make it more efficient. As much as you could have just saved your butterscotch in the beginning, you did not want to leave behind your class.

You barely had thirty minutes of high output left in you if you had to fly this much. You definitely improved since the Sports Festival, training during the summertime everyday, but all that didn’t seem enough for a situation like this training camp 

By the next hour, your limbs felt like lead. Your breath came in gasps. Every gust of air you summoned took more out of you, but you still fought and even if you didn't have enough energy to fly, you sent quick bursts to sweep the beasts off their feet when Mina was too occupied, or when Sero’s tape was thinning out. 

“They’re thinning out!” Shoji called, his multiple arms slamming a beast to the side. “We’re getting close!”

A ragged cheer rippled through the class.

You nearly collapsed on your knees right then and there, stars prickling the edge of your vision. Everyone was beaten to hell but no one had stopped.

You wouldn’t be the first.

“We’re less than a mile from the lodge,” Jiro wheezed beside you.

“Finally,” you muttered, eating one of Sato’s sugar cubes. It wasn’t enough but at least it kept you conscious.

Finally, with Bakugo and Midoriya taking down the last earth beast, the forest stilled and your entire class let out a sigh of relief at Shoji and Jiro’s confirmation that there was no more, and only a short trek was left.

“You okay?” Todoroki appeared at your side, his arm sliding around your waist. “I can carry you,” he said simply.

“No need,” you muttered, breathless. “I’m not using my quirk anymore.”

Your head lolled slightly toward him, not because you wanted to, but because your body was quitting on you slowly. You could feel him beside you just watching and supporting your frame.

“You overexerted yourself again,” he said.

You stiffened, being reminded of the Sports Festival again. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not.”

Why did it always have to be like this? Why did he always focus on you like this? This wasn’t the first time, during Battle Trials, and Sports Festival, and other training sessions he always tried to look out for you more than focusing on your other classmates. At first you thought he was caring, but honestly, it got annoying because you weren’t sure what he was trying to accomplish.

“Who isn’t tired right now?” you snapped. “Aren’t you?”

“No.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know that he was at least lying a bit. The frost still clung to his face like lace, and he was breathing like he’d just sprinted a mile uphill. But his voice stayed as even as it could, as if none of this touched him. 

“If you’ve got energy, go help Iida,” you bit out, your eyes scanning the others. Iida was clearly limping. Kaminari looked like he’d fried his brain again. Uraraka looked like she was going to throw up. 

“I want to help you.”

The way he said it was quiet and genuine, but it made your stomach twist harder.

You weren’t sure if it was pity or concern or something else he felt, but whatever it was, you didn’t want it. You didn’t want to be the one he hovered around like you were more fragile than the rest. It did not feel right to get his special attention.

With a heavy heart, you pulled away from him. “Whatever,” you said. “I’m going to Momo.”

And you did.

And then you were gone, your steps uneven, barely holding yourself upright but refusing his help again. Like it was easier to collapse on someone else, anyone else, than to let it be him. You chose to go to Momo.

Todoroki stood frozen, the space where his arm had been around your waist suddenly heavy with absence. His breath stayed shallow. His body still thrummed with the aftershocks of battle, residual adrenaline, fatigue, heat, but none of it compared to the hollow pulse in his chest.

What just happened?

He looked ahead to see that you had already reached Yaoyorozu. 

Did he do something wrong? Was he too forward?

He tried to replay everything in his head, your tired voice, your body leaning into him just barely, your refusal, and your annoyed tone. There wasn’t malice in it or hatred, but it sounded like you didn’t want to be seen by him.

But that didn’t make sense because you were classmates. Teammates. You had let Sato help you earlier, hadn’t you? It wasn’t that you hated being helped.

So why him? Why not him?

He rubbed the back of his neck, ice still sticking to the side of his temple. The air was cooling now, dusk stretching long shadows across the forest floor. The rest of the class shuffled forward with sore feet and aching arms, dragging themselves toward the warm light of the lodge in the distance.

Todoroki walked, too, although almost mechanically.

He wanted to protect you, make you know he will always be there for you to help. He didn’t understand it at all.

The lodge grew closer with every step, golden light spilling out as the forest thinned.

He just kept looking toward you.

You were the one who felt like sunlight when the wind hit just right. The one who cracked jokes at lunch and laughed without reservation. You were the one who joked about marrying him once, and that joke stuck in his head longer than he ever admitted.

But you walked away like you thought he was annoying.

After dinner, everyone went to the bathhouse. 

Steam rose in curls around you, fogging the corners of the bathhouse and softening the golden lantern light into a hazy warmth. Your body ached, muscles sore in every inch, but the heat helped as well as the mountain of food that energized you. The water lapped gently at your shoulders as you leaned back against the edge of the pool, finally allowing yourself a moment to relax with the other girls of the class. 

“The boys’ bath is right on the other side,” Mina said with a mischievous grin, kicking her feet lazily under the water as she sat on the stone border. “Todoroki is over there. Do you think he’s thinking about you?”

Your eyes glazed over mid-blink. “No way.” Why would she bring him up?

“What?” Uraraka nearly splashed you with her reaction. “Why not? Anyone can see he treats you differently.”

You shrugged. “Does he? I kind of think he’s just… A stone.”

A collective gasp exploded from the girls. Even Jiro raised an eyebrow over the edge of her towel. “Why?!”

“He’s always too perfect,” you replied, folding your arms on the stone ledge and sinking a bit lower into the water. “And stone-faced. It’s like… I don’t know. I feel like things are definitely not said.”

Mina leaned in closer, her eyes wide with scandal. “Spill. What things?”

You hesitated, not quite sure why you were talking, or why the words had already climbed halfway up your throat. “To tell the truth,” you said slowly, “I used to hate him in middle school.”

“What?!” Uraraka was scandalized now. “Why?”

“Because he was always better than me,” you admitted, like it was common sense with an air of bluntness. “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up so it started to annoy me that he was so perfect. Now that we are in the same class again in high school, it feels like he’s taking special care of me? Am I crazy for thinking that?”

The girls fell into a hush, some humming as they gathered their thoughts.

“That doesn’t sound like you hate him, though,” Tsuyu said quietly. “Sounds like you hated how you felt next to him.”

You blinked, a little stunned.

“Well…” You exhaled. “I guess I did. He’s kind to everyone, but with me it’s like… too much. Like he’s always watching.”

Mina grinned. “Because he likes you, obviously.”

“No way, I’m way out of his league, he’s an ikemen ,” you groaned, sinking further into the water so only your eyes were visible above the surface.

“Bet he’s on the other side of this wall right now, thinking about your wind-swept hair,” Jiro muttered teasingly into your ear.

You splashed water at her. “I’m never telling you all anything again.”

But deep down, you were thinking about it, too.

And then from the other side of the walls where the boys’ bath was, Mineta’s voice echoed. “WALLS ARE MEANT TO BE CLIMBED OVER! PLUS ULTRAAA!”

As the girls and you looked up, you saw the kid, Kota on the boardwalk between the walls, and he slapped down Mineta.

(Training Camp - Villains Attacked)

Maybe everyone expected a villain to happen, but it was so far from reality with all the precautions taken that when the villains attacked it sent everyone into panic. Who are the villains after? Where are my friends? Those were all questions being asked in everyone’s head but unsaid.

The last thing you remembered was the wind blowing in your face as you carried Jiro and Hagakure through the trees, the strain pulling at every tendon in your body. The rush of fear and adrenaline filled your bones, not knowing when a villain might pop out or if you will even make it back to the camp, but when you did you had dropped them at the safe zone at the edge of the lodge.

Then, you ran back to the forest, trying to conserve your energy but as you made it deeper and closer to the blue fires that when a large creature, sickly green, with a patchwork of limbs, jagged drills, and a masked face had smacked you directly into a tree. The wind was knocked out of you, your head ringing with black dots exploding out of your vision. 

Still, you got up.

The creature charged at you with its multitude of weaponized arms spinning. You didn’t take time to assess the pain, only noticing a gash beneath your ribs. Not too deep, but definitely bleeding.

You flew off, the fastest you’ve ever felt you’ve gone, not fueled by anger or fear but the need to not die. 

Your head was spinning. You weren’t sure why you stopped when you felt like you were finally safe and far enough that the creature couldn’t catch up. You ducked behind a bush and leaned against a tree, crouching down and pressing your hand over your wound, trying to think of a way to stop the bleeding.

That’s when you heard it.

A single footstep.

By the time you looked up, it was too late.

A masked man in a yellow trench coat stood above you, and then just a flash of his hand and then it was nothing but blue and spinning light. You turned into a blue marble that dropped into the palm of his hand.

(Training Camp - Villains Attacked, Bakugou Captured)

They had two marbles. That’s what Todoroki thought. Shoji held them tightly, one in each hand. The villains were beginning to retreat, stepping into the warp gates. Mr. Compress had already joined Dabi, vanishing into the portal’s swirling mass of color and smoke.

Everything was supposed to be over, but then-

“It’s a habit, one of the basics of magic,” said Mr. Compress like it was basic math to the students, “when I flaunt something-” he began to take off his mask, “-it’s because there’s something I don’t want you to see.”

And Mr. Compress opened his mouth, revealing three marbles sitting on his tongue. 

“N-No way!” Todoroki and Midoriya exclaimed at the same time.

With a snap of Mr. Compress’ fingers, the two marbles in Shoji’s hands turned into blocks of ice from Todoroki’s previous attack. “My ice?!” seethed Todoroki, but then he froze, realizing that three marbles were present instead of the two that were supposed to be Tokoyami and Bakugo. 

Who was the third? Was the third someone or another fake?

“That’s right. During the freezing attack, I prepared dummies and put them in my right pocket! Bakugou, Tokoyami, and a girl with a speed quirk? Or a wind quirk?”

The moment ‘a wind quirk’ was mentioned, Todoroki knew it was you. Something in him snapped. 

She was captured!? The thought flashed through Todoroki’s mind as he, Midoriya, and Shoji raced forward to try and get the three marbles. 

“If you discover that what was in my right hand was in my right pocket, then of course you’d happily rush over,” Compress stepped back into the warp gate-

Midoriya screamed, “WAIT!”

“GIVE HER BACK!” Todoroki shouted.

- Compress began to bow, “And now, that’s all from me-” 

A bright blue like starlight flashed through the air, Aoyama’s laser fired in a streak of brilliance. It struck across Compress’ mask, sending him coughing and three marbles flew from his mouth.

Shoji was already moving, arms stretching out like nets, catching two while Todoroki lunged for the third.

His fingers grazed the marble just barely, but Dabi’s hand shot out from the portal, grabbing the third marble. “That’s sad, Todoroki Shoto…” Dabi spoke in a hushed voice, but Todoroki heard it all as he slipped past the warp gate and rolled onto the ground. “Confirm it now. Release it,” Dabi demanded to Compress. 

“My show’s been ruined!” And Compress snapped his fingers right before disappearing into the portal. 

The two marbles and Shoji’s hand turned back into Tokoyami and you, while the marble in Dabi’s hand turned out to be Bakugou. All of them disappeared into the warp gate before Izuku could reach them. 

Todoroki ran to Shoji’s side, where Tokoyami and Shoji were both crouched near you but they couldn’t avoid their gaze on the blue fires engulfing the forest before them. You were on your side, breathing raggedly with your blood soaked clothes from the cut below your rib. Your limbs trembled, but your eyes didn’t focus. You weren’t really seeing any of them.

Todoroki dropped to his knees beside you, “Y/n, can you hear me?”

You blinked, slow and uneven but your lips moved, “I’m still alive…!”

Todoroki exhaled sharply in relief. “You’re safe now.”

Shoji leaned in, trying to check your wounds, but Todoroki gently pushed him aside.

“We need to get back to the camp now, I’ll use my ice for now,” Todoroki said, and with as much care as he could manage, he used his ice to slow the bleeding along your ribs, careful not to drop your body temperature too much. You winced, a crying sound slipping out, but you didn’t pull away.

“You’re okay now,” Todoroki whispered, leaning close to your ear. 

You barely nodded.

And then you slumped against his chest, unconscious. He caught you easily, cradling you in his arms like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground. 

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Two Days Later)

You were sitting upright in a hospital bed, the white sheets pulled over your lap. You woke up yesterday, and Todoroki had been by your side after your parents left last night. Since then, he hadn’t strayed far, either staying to talk to you and making sure you’re gaining your energy back by eating proper meals. 

(You spared your parents the real details on how you got hurt, and how you got captured by a villain. Despite all that, your injuries said otherwise, with numerous bruises over your body and a heavily bandaged 

“This is too dangerous,” your dad said tensely. “Is this really what’s good for you?”

You blinked slowly. “I signed up for this.”

Your mom let out a soft breath, brushing hair from your face. “We know you want to be a hero… You still can be,” she said gently. “But you will always have the chance of getting hurt.”

You knew you did not look the best right now, face pale and colorless, and a huge bandage wrapped around your midriff. “It’s impossible to never be hurt. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”

There was silence for a moment.

You turned your gaze to your brother, who for the first time you saw that his eyes were red with remnants of tears. Now you felt really bad. “I’m totally fine,” you said again, trying to brighten up the mood, and when you glanced at the nightstand never to your bed, you saw a pretty, transparent plastic box with two cream puffs. “Who got me the cream puff?”

Your mom let out a soft laugh. “Endeavor’s son, your classmate. He came before you woke up, but he saw us and left. He’s sitting outside.”

You blinked. “Why didn’t he come in?”

“He said he wanted you to spend time with us first.”)

And then after a long while of talking with your family and the doctor about your injuries, it was concluded you will be okay after another day or so of rest. Todoroki assured your parents that he will look after you, and so they left, reassured that Endeavor’s heroic son who brought you to safety is looking after you. 

When word came that Midoriya had finally regained consciousness, your classmates hurried off to see him. You had wanted to go too, but your doctor advised you to rest in your bed.

When Todoroki returned, there was a shift in the air. He looked rather distant, and his expression told you that something was not okay.

“I won’t be here with you tonight,” he said.

You blinked. He didn’t owe you anything and you never forced him to stay, so the announcement shouldn’t have felt strange but something about the way he said it, the way he looked at you, made your stomach twist.

“Are you going to do something dangerous?” you asked softly.

Todoroki didn’t answer right away, but his silence was confirmation enough.

Your heart sank a little. “Do you want to tell me what it is? Does everyone in the class know?”

His eyes shifted away from yours. “I don’t want there to be a chance that you’ll try to come with me.”

You frowned slightly, but didn’t push. “Thank you for carrying me back to camp.”

That caught him off guard.

His eyes widened slightly, and a faint flush rose to his cheeks. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, smiling. 

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(Dormitory Move-in Day)

It was the first official day of U.A.’s new dorm system, and though everyone was still getting used to the idea of living at school, the excitement was undeniable. Each classmate had their own private room, and yours was up on the fourth floor.

You had spent most of the afternoon unpacking, your back was almost sticking with sweat even with the AC set to the lowest temperature, the sun streaming in through the windows made the room feel warmer than it should’ve been. You were in the middle of digging through a bag of your little decoration trinkets- like McDonald’s Happy Set toys and chibi anime figurines- until you heard a knock on your door.

Thinking it is one of the girls, you didn’t bother putting something over your blue sports bra and skin tight black shorts (that you usually wore under skirts). 

You padded over to the door and pulled it open, and saw Uraraka and Mina with giddy expressions on their faces.

“Hey, hey,” Uraraka chirped, bouncing slightly on her feet. “We were thinking it might be fun to do a little dorm tour later. Like, show off our rooms!”

“Y’know, see how everyone decorated!” Mina added, peering over your shoulder with barely-contained curiosity. “Whoa, you brought a lot of stuff.”

“I have a hoarding problem when it comes to decorations. Most of it’s just stuff I don’t have the heart to throw out.” You blinked at them, mildly amused. “But maybe another day, once I finish unpacking I’m sleeping. Tomorrow is school.”

“Well, next time then,” Uraraka smiled, giving you a small wave. 

Mina nodded, “Rest well, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.”

You closed the door with a soft click and turned back to your room of half-unpacked boxes. The sun had shifted lower now, streaking the room in golden light that made your figurines and keychains sparkle like miniature trophies.

After another hour or so of sorting, placing, and rearranging, you finally stood in the middle of your newly-decorated room. Posters were hung, trinkets displayed on your shelves, your bedding smoothed down just the way you liked it. You looked around, satisfied, and then promptly collapsed face-first onto your bed.

(Some Hours Later)

You blinked awake and sighed, knowing the sun is definitely not up yet and checked your phone to see 00:43. on the glowing screen.

Shit. You had only meant to nap for a bit, but now the whole dorm was silent, blanketed in sleep that only existed in the dead of night. You stared up at the ceiling, groggy but wide-eyed. Of course you were wide awake now. 

You kicked your legs under the blanket, sighed, and decided that maybe a cup of hot tea would help.

Slipping on an overly large t-shirt over your tank top and keeping your shorts on, you padded quietly down the halls and into the common area in your indoor slippers. The dorm lights were dimmed, the silence making every sound you made feel amplified, but you knew it was fine since the dorm walls were thick and soundproof.

You made yourself a mug of hot tea and held it with both hands, letting the steam warm your face as you settled on the edge of the couch.

Then someone else came down the stairs. 

Todoroki stood still when he reached the bottom after spotting you, hair slightly tousled, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and navy sweatpants. The moonlight caught the strands of red and white in his hair, casting his features in soft shadow. He looked over at you, a little surprised, but not displeased.

“Did you need some water?” you asked, standing up front the couch to go to his side.

He nodded, his voice low. “Just a bit.”

You held out your mug. “Want some? It’s non-caffeinated green tea.” it was just a way you wanted to tease him, and you expected him to decline. 

Todoroki stepped closer and took it from your hands gently, and instead of sipping from the clean rim you presented to him, he turned the mug and drank right from where your lips had touched. Your breath caught at his audacity. 

“Just a sip,” he murmured, handing it back, eyes unreadable.

He did this on purpose! Was he trying to be the death of you? “Wanna show me your dorm?” you suggested, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “I missed out on when everyone toured each room.”

To your surprise, he nodded. “Sure.”

You followed him upstairs after you placed your mug in the sink, your feet quiet on the wooden steps of the stairs. His room was one floor above yours, and Todoroki opened the door to reveal something that didn’t look like a dorm room at all.

“Whoa…” you breathed, stepping inside, the space dimly lit by a lamp in the shape of a lantern. “It’s so… traditional. How did you have time to put in tatami? And the walls…”

“We have tatami at home,” he said simply. “So I wanted to install it.”

You crouched down to touch the mat, as if it would be fake but no, it was real, quality tatami. Inside the room was also his laid out futon, and with everything it just did not look like the dorm room everyone was issued. “Futon as well? Wow.” You looked at him again, a grin growing on your lips. “Wow. What can’t you do?”

He looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “A lot of things.”

You ended up both sitting on the futon to chat. 

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and tea leaves. Sitting this close to him, your knees nearly touched, which is surprising how the two of you aren’t already pressed up against each other, considering this was a one person futon. You leaned back a little, propping yourself on your hands as you listened to him talk about his siblings, about how strange dorm life felt, about how quiet it got after lights out.

You shifted, laying on your side to face him, just to rest your eyes for a moment while he talked because his voice was just that soothing. 

Against your best judgement, you drifted off to sleep.

Todoroki realized you had fallen asleep when your breathing softened and your lashes stopped fluttering. You were turned toward him, curled slightly on your side, your hand just inches from his on the futon. The sight of you barely lit by the gentle light from his lamp was enough to make his chest ache.

You looked so peaceful with your lips parted slightly, your oversized t-shirt bunching at your sides and hid your bare skin, the smallest sliver of your collarbone was visible in the low light. Your bare legs looked smooth and soft, but he didn’t dare touch them. 

Todoroki didn’t dare move for a moment.

He just looked.

He could feel the way his heart beat harder, slower, heavier in his chest.

I want this. He wished he could say to you. I want you.

Carefully, Todoroki reached behind him and tugged the blanket over, draping it over your body. Then, slowly, almost guiltily, he slipped beside you into the futon, pressing close.

It was a tight fit but he didn’t mind, he would never complain about being this close to you. He wondered if you were excited to live with him, just as how he was excited to live with you and see you in everyday clothes. 

His arm slid around your waist gently yet firm enough to hold you near. Your warmth seeped into his skin. “I like you,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I like you so much.” 

You wouldn’t know he’d said it. You were fast asleep.

He closed his eyes, holding back the restless desire to press a kiss to your forehead, to brush your hair away, to pull you even closer. 

And so, in the silent night of the dorms, he fell asleep with you in his arms.

(The Next Morning)

You blinked slowly, the world coming back into focus. The room was dim, filled with a warm morning glow that leaked through the curtains Todoroki had drawn closed the night before. You shifted slightly, and that’s when you felt it and realized this was not the room you were supposed to wake up in.

An arm was draped around your waist.

Your heart skipped a beat and froze for a moment, unsure if you were dreaming, until your fingers brushed against a blanket that wasn’t yours. You had fallen asleep and Todoroki had let you.

And Todoroki had let you.

Slowly, you turned your head.

He was still asleep, right? His features were relaxed, soft in the early light. His breathing was even, and a few strands of hair had fallen across his forehead. You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again, your cheeks already burning.

He stirred.

His eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, he looked disoriented. Then his eyes landed on you, only a few inches away, and something in his gaze warmed. He didn’t move his arm from your waist. He acted like it was a normal thing.

“Ah- sorry!” you said quickly, voice a frantic whisper. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here, I didn’t mean to stay… Sorry.”

Todoroki blinked once, then sat up slightly, his arm slipping away from your waist but not without hesitation.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice still heavy with sleep. “You looked comfortable. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You sat up too, brushing your hair behind your ear. Your face was on fire. You couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a second out of burning shame. “I must have just passed out- I really didn’t mean to!”

He shook his head, looking at you with a calm you didn’t quite understand. “It wasn’t rude. I didn’t mind.” He paused, eyes trailing over your sleep-rumpled hair and down to where your fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt. “I liked having you here.”

Your breath caught.

“Oh,” you said, dumbly. Then a second later, “I mean, thank you. Your bed was comfortable, I’m glad you don’t find this awkward.” You rubbed at your cheeks with both hands. “I should go get ready for class.”

Todoroki nodded slowly, but his gaze lingered.

You got to your feet quickly, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. “Thanks again for letting me stay here.”

He gave a small, sleepy smile. “See you at breakfast?”

You nodded, biting your lip to hide the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah. See you.”

As you closed the door gently behind you, you quickly scurried down the hall and steps, hopefully not running into the other guys in your class along the way.

What did he even mean by how he liked you being there? 

But as you walked back to your room with your hands pressed to your warm cheeks, you found that you couldn’t stop smiling.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(After the Provisional Hero License Exam - Work Study)

The dorm was unusually alive with chatter that evening, the warmth of the common room radiating more from voices than from the heaters. Classmates lounged on couches, some at the dinner table, deep in discussion over the newest hot topic that was work studies.

You had finished showering, a small white towel hung around your neck, meant to catch stray droplets even though your hair was already blow-dried and brushed out. You had applied your skincare, giving your cheeks a soft dewiness as you went toward the noise in the common area.

The moment you reached the bottom step, you caught the tail end of Asui’s sigh.

“Same here,” Asui said, disappointment lacing her voice. “but I wanted to go to Selkie’s, but…”

Kirishima leaned over the back of the couch. “Fourth Kind doesn’t even take work studies.”

You approached, standing just beside Mina, who sat on one of the large floor cushions.

“I mean, the threshold is set pretty high,” Sero chimed in from his slouched spot on the other couch.

Kaminari nodded solemnly beside him. “Yeah, we can only ask pros with good track records who’ll take work study students.”

You tugged at the edge of the towel around your neck, considering it. “It can’t be helped,” you said with a small shrug, “we’ll be directly involved with the important stuff more-”

“It becomes a problem of who’s responsible on the pro side,” came a dry voice from the far side of the room.

Everyone’s head turned.

Standing by the wall, arms crossed, was Aizawa and no one had noticed him come in.

“Aizawa-sensei?” Kirishima blinked in surprise, eyebrows raised.

“Pros who will accept students even after knowing the risks are the real thing,” Aizawa continued, and then his gaze shifted over to you and then to Tokoyami. “L/n, Tokoyami, you two got an invitation for a work study for one of those real pros. Tokoyami, you got Hawks, who works in Kyushu. L/n, Endeavor asked for you, he’s in Tokyo.”

Your breath caught while Tokoyami’s head lifted, alert.

There was an audible gasp.

“Hawks! And- and Endeavor!” Kaminari gasped, then looking over to you, Tokoyami, and Todoroki,

“Hawks? Ranked third in hero rankings?” Sero gawked.

“Wait, what? Endeavor?” Mina half-turned toward you, eyes wide. “The Endeavor?”

You hummed, surprised and also confused, it would be dumb not to accept but at the same time you had questions for the sudden invitation. Endeavor didn’t even give an internship invite to you after the Sports festival, so why now? It didn’t make sense unless it was Todoroki’s doing, is what you landed on.

Across the room, Todoroki had stiffened in place. This wasn’t about being a hero, he thought grimly, this is a father who is probably testing to see if she was a good partner, but doing it without telling him?

“I’ll go,” you told Aizawa calmly.

He nodded. “Very well. And you, Tokoyami?”

Tokoyami bowed his head. “I respectfully accept.”

“Very well. I’ll send you both the paper work tomorrow. Let me know when you both will be absent, I will authorize it.” Aizawa said.

Shoji offered a small smile from one of his arms. “That’s great news, L/n. Tokoyami.”

Tokoyami bowed again silently, and you nodded, distracted. You reached into your pocket and slipped out your phone. “Sorry,” you said, gently stepping back from the conversation. “I need to call my parents.”

Mina gave you a knowing look. “Good luck. And hey, congrats!”

You managed a small smile and turned to head upstairs as Aizawa began discussing administrative details with other students who hadn’t yet secured placements.

As your footsteps disappeared down the hall, Todoroki remained rooted on the spot, still processing what it all meant.

You plopped yourself down on your bed, already tired from gym class today, and now you were worried if Endeavor sent the wrong work study request to you. If it wasn’t Todoroki putting in a good word for you (which you did not ask for), then what about the chance that Endeavor thinks you are actually a hero with good potential? But what about Midoriya? Your strength and quirk was not above him, and Endeavor did not even extend an invite towards him, or what about Tokoyami? Hawks requested him, but not Endeavor?

It’s not that you really doubted your abilities, but because Endeavor, the one who only invited his son for an internship after the Sports festival, suddenly invited you for work study? 

You flipped over on your stomach, contemplating asking Todoroki further but decided that it would be bothersome. If he doesn't know, then he doesn't know.

༄𓂃♡⋆𓈒˖

(A Week into Work Study)

You had settled quite well into Endeavor’s agency, although it was hard to keep up with him and his sidekicks at first, you slowly began to adapt. You even made friends with some of the sidekicks and followed their personal social media.

The break room at the hero agency was always quiet this early in the morning, before the sun even rose. The faint hum of vending machines filled the silence, along with the occasional pop and hiss of a drink being dispensed. The air smelled of coffee, and red bean cakes someone brought in after they had come back from vacation.

You sat at one of the small round tables, your jacket slung across the back of your chair, half-full drink warming between your hands and residue of red bean on your lips. Your limbs were still sore from yesterday’s patrol, and your brain hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that a new day had started. You were trying to enjoy these last few peaceful minutes before heading out with Endeavor and his sidekicks, “How does Endeavor work like this everyday? Or like, almost every day, do these pros never get tired or what?” you asked.

Across from you, Shigure, the agency’s most charismatic support hero, leaned casually against the counter, sipping from a can of orange juice. His dark, windswept hair was always slightly messy in a deliberate way, but that’s what made the girls go crazy over him. You didn’t know him super well, but he was an amazing support sidekick that helped minimize damage.

“Well, Endeavor is just really a cool hero,” Shigure answered, “in a way, you’ll get used to it.”

“Really?” You thought about the term ‘cool hero’ and thought that is true, but Todoroki definitely does not talk the best about him sometimes. 

Shigure glanced at his phone, thumb flicking idly. Then he looked over the top of the screen with a slow smirk. “So… ” he started, his tone light and teasing, “how is dating Endeavor’s kid?”

You blinked, hands clenched around your paper cup. “What? That’s- no way. How did you even think of that? Todoroki Shoto?”

“Huh? You’re not dating?” Shigure just sipped his drink like he hadn’t said something completely scandalous, then he lowered the can and straightened slightly. “That’s weird, he totally has an eye for you.”

“What-?”

“I watched the Sports Festival, Y/n-chan,” he stated like it was common sense. “He was holding your hand during the first obstacle course, and then during recreation games he carried you. I think he could have totally punched you during the final tournament, too.”

A weird pressure was building in your chest. You hadn’t thought about it in a long time, the way Todoroki had moved slower with you during training, aimed less precisely, and took longer pauses to just even look at you. At the time, you’d chalked it up to your own nerves skewing your perception.

Shigure tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, reading you like a file. “Guys don’t do stuff like that unless they like them.” He paused for effect, then added, “and also, Endeavor said you had good talent, so you ‘must be great for his Shoto to like you’.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, but your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach.

Shigure looked at you, “Come on, what’s there not to like about Endeavor’s son? He’s strong, good looking, good quirk, you two would make a great couple.”

“I guess?” Still, now you were remembering little things he did that showed he treated you differently from others. 

But you did not dare to ever really think of him that way because Todoroki Shoto was… Todoroki Shoto. You two were not similar, he was in a whole different tax bracket than you, way smarter and way stronger, lived differently- so compared to him, what makes you special? 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice Shigure walking over to your side.

“Let’s take a selfie,” he said suddenly, holding up his phone. “I bet your fire-and-ice boy will see it and get all scared.” 

You snorted, waving a hand dismissively. “If Todoroki Shoto really does like me, and even Endeavor knows, wouldn’t you be fired for trying to come across his son?”

“Endeavor doesn’t browse social media, and selfies are encouraged by the PR team to show teamwork,” Shigure explained, “don’t worry, I’m taking a photo with other sidekicks and making a collage, so the media can’t assume anything- but someone else will.”

“He won’t care,” you said with a light laugh. “He probably won’t even notice.”

But you still leaned in anyway, amused and curious despite yourself. Shigure flashed a peace sign while you made a casual smile. The camera clicked. The photo captured nothing more than two coworkers having a normal moment… but part of you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

You tried to brush it off. You weren’t special. Todoroki was just polite. Considerate, maybe, but that didn’t mean he liked you-

BZZZT.

The agency alert buzzed across the room. A glowing red dispatch screen popped up over the table’s surface. Both your names were listed.

Shigure pocketed his phone and ran to the door, “Let’s go!”

You stood up quickly, slipping your drink into the trash as you ran after him. 

Your legs felt heavier with every step as you entered the dorms. The adrenaline of the day had long since worn off, leaving only soreness in your limbs and a deep, dragging fatigue in your bones. A dull ache pulsed from your shoulder down to your elbow, where the bruise bloomed deep purple beneath the bandages. The white wrap was neat, courtesy of a field medic, but it couldn’t hide the sting or the way it tugged at your muscles with every motion. 

The dispatch was for a hostage situation of a kidnapped billionaire's son, and you walked right into the villain’s trap of being blasted through two floors of a skyscraper.

It was rather early in the afternoon now, everyone should be back from classes but there did not seem to be anyone in the lounge. You were hoping for a hot shower, and the vast amount of snacks you ate was not enough. 

When your classmates came back, you all had dinner with the clatter of utensils, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes. You sat between Mina and Jirou, and told them of the more tolerable moments from your day at the agency to share with the others.

“They had you running morning patrols?” Kirishima was saying with an amazed grin. “That’s so manly!”

But before you could reply, Mina suddenly gasped. “Wait- wait! L/N-chan, look at this!”

She shoved her phone practically into your face, so close you had to lean back to focus. On the glowing screen was a screenshot from a local news segment. Your face was there, smiling slightly, standing beside several of Endeavor’s sidekicks on the street of the city. And at your side was Shigure.

You blinked. “I don’t think I even saw any phones or cameras.”

“People secretly take pictures of heroes all the time,” Mina chirped, scrolling a bit before Kaminari leaned in and added with a smirk, “The article says you’re a ‘promising and brave new sidekick of Endeavor’s,’ and that you ‘work well alongside Shigure.’”

“They also said-“ Uraraka piped up, giggling as she read off Mina’s phone, “‘She’s captured locals’ hearts with her friendly presence and cute face.’” She grinned at you teasingly. “You’re basically a celebrity now, wowww.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh my god, they said that…?”

“But are you okay, L/N-chan?” Asui asked softly, voice filled with concern as she looked at your arm. “It must’ve hurt.”

You shifted in your seat. “I just got knocked down a few floors, I got lucky with one broken bone.” You raised your arm slightly, gesturing to the clean white bandages that wrapped from your wrist to your elbow. “Recovery Girl healed it, but there’s still a lot of bruising, so she said it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

The room was warm with friendly chatter, but you couldn’t shake the weight of one particular stare. Out of curiosity, your eyes flicked toward Todoroki, who was across the table, unmoving, his spoon suspended halfway to his mouth.

He was staring at you.

You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on something Jirou said, but your heart jumped in your chest when Todoroki suddenly spoke.

“Are you close with Shigure?”

His voice cut through the conversation like a knife slicing through butter, startling. Everyone went quiet, heads turning. Even Midoriya’s chopsticks froze mid-bite and didn't blink

You blinked, thrown off. “Huh? Uh, not really?”

Todoroki didn’t look away. “He posted you on his social media.”

A strange silence wrapped around the table like a cold fog. Kaminari’s head dropped, eyes boring into his rice. Midoriya coughed softly and pushed his food around. Even Mina had her mouth slightly open, but no words came out and just stared blankly. Bakugo just kept eating, but was looking away.

Then Mineta, oblivious and loud as ever, broke the tension. “Oh, the selfie he posted of the two of you? It was a collage of a lot of people though,” Mineta piped up, a bit innocently, and you and everyone knew he did not understand why others were staying quiet. “Are you two interested in each other? Has he flirted with you? Man, hot guys are sure fast.”

Mineta was being curious and wanted to know gossip, but never had you wanted to personally thank him and slap his head into his food at the same time. You didn’t need to be a psychologist or someone with an empathy quirk to see that the expression on Todoroki's face showed dirty jealousy. Anyone could see Todoroki’s tightness around his jaw, and the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

Was Shigure right about Todoroki being jealous and liking you? If so, then if you thought you and Todoroki were dating, others might have, too.

“No, of course not,” you said quickly, trying to ease the weird tension blanketing the group. “He might seem flirty in media stuff, but in real life, he’s very professional.”

“Oh, I see!” Mina said immediately, latching on.

“Oh, I see,” Uraraka echoed, nodding.

“Oh, I see!” Hagakure chimed in brightly from across the table.

A chorus of small murmurs followed, and gradually, the room returned to its normal energy and conversations picked up again.

You took another glance at Todoroki, who looked normal now. Something was up, and you weren’t stupid enough to believe no one in the class thinks Todoroki likes you, or that you two are together. As you finished your meal, you felt that you barely tasted it and was instead more worried about how to tell Todoroki that you did not like him back. 

You hated that you had to say it. 

Hours later, your dorm room was lit only by the soft desk lamp as you sat on your All-Might-themed floor cushion. You were catching up on your homework, with a cup of dark tea on your table to keep you awake. 

Actually, what really kept you awake this late was the conversation you had with Yoayoruzu and Asui while walking up to the third floor together back to your room.

(“You’re not with Todoroki-san?” Yoayoruzu looked confused, “I apologize to assume.”

“No?” you replied.

“Ribbit, but he obviously likes you, so I thought you guys were dating,” Asui added.

And then the three of you went into your respective dorm rooms.)

A knock tapped gently on your door.

You blinked and looked up, surprised. When you opened the door, Todoroki was there, notebook in one hand, the other resting at his side.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said simply. “I also brought you your quizzes that Aizawa-sensei passed back today.”

For a moment, you just stood there, your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the door. Then, wordlessly, you stepped aside and let him in, taking the papers from his hands and set them at your desk.

The warm glow from your desk lamp cast soft shadows over the All Might posters on your wall and the floor cushion you’d been sitting on. Todoroki took everything in with that quiet attentiveness he always carried.

He didn’t sit at the desk. Instead, he stepped past it and sat on the edge of your bed.

You hesitated, then joined him.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, and for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. Your arm brushed his sleeve slightly as you adjusted your position, and you noticed his gaze fall, once again, to the bandage on your arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice lower now, quieter, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing down at the gauze. “It does hurt, though.”

Then, before you could say anything else, he moved so that you barely registered it happening.

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you.

You froze.

Not because it was unpleasant but because it was so unexpected. He held you close, firm, grounding you in place with a warmth that melted through your exhaustion like ice left too long in the sun. You felt the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the way his hand splayed over your back, hesitant and trembling.

“…It breaks my heart seeing you like this,” His voice was low, and softer than you’d ever heard it. 

“Todoroki…?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, confused, your arms still hanging uncertainly at your sides.

He didn’t let go. “I know we’ll all get hurt at some point, but when you get hurt I feel like I should have protected you more. Especially when we were attacked during training camp, you almost got captured by the league, and you were in critical condition in the ambulance.”

And suddenly, your heart was racing from what he said.

You didn’t know what to say, so you stood there as he pulled away, his eyes met yours immediately. You saw what people would describe as fondness, love, and even obsession. 

“People in class would misunderstand if you show more care for me,” you began your words carefully, “uhm, people think we are in a relationship.”

And you wish he would recoil and say that is absurd, or just say he didn’t mean for others to misunderstand him just being friends with you. Instead, a soft smile touched his lips that looked innocent, but it didn’t reach his eyes, his gaze shimmered with something far more dangerous.

“Would that be bad?” He asked.

Then you saw it, just a fleeting look in his eyes that made him look a bit crazy in love, and everything you thought you knew about how he saw you shattered and reformed in an instant. Todoroki took a slow breath, the kind someone takes when they’ve already decided they can’t turn back.

“I thought I could hide it forever but-” Todoroki Shouto confessed to you, “I love you, Y/n-chan. ”

Everything made sense with his constant protectiveness now, with the way he watched you across the room, how he always sat closer than necessary, said your name a little too softly. Shigure was right. Maybe everyone had been.

You swallowed hard and all at once, you felt trapped. You had invited Todoroki into your room, now it felt like the walls were closing in.

“You’re amazing, Todoroki. You really are,” you said, your voice low and almost too heartless, “but I don’t want to be the one who lets you down. I never thought of you that way.”

Because you never thought you had a chance to be his girlfriend, since you and Todoroki were classmates first and foremost, so you never settled on the fact he would like you in any other way than a friend. You never fell in love before, you have had crushes but you did not understand the pain and longing that came with real love. No, you did not want to understand it, actually. 

Todoroki’s eyes widened, shoulders stiffening, and for a second he didn’t say anything. You could see the way your rejection settled into him like frost spreading through his chest.

“I’m not perfect,” he said quietly, “and I never expected you to be. I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought you’d meet some standard, I fell in love with you because you’re the most amazing person I’ve met, you gave me something I didn’t think I was allowed to want.”

You stared at him, confused. “Wait- what are you talking about?”

His gaze dropped, like he was trying to find the right words in the grain of the floorboards. “Back in middle school… I didn’t even let myself think of what I wanted for myself other than proving my father wrong. I thought my future was already written out for me, that there was nothing more for me to want.”

You felt like this was going to get bad. “Todo- Todoroki-kun…?”

He looked back up at you then, eyes burning with love that he was so sure of. “You changed everything, Y/n-chan. That day you came up to my desk to talk about the worksheet, it gave me a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to chase.”

“What dream?” you asked, feeling utterly confused as you racked your head for that specific moment he was talking about. Wait, what is he even going on about? 

His eyes met yours with quiet certainty. “You wrote down for your future dreams that you wanted to marry me, and I wrote down the same.”

Speechless, you tried racking your head and could not possibly think of when that happened. You barely talked to him during middle school, he barely paid attention or talked to you back then. When was this? You only really ever talked to him near the last days of school, is that when you decided to joke with him? Slowly, the memory of the questionnaire worksheet came back and you realized what a joke Todoroki has been chasing after. Did he really take you seriously when you wrote down that you wanted to marry him?

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t mean it. It was just a joke I wanted to tease you with. We’re still young and we need to focus on becoming heroes, right?”

His jaw clenched slightly. “No, don’t say that,” he said, leaning closer. “I really do like you. You don’t understand- ever since that day you wrote on the questionnaire-"

You lost your patience, but mostly you just wanted it all to end. 

“Are you seriously bringing up that worksheet again?” you snapped. “What are you talking about? Of course I didn’t mean that. Don’t be crazy.”

Your words cut through the air, sharper than you meant them to be. You shook your head to yourself and turned away. “I’ll apologize later, you should go,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

But before you could fully stand up from your bed, his hand caught your wrist.

You turned, half expecting another refutation yet only for his lips to crash against yours. 

He was kissing you.

It felt sudden, so despairingly desperate from him, and it sent a jolt of shock through your chest. For a second, your body didn’t move from the shock.

“If I’m crazy,” he whispered when he pulled away, “then I’ll be crazy for you. I liked you for so long, I love-”

Your hand struck his cheek before he could finish, slapping him. “You’re actually fucking crazy!” you yelled at him, heart racing. 

Todoroki looked at you, stunned. 

His face turned slightly from the force, a red mark blooming across his pale skin but he didn’t back away.

“I never took your words like a joke,” His voice had dropped to a hush now, as if the words might break in his mouth if he spoke too loud. “I still have the worksheets, too. You were the first person who looked at me like I was just another classmate.”

You stared at him, scared at how deep his obsession went. “Stop, Todoroki.”

“I just want you so badly, I want you to hold hands with me, I want you to call me Shoto, I want to go on dates with you… I want just to be with you forever,” he said, and his voice cracked with the proclamation of it. “I used to think that as long as you’re by my side, where I can reach you and see you, that would be enough. But I just want more of you, I want you to love me.”

You stood frozen, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out. “I didn’t know,” you whispered.

“I always wanted you to see me the way I see you.”

Your throat tightened. You couldn’t look away from him and his expression that made your heart hurt, yet you forced yourself to tear your eyes away from him.

Todoroki guided your hand up to the scarred side of his face, and he leaned his cheek that you slapped gently into your palm. You could feel the uneven patch of red.

“Why don’t you like me?” He whispered sadly.

You shook your head, lifting up your other hand to cup his face. His eyes widened at your actions, almost wondering if he was dreaming. “I don’t know why, everything about you makes me admire you,” you told him softly, “I never wanted to cross the line of being just your friend. Isn’t that what we are? We’re classmates. Since primary school, and middle school, and now we’re in the same high school.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. All I want is you.”

“You should go,” you said at last.

Todoroki hesitated, but slowly pulled away and left your room, leaving an empty feeling in both your hearts.

[xinoroxsah]

『 silently staring, my heart is burning 』

zenin naoya

❝ he had already decided that this place with these flowers, this courtyard, and this everything all belonged to you. whether you wanted it yet or not. ❞

₊˚⊹ zenin naoya × sorcerer!reader ₊˚⊹ chapter: 02 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟

01 | ₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

02

Winter of your third year arrived, and you were back in Kyoto for your winter vacation.

Snow had fallen the night before, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the Zenin estate in white. By morning, the stone paths had been swept clean by servants, though the cold still seeped through the soles of your shoes as you walked. Pines bowed beneath the weight of frost. The tiled roofs glistened faintly, the air sharp enough to sting when you breathed too deeply.

Your family had returned for New Year’s Day, as tradition demanded. The visit was meant to be informal, where tea is shared and acknowledgments of another year passed. No elders were present this time. Only Naobito, a few siblings from both sides, and the quiet gravity that came with standing at the threshold of a new year.

While your parents were escorted inside to greet Naobito properly, you lingered at the gate with Naoya.

“Let’s go to the temple,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated only a moment before nodding.

The path to the temple was already worn smooth by countless footsteps, the stone steps dusted with a thin layer of snow that hadn’t yet melted. You slowed as you reached the torii gate, the quiet broken only by the faint chiming of bells and the voices of visitors offering their prayers. The air smelled of incense and clean winter air.

The line to the shrine moved slowly, a quiet procession of visitors wrapped in coats and scarves, breath blooming white in the winter air. Snow lingered at the edges of the stone path, packed down by countless footsteps, and the low sound of the bell carried softly every few moments as people finished their prayers and stepped aside.

You stood beside Naoya, hands tucked into the sleeves of your kimono, shoulders brushing. Ahead of you, a couple waited together, whispering something that made the girl laugh softly before they reached the offering box. You watched them without meaning to, and felt envious that they were just a normal pair of lovers.

“Do you want to pray?” you asked Naoya, tone gentle.

Naoya followed your gaze, eyes flicking briefly toward the shrine before returning to you. “Sure,” he replied with a smile, when the line moved forward and you stepped closer to the shrine, he followed without protest.

When it was your turn, you reached into your purse and took out a five-yen coin, and Naoya produced one of his own. The two of you dropped your coin into the offering box, then grasped the thick rope together to ring the bell. 

You and Naoya simultaneously bowed deeply once, straightened, then bowed a second time. You brought your hands together and clapped twice, the sound crisp in the winter air, then let your palms rest together as you lowered your head.

You prayed for good exam scores and to make it into a good college. Although you wanted to ask for a good marriage and husband, you felt like things of that sort did not matter to be prayed for anymore.

Beside you, Naoya remained still. You didn’t know what he prayed for, but you definitely had an idea. 

You stepped aside together, letting the next people approach the shrine, and only then did your attention drift to the nearby stall lined with omamori. They hung in neat rows, fabric charms in soft colors and careful embroidery, bright against the muted winter tones.

“Naoya-kun, let’s go look there,” you took his hand to drag him along, and he let out a laugh and followed.

You moved closer, eyes scanning them instinctively. Your gaze lingered on omamori marked for luck in passing entrance exams. As you looked, Naoya stepped away as something else had caught his eye.

After contemplating for a while, your hand moved to go reach for it.

“Y/n-chan!” Naoya’s chirpy voice stopped your movements, and you turned around to see Naoya walking back to where you stood.

He held out his hand, palm open, showing a pretty red omamori with stitches of birds. “I got you one for peace.”

You blinked, then your face brightened all at once, the happiness showing immediately. “For me?” you asked, even though the answer was obvious.

He clicked his tongue lightly. “Who else?”

You accepted it with both hands, bowing without thinking, fingers curling around the fabric as if it might slip away. “Thank you,” you said, smiling so wide it almost felt embarrassing.

Naoya watched you for a moment, something like quiet satisfaction softening his expression. “You really are easy to please.”

“Only when it’s you,” you replied, then flushed faintly, quickly tucking the charm away into the inner pockets of your kimono.

Side by side, you left the shrine grounds, snow crunching softly beneath your steps, the omamori warm against your chest and your heart lighter than it had been when you arrived.

When you and Naoya returned to the estate, the servants lead the both of you to where the guest entertainment chamber, where the sliding doors were already open, revealing the courtyard beyond. Tea had been set out. Plates of traditional sweets rested neatly on the table. Naoya’s father, Naobito, sat at ease with his tea cup in hand, watching the two of you arrive with a fond expression.

You knelt properly beside Naoya as conversation drifted around you, and your families talked about the weather, the new year, and small updates on current events. Steam rose from your cup of tea, and you sipped it to get warm from the cold.

At some point, Naoya set his cup aside, and looked to his father as if sending a signal. Then Naoya turned his head to look at you.

“Y/n,” Naoya said, addressing you first, gaze steady. “Will you spar with me?”

You turned toward him, surprised by the directness. “…Now?” you asked.

He replied, “it would be appropriate.”

You knew what his implications meant, as did everyone else.

Naoya shifted his attention then, inclining his head toward your parents with the same composed respect he used when asking for something he already believed would be granted. “If I may have your permission, I ask to spar with your daughter.”

The air changed immediately.

To suggest a formal spar like this in front of your parents means Naoya is asking for your hand in marriage. Naoya knows as much as anyone here that in order to marry a daughter from your clan, the man must beat her in a sparring match, conditions being what the parents decide.

Naobito’s eyes gleamed with interest, a grin tugging at his mouth as he let out a low chuckle. “Oh?” he said, clearly entertained. “That’s rare.”

“It concerns Y/n, so I must take this seriously,” Naoya replied evenly.

Your father folded his hands behind his back, expression thoughtful, measured. “You’re suggesting a formal spar,” he said, contemplating with a hum.

“Yes,” Naoya answered.

Your mother’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. “Is that really necessary?” she asked quietly, her voice gentle but uneasy. And you knew it was not because she did not want you to spar, it was because she was concerned you would lose too badly. 

Naobito laughed, sharp and amused. “Necessary?” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s tradition for the L/n clan, right? My son has to be good enough for your daughter.”

Your father exhaled slowly, eyes moving from Naoya to you. “They grew up together, yes, but I’m not sure my daughter can measure up to him now.”

The words weren’t meant to be degrading, it was meant to be out of concern for you.

Naoya was pushing you to a corner to accept this, and if you decline you lose face, and everyone will know you can’t win and Naoya will have your hand in marriage. If you fight him and lose, then you lose face and Naoya is still able to marry you. Whether you fight or not fight, it doesn’t matter.

You wouldn’t be able to win against Naoya, you know it. So there’s not a scenario in your head where you win.

You lowered your gaze for a moment, contemplating before straightening your back, and looking your parents in the eyes. “If this is what is expected and unavoidable, then I would love to spar,” you said calmly.

Naoya looked at you then, truly looked at you. Although Naoya knew he pushed you into a corner, hearing you accept was of his wildest dreams. He convinced himself his feelings were already returned. After all, how could it not? The two of you grew up together, and spent so much of your youth together.  

Naobito clapped his hands together, sharp in the cold air. “Good. No weapons. Hand to hand combat. Let’s see how you’ve both grown.”

And your parents agreed to the terms.

The venue was the nearby training courtyard that was cleared quickly, snow crunching softly underfoot as space opened between you. You changed from a kimono to a hakama like Naoya, wearing his opposite colors.

Both families watched from the sidelines, and many of Naoya’s older siblings appeared to watch.

You took your place opposite Naoya, the cold seeping through your ankles, trying to stay calm despite the way your heart pounded.

How long has it been since you sparred or even killed a curse? Last year? Two years ago? You can’t remember.

Across from you, Naoya loosened his sleeves, unable to hide his confidence.

He said teasingly, “You don’t need to force yourself.”

You let out a faint, humorless breath. “You don’t want me to force myself, but you still proposed to spar?”

All you saw was him at this moment, the white snow behind the two of you blanketing the garden felt so distant. You wondered if he was understanding the expression of defeat on your face right now, and you pressed your reddened lips together to hold back from saying more.

“Yes,” he replied. “I did.”

You set your stance, hands raised. The winter air felt sharp in your lungs as you shifted the way you inhaled, the silence heavy from the audience.

Your father cleared his throat, addressing the rules politely, “The rules are: no weapons, whoever either gets knocked out of the boundary line, loses consciousness, or surrenders first will lose.”

Are you striving to win? You found yourself asking that question to yourself as your eyes traced the boundary line behind Naoya. 

Years ago, when one of your older sisters was going to be engaged, she smiled and yielded in her sparring match, as if she had never stood a chance to begin with. She hadn’t even tried, not because she couldn’t, but because trying had never been the point. 

You inhaled slowly, feeling the air settle in your lungs, and made the decision quietly, firmly. You would give it your all. If you lost, then you would lose honestly. 

Naoya moved first.

His cursed energy shifted sharply, the telltale snap of Projection Sorcery rippling through the space as his movements fractured into precise, accelerated frames. To anyone else it would have looked like he vanished and reappeared, but you saw it so clearly. 

You were never strong in physical strength, or talented in combat techniques, but all you had was speed to make up for your shortcomings.

You reacted on instinct, pivoting just as his presence snapped back into place in front of you, the wind of his movement brushing your sleeve.

You clashed immediately, your speed matching his. Your foot slid over the gravel as you twisted aside, his palm narrowly missing your shoulder as he redirected himself again, movements clean and efficient, never wasted. 

He wasn’t striking to hit you, you could feel that much. Instead, he aimed to guide your momentum toward the edge of the circle, trying to force you out of the boundary.

“You’re hesitating,” he said under his breath, not taunting.

He didn’t dare to actually hit you. 

You surged forward, fists cutting through the air toward his ribs. He blocked every strike with ease, forearms snapping into place, cursed energy reinforcing his movements as he stepped into your space. His hand shot out and caught your wrist, twisting just enough to threaten a lock, pressure biting into your joint.

You reacted without thinking, letting your body go loose for a split second, slipping free before the hold could set. You spun low, sweeping past him, but he adjusted instantly, Projection Sorcery carrying him ahead of your movement, palm slamming into your collarbone with controlled force.

The impact knocked the air from your lungs.

You skidded backward, boots scraping harshly against stone, the boundary of the circle flashing dangerously close. At the last moment you twisted sideways, letting your body tilt with the momentum instead of fighting it, one hand brushing the ground as you kicked off hard and lunged back in, closing the distance before he could reposition.

Your fist connected and slammed into his side just beneath the ribs, cursed energy flaring instinctively as the strike landed. You felt the impact shudder through both of you.

Naoya staggered half a step.

The sound he made was sharp and unmistakable, a cough torn from his chest as blood flecked against the snow-dusted stone.

Your heart lurched, since when have you ever hit him? And when you did, you felt guilt wrack through you.

For a second, you hesitated, hand half-raised as if to reach for him. 

That moment cost you everything.

His eyes sharpened, focus snapping back into place, and he moved before you could recover. His palm struck your shoulder with force, his Projection Sorcery amplifying his speed just enough to send you flying backward. 

You stumbled as your heel slid over loose gravel, and you were unsuccessful in burning yourself back up.

You fell hard outside the boundary line, the cold knocking into you as you fell onto your side on the ground. Your breath heaved and half expecting to be coughing up blood like Naoya, only you didn’t.

The match was over, you lost.

Naoya was at your side instantly, dropping to one knee, one hand braced behind your back as he helped you sit up. “Are you hurt?” he asked quietly, his hand coming up to smooth over your cheek. No one deserved his kindness other than you.

You looked at him, breath still uneven. “You’re bleeding,” you said, eyes fixed on the faint smear at the corner of his mouth. “Did I hurt you badly?”

He shook his head once, “No, I’m fine.”

Applause rose around you, and approval in your family's voices murmured praise. They complimented how capable you both were, how impressive the exchange had been, and how Naoya had clearly won. Your parents nodded in approval, your siblings watching with expressions you couldn’t quite read.

Maybe if you had trained more, you would have beaten him. Maybe.

Thus, you tried to reason with yourself that this doesn’t mean anything. 

Naoya helped you to your feet, an arm wrapped around your waist and hand resting on your hip. Now he deserved to hold you like this, because he won the fight.

You stood there, listening to the sound of clapping fade into the cold air, knowing something no one else would say aloud.

You had given everything you had in the fight, while he held himself back from really doing anything. Within ten hits from him, you would have surely died. Likewise, within twelve hits from you, he might have died.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

It was mid-February, and graduation was only a month away. The thought sat heavily in your chest now, that you will be finishing your third year of high school, and going to college. Such a life was something you never imagined you would have had ten years ago. 

After school on Friday, you went straight back to your apartment to change clothes, turning down the offer to go shopping with your friends in Shibuya. 

You headed to Tokyo Station as evening settled over the city, boarding a bullet train to head back to Kyoto.

You wanted to see Naoya. You wanted to tell him about your graduation next month, about the college you’d chosen, and how the two of you can be together soon in a few years. You planned to ask him if he would come to your graduation.

Naoya’s side of the estate has its guest entertainment chamber, where the low lacquered table was set for hot tea, and the tatami mats always looked new.

You felt like you were dressed far too nice to just come and see him, but Tokyo girls taught you that if you were going to be seen, then you must be seen properly. 

Your own family’s idea of proper was an expensive kimono, and they almost forced you to wear one when they heard you were going to go see Naoya. Instead, you arrived from the bullet train straight to the Zenin Estate to see Naoya, with minimal makeup that enhanced your features, and wearing a pink blouse with a long black skirt. 

You’ve been in his wing of the estate countless times growing up, but today the atmosphere feels heavier, as though the space itself is holding its breath.

You were seated beside him at the table, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed when you shifted. You could feel the warmth of him without looking. He could have sat across from you, but he had chosen not to. One of his knees angled subtly toward you, his sleeve grazing yours when he moved. 

The sliding door behind you was already closed, improper for a meeting between just the two of you.

“You’re graduating soon,” Naoya said at last.

You nodded, “My graduation ceremony is next month, actually.”

His voice was even, calm, the way it always was when he believed he was in control of a situation. “Have you thought about what you’ll do after?”

You nodded, fingers curling faintly in your lap. There was a strange pressure building in your chest, a sense that the timing of this conversation was wrong in a way you couldn’t quite articulate. “I’m going to go to-” You never finished the sentence.

“We should marry,” Naoya said.

You stared at him, a bit speechless.

“I’ve spoken with my father and the other clan elders,” he continued calmly. “Your family will agree. We’ve known each other our whole lives. You’re strong enough to stand beside me, and you’ve already proven you won’t embarrass the clan.”

Your heart began to race with a slow, sinking dread that settled heavy in your stomach.

You were about to graduate, had already chosen your college, and mapped out your entire career. Being married to Naoya was something only after all of that, but now you felt like he would not give the opportunity for you to accomplish any of that.

“On the fifteenth of May is a great day, it’s the most auspicious time,” Naoya told you with a smile.

You drew in a steadying breath. “I can’t right now, Naoya.”

Naoya paused. “What do you mean?”

The air felt brittle, like one wrong movement would shatter something neither of you could put back together. You hadn’t planned for this to be cruel, but there was no gentle way out.

“Can you just wait for me a little longer?” you said quietly. “We grew up together. I care about you. You’ve always treated me better than most- I know that, but I can’t. I don’t want this life with you right now.”

For a heartbeat, the room was silent.

Then he huffed out a laugh, sharp and disbelieving, his arm lifting to drape around your shoulders as if the familiarity itself could correct you. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, “that’s not what this is about.”

“It is to me,” you replied, slipping out from under his arm. “Ultimately, I don’t want to marry into the Zenin clan, but if I have to then give me a few more years.”

The faint smile on his face vanished.

“But do you want to marry me?” and Naoya sounded heartbroken. “I used to tell myself that as long as we get married in the end, then I would be happy. But that was when you were at my side and where I could see you.” But what if you start to like someone else? How many more years does Naoya need to wait, and hope someone better than him won’t take you away?

You needed to force yourself to say that you had no feelings for him, yet you could not bring yourself to. “Naoya, don’t make things difficult for me,” you whispered.

“I’ve waited so long for you, don’t you understand?” Naoya asked in a soft, pleading way. “I know how women are treated in my clan, I’m not blind. But I thought you understood that my position changes that for you. Please, Y/n, I don’t want to make you have difficulties, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

There was something wrong in the way he looked at you now. Naoya wasn’t angry, but his expression looked like he was desperate. You never seen anything like before, and it made your heart twist in guilt.

“I thought you understood,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “I’ve always wanted an ordinary life. I never cared about clan matters or being a sorcerer, it may sound selfish, but I don’t have anything I want to do as a sorcerer.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“You’ve always been wrong about that,” he continued, leaning closer, presence pressing in. “You’re not ordinary. You never were.”

A chill crawled up your spine.

“I’m not saying I am ordinary,” you insisted. “I knew what I was giving up when I left, including the choice to not marry you.”

“You chose to waste yourself,” Naoya snapped, composure finally cracking. “I watched you throw away everything you were given just to play house with people who’ll never understand you. You were more talented than any of your siblings, you could have been a powerful sorcerer. Why couldn’t you have been satisfied with that? I have been in love with you for my entire life, but you still chose to not acknowledge my feelings.”

You shook your head, placing a hand against his shoulder and pushing him back firmly. “If no one understands me, then do you understand me?”

Naoya shook his head in denial. “I want to, but I don’t understand why you can’t admit that you love me.”

“Naoya,” you continued, “believe it if you want, and if you don’t believe it then it doesn't make a difference. You can’t decide on my marriage anyways.”

He stared at you as if you’d said something fascinating. “You really don’t think I can? I’m taking you as my wife,” he continued, voice low and unwavering. “If that means doing it right now, I will.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You really think,” he went on, “that after everything- after knowing exactly what you are- I’d let you walk away just because you don’t feel ready?”

“Naoya,” you said softly, his name slipping out the way it always had, “would you really be happy if I were your wife?”

Once, long ago, you had loved him. Maybe the seven-year-old version of you would have been thrilled to hear this. But you weren’t that version of yourself anymore. You and Naoya had become different people, too different.

“The way you are,” Naoya said, leaning into your space, “I love you.”

You turned your head away, but his hand came up to caress your cheek, fingers tilting your face back toward him.

“You can hate me if you want,” Naoya murmured, breath brushing your skin. “No matter what you do, in the end we will be married, just like we talked about when we were kids.”

Your heart pounded. “Naoya-”

His smile sharpened. “I love when you say my name in that voice.” His eyes were dark now, focused with frightening clarity, all pretense of restraint stripped away. “You owe me a love debt.”

Then he leaned in, his lips kissing upon yours.

His grip tightened as he guided you backward, the tatami meeting your back, making you gasp softly into his mouth.

Naoya braced his weight carefully, one hand planted beside your head, the other sliding to your waist as if to anchor you there. His presence was overwhelming, all controlled strength and simmering restraint finally allowed to break. 

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a quiet, dangerous murmur. “You’re not pushing me away, you’re finally not leaving, right?” 

His pupils were blown wide with happiness, each exhale and heavy, like he was savoring the fact that you were finally within reach, unable to ignore him anymore.

“Even if I love you, Naoya, I don’t want to change,” you breathed out, tears burning at the corner of your eyes.

“Y/n, you weren’t an ordinary woman. You had the status and a background of a noble lady.”

“So what? It’s too late, I don’t want to go back.”

But Naoya did not want to listen, and leaned down to kiss you again, this time more desperate and claiming. 

His mouth moved against yours with an urgency that bordered on worship, as if he were trying to show just how much he wanted you after all these years. The kiss deepened not because he forced it, but because you kissed him back. His hand slid higher at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your blouse as though to remind himself that you hadn’t vanished yet.

Naoya kissed you like someone terrified of being abandoned again, every press of his mouth desperate in a way that made your chest ache. 

He was trying to convince himself this was real, that you were finally choosing him. 

And for a heartbeat, you almost let yourself believe it would all work out. 

Your fingers tangled in his bleached hair, pulling him closer as if proximity alone could erase everything that felt wrong. Your heart raced with your own longing. You kissed him back more recklessly, as if trying to drown the doubt rising in your chest. 

His breath shuddered at the response, a gasp escaping him, and he leaned fully into you, trusting you in every way.

Then you opened your eyes.

This wasn’t love the way you had dreamed it would be. It was too unfair to Naoya.

Your hands stilled.

Naoya felt it instantly. “Y/n?” he murmured, breath still warm against your mouth, his voice unguarded.

“We can’t do this, Naoya,” You pressed your palm flat against his chest and pushed.

He didn’t resist at first, startled more than anything, enough for you to slip out from under him and rise to your feet. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you smoothed your skirt with shaking hands, the sensation of his touch still burning on your skin.

“This is wrong,” you said, voice unsteady but firm. “I shouldn’t have let this happen, I'm sorry.”

Naoya sat back on his heels, staring up at you in heartbreaking confusion. “You kissed me back,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you replied, tears finally spilling over despite your effort to hold them back. “That’s why I have to leave, it's not fair to you if I can't keep my word.”

You grabbed your purse with trembling fingers, slinging it over your shoulder as if the weight might calm you down even a little bit. 

“We can’t do this anymore,” you continued, forcing the words out before you completely lose your sanity. “If we keep meeting, it will just keep hurting you.”

Naoya watched you with an expression you couldn’t quite name, something wounded and calculating all at once, as if he were memorizing the entirety of this moment too. His hands rested loosely in his lap, knuckles pale.

“…So this is you leaving again,” he concluded.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

Then, finally, you turned and slid the door open.

You didn’t look back when you walked away.

And Naoya let you go, not because he accepted it, but because he knew it wouldn’t matter if you left or stayed.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

It had only been two weeks since you fled back to Tokyo.

You had barely begun to settle into the rhythm of city life again, and finishing your final month of school, a message had come from your family.

Your father has passed away.

The words didn’t make sense at first, until the meaning caught up all at once and knocked the breath from your lungs. There was no time to process it properly. 

You were summoned immediately, urged to return to Kyoto at once. Grief and urgency were tangled together so tightly that you could not separate them, and before the shock had time to clam down you were already on the bullet train.

By the time you arrived at your family’s estate, night had fallen.

The place you had grown up in felt unfamiliar under mourning lanterns. Pale silk lights lined the stone paths, glowing softly. 

You were guided to the main hall by quiet servants in a rush.

Inside, the elders of your clan were already assembled, seated in a careful semicircle that left no room for disruption. Your siblings and cousins knelt in order of age, dark robes pooled neatly around them, their expressions blank. You took your place among them automatically, knees settling against the tatami, hands folding in your lap.

Only then, forced into stillness, did the weight of your father’s absence finally press down on you.

His portrait rested at the front of the hall, incense burning steadily before it, smoke curling upward in thin wisps. 

Your great uncle cleared his throat.

“We will now read the final testament of the late head of the L/n clan,” he announced, his voice a bit crackly from his old age. “All present will listen.”

“First,” your great uncle read, “in accordance with bloodline, capability, and the consensus of the council, the position of clan head shall pass to the fourth son.”

Your fourth brother bowed immediately, his forehead touching the floor in respect. You watched him from the corner of your eye, expecting to see a bit of surprise or hesitance from him, but found none. 

“Second,” your great uncle continued, “the remaining duties, lands, and financial responsibilities shall be divided as follows-”

Names followed along with titles and obligations, and your name did not appear. You listened, but the words washed over you without anchoring, your mind still caught on the image of your father’s portrait, the steady burn of incense that would not falter even now.

“There is one final matter. In order to secure the future of the clan and strengthen longstanding alliances,” read your great uncle, “the late head decreed that his fifth daughter, L/n Y/n, shall be wed as primary wife to Zenin Naoya of the Zenin clan.”

The hall remained utterly still just the same as when the previous decrees were issued. Yet, you felt like your ears were deceiving you.

No one turned to look at you, as though this had already been accepted long before.

“All arrangements are effective immediately,” your uncle concluded. “The formal wedding ceremony may be scheduled at a later date.”

If you had not already been kneeling, you would have collapsed.

Your breath caught painfully in your chest, the edges of the room blurring as the weight of it all pressed in at once.

It wasn’t until much later, when the majority of the lights in the estate were off, that you sought your fourth brother out in his room.

The two of you rarely talked, if at all, but you were almost sheathing in anger and you had to ask him. You didn’t bother with knocking on his door or dealing with the formalities.

He looked up as you entered, guilt flickering across his face before he could hide it. “Y/n,” he said quietly.

You closed the door behind you and snapped, “Why was my marriage written into Father’s will?”

He exhaled slowly and gestured for you to sit. When you didn’t move, his shoulders sagged.

“It was discussed when father fell ill,” your fourth brother said. 

“With whom?” Your throat tightened, “because he never told me… Even in my own marriage I can’t make the choice.”

“It was more of a practical decree, because the Zenin clan is powerful and Zenin Naoya is committed to you,” your brother replied, eyes lowering. “You know father just wants you to be happy, and mother right now is in depression. I also want you to be happy, so me and Zenin Naoya came to an agreement."

“You... you conspired with the Zenin clan?” You whispered, horrified.

His face changed, just for a moment.

“You killed Father, you and the Zenin clan?” you breathed, unable to believe your conclusion, but it was the only thing that made sense. 

He moved fast, crossing the room and covering your mouth with his hand, eyes sharp with a glare. “Lower your voice,” he hissed. 

Your heart pounded violently as he released you.

“This was the only way,” he sighed. “Succession would have torn the clan apart. Father refused to step aside. This ensured stability, just understand for once.”

You stared at him, horror blooming slowly. Not just at what he’d done, but at how easily he justified it. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it was wrong or incorrect, because if you were actually involved in your clan then maybe you would side with him as well. 

“What about my marriage?” you asked, your voice barely holding together. “That was part of a deal you made with Naoya? All for your positions to be ensured?”

“No, Zenin Naoya just helped me kill father, he knew about the clause of your marriage already,” He hesitated, then added, almost pleading, “This was still Father’s wish, it wasn’t something only Zenin wanted, and I’m sure you knew.”

You understood that the only thing Naoya and your fourth brother did was to accelerate your father’s will. In the end, it was all for the name of the clan, but at least Naoya did love you. So, you tried to see the positives.

“I… I understand,” you gritted out.

If it was your fathers last wish, then so be it.

You stepped back, the lantern light blurring as tears finally spilled over. Succession had hollowed something rotten in your family, turning blood into leverage, and unfortunately you were standing at the center of it and taking the aftermaths.

“Don’t cry, Y/n, Zenin Naoya already decided on an auspicious day for the wedding,” your fourth brother tried, and he patted you on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

You already knew that, though.

“Then… Then I will follow everything you have planned, clan leader,” You bowed your head down.

In a sense, you always knew you would have to come back home to deal with clan matters, and perhaps one day never leave them again. You just did not expect it to be so soon. 

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

The next morning still came, and life moved on within your family’s estate.

Servants moved through the corridors as they always did, footsteps soundless against the wooden floors, sliding doors opening and closing. Someone rang the bell to mark the hour. Somewhere, water was being drawn. Somewhere else, incense was replaced on your father’s altar.

Life continued, but some were still in mourning, like your mother who closed herself off to the world after your father’s passing.

For you, Tokyo still existed, as did your apartment and the rest of your high school third year. Your classmates would still be sitting at their desks, counting down the final weeks to graduation, and you should do the same.

You stepped into the corridor, dressed in plain clothes.

A servant stopped you before you reached the outer hall, bowing low. “If you intend to leave the estate, Lady Y/n, you must first inform the head of the clan.”

“What? I have to inform my brother now about where I go?” You snapped, irritated.

“It’s just what the clan head ordered, please don’t take it out on us servants.”

So you turned, feet carrying you down a familiar path that no longer felt like yours, toward the study in the east wing. The door was half-open when you arrived. Inside, your fourth brother sat behind your father’s old desk, scrolls and documents neatly arranged before him.

“I’m returning to Tokyo,” you said, standing just inside the threshold. “I need to collect my belongings and finish school.”

He didn’t look up at you right away. His pen continued to move, annotating a document as if you’d commented on the weather. “You won’t be going,” he replied calmly.

You took a step forward. “What?”

Only then did he lift his gaze, looking at you not as your fourth brother, but as the new head of the clan. “I’ll have people sent to your apartment,” he stated, “they’ll retrieve whatever you require. Your school will be notified of your withdrawal.”

“Removing me from school when I’m about to finish? Are you crazy?” You gasped.

“Since when have you ever spoken with tones like that? You certainly have changed.”

You frowned and looked to the side.

Your brother shook his head, “Your position has changed, after father's will was put into effect, you aren’t part of the L/n clan anymore.”

“Since father’s will? Are you slapping my face? I am still here, if I can’t leave then I am a part of this household,” you replied in disbelief, anger boiling under your skin. “I haven’t married Naoya yet, and you’re saying I’m out of the family?”

He regarded you for a moment, something like pity flickering and vanishing just as quickly. “Sister, you are Zenin Naoya’s wife in name and standing. That supersedes everything else.”

“I don’t care, he’s not my husband!” 

“You no longer fall under the jurisdiction of the L/n family,” he continued persistently, voice rising. “Until the wedding ceremony, you will remain here. After that, you will move to the Zenin estate.”

You closed your eyes briefly, steadying your breath, as if your anger hadn’t made you speak out of turn enough. Pleading would also achieve nothing.

“Then let me see Naoya,” you asked. “I want to talk to him.”

Your brother hesitated, “He doesn’t wish to see you right now.”

Of course. This was Naoya’s punishment towards you. You swallowed, bowing your head just enough to maintain dignity. “Fine, then I’ll wait.”

Your brother studied you for a long moment, then nodded once. “He did send something for you, it’s your wedding clothes. I saw it myself, there’s peonies and other flowers embroidered on it. You should go try it on, and if any adjustments need to be made, then I will forward the request to him.”

“No need,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the way your throat burned. “I’ve seen enough.”

Your brother inclined his head, accepting the refusal without argument.

You turned away.

As you stepped back into the corridor, the weight of it all finally settled into you. You were only eighteen, and just two weeks ago you had been worrying about exams, about graduation photos, about if you should leave your hair down or tie it into a ponytail. You had a whole life to still live, and now you’re going to be married off.

Halfway down the corridor, soft footsteps followed you.

Your little sister lingered just behind your shoulder, her presence small. You weren’t sure how long she had been standing outside the study or how much she had heard, but you didn’t have the energy to care. She reached out and tugged lightly at your sleeve, the way she had when you were both younger and she wanted your attention.

“Hey, sis,” she said, tilting her head up to look at you. “Why aren’t you happy about getting married? I thought you liked Zenin.”

You let out a breath that was half a huff, half a laugh, stopping just long enough to look down at her. “I can’t even decide my own marriage,” you said, the words slipping out sharper than you intended. “Of course I’m mad.”

She blinked, absorbing that, then hummed thoughtfully as you resumed walking. After a moment, she brightened, as if struck by an idea she thought was clever.

“Then why don’t you run away?” she suggested, “like in the TV dramas, where the bride always runs away when she doesn’t want to get married.”

For just a second, an image formed in your head of you running away, never looking back. How free would that feel? It was almost laughable, in reality.

You didn’t tell her what running away would actually mean, it was always easier said than done. Naoya would find you, and your family would hunt you down.

“There’s no running from family duties,” you stated, "there’s more to gain if I marry Naoya, he’s going to be the head of the Zenin clan one day. Our family needs more partnership than ever right now, after all our older siblings married smaller clans.”

She went quiet at that.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

The wedding ceremony felt brief, due to your anxious heart unable to relax.

The path of pale stone that led toward the temple seemed far shorter than it ever had before, as if the distance had been folded inward by fate itself. Cherry blossoms drifted down from the trees in soft showers, petals brushing your sleeves and Naoya’s shoulder. At the height of spring was when Naoya decided the most auspicious day was, and indeed, it was the beautiful sight you have ever seen.

You walked beside Naoya.

Not a single glance was spared upward, not because you did not wish to look, but because you were too scared to even mess up any of your steps. To the guests gathered along the path, it must have looked perfect.

The temple gates stood open.

The bells rang once, deep and resonant, and the murmurs of the crowd faded into silence. Each step you took echoed faintly against the stone, and you began to see the peak of the altar.

Offerings had already been arranged with careful care, there was rice, salt, sake, and folded paper charms marked with prayers for continuity and strength. Everything had been prepared in advance, everything in order and perfectly done according to tradition.

You and Naoya knelt together.

The priest’s voice rose and you drowned out his dialogue, only hearing your name being spoken, then Naoya.

You lifted the sake to your lips, hands steady despite the faint tremor in your chest. The liquid was warm and the burn lingered on your tongue. You and Naoya both did it three times. With each exchange, the vow was for heaven, earth, and humankind; past, present, and future.

When the final cup was set down, you were officially married. 

Outside, the wind stirred.

Cherry blossoms fell more heavily now, petals gathering at your feet like offerings of their own. Somewhere among the guests, a soft sigh was released. Somewhere else, someone whispered that the scene was beautiful.

Naoya rose first, then offered you his hand.

You placed your palm in his without hesitation. His hand was warm, and a side of you did feel happy that you finally married him. You and him, married at last.

As you stood together and walked outside beneath the blossoms, framed by the temple gates and the watching sky, you enjoyed the beautiful cherry blossoms that brought upon spring. “Naoya, do you still remember that year when you carried me up temple stairs?”

“Of course I do,” Naoya replied softly, then he held your hand.

For a bit, you felt very happy, that you could look away from all the wrongdoings he committed. 

Naoya’s eyes drifted away, before looking back at you with wavering guilt. “I’m sorry, Y/n-chan, I didn’t want you to leave me again. I won’t give you the chance to either.”

That decision came quietly, only two days after you moved into the Zenin estate.

The statement Naoya issued to the clan was delivered without much explanation, and he did not need to provide a good explanation either. 

He stood before the elders with his back straight and his expression composed, and no one asked questions, especially when it came to a woman they did not care about.

“From this day onward, the north wing of the Zenin estate shall be guarded by my command. The lawful future wife, L/n Y/n, of the Zenin household shall reside therein under my protection and governance,” Naoya stated, “Lady L/n shall no longer be summoned to clan assemblies, ancestral rites, or any public or private engagements without my permission or word, due to her poor health. From this moment forward, she is not to leave even half a step out of the Northern Wing of the estate, and will stay until she dies.”

No one objected, although no one believed your health was fragile, they just assumed Naoya wanted to lock you up in a twisted romantic way. In truth, that was technically the case.

And so it was decided.

Already imprisoned in the north wing of the estate, you were only informed of the fact by Naoya after the fact.

You were leaned into his arms, as he gently ran his fingers through your hair as if to coax you. 

“You will live here forever,” he said simply. “Everything you need will be provided.”

You said nothing.

“I told them you are unwell,” Naoya whispered. 

“You think keeping me here will change anything?”

“I wouldn’t have taken such a dangerous route if I did not love you,” said Naoya, “if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t have worked with your brother. I wouldn’t have gone that far. Do you think I wanted to kill your father? I did it so you could finally be mine.”

The word felt wrong in the air between you.

“You will stay,” he said. “You will remain my wife until the day you die.”

He reached out then to straighten a loose fold in your sleeve, the gesture intimate.

“Even if you keep me here my entire life, will you really get what you want in the end?” You asked sadly. 

“You belong here with me,” murmured Naoya desperately, “what I want is you, all of you.”

And his hand reached up to caress your cheek gently, admiring how you looked, your beauty cold and refined. 

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

“Won’t she kill herself?” his father asked, as though discussing the possibility of poor weather rather than a human life.

Naoya stood with his arms crossed, posture composed, eyes fixed on the garden beyond the screens. “She won’t,” he replied without hesitation. “Not while she can still see the outside sky from the walls.”

His father glanced at him, a bit skeptical.

“Even if all she sees is a courtyard,” Naoya continued evenly, “she will keep living. She believes freedom comes later. After a few years, she should be fine, and I’ll take her outside.”

And Naoya was right.

You spent long hours standing at the edge of the courtyard, fingers resting lightly against the cool wood of the railing as your eyes traced the height of the walls. You imagined streets you had once walked, train platforms humming with life, faces you would never see again. You imagined a future that no longer had a shape, only distance. Sometimes you wondered if it had ever truly been yours at all.

You never begged him to let you go outside, since you understood that he would agree only if you behave. 

Your family had not come. No letters. No protests. You were no longer their daughter, you were now only the wife of the future Zenin clan head.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask sometimes, “Can we go outside, Naoya?”

He had shaken his head gently, as if indulging a child’s misunderstanding, and pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you with a familiarity that made your throat ache.

“Maybe one day,” Naoya murmured into your hair, voice soft, almost affectionate. “If you behave, dear wife.”

After that, the garden changed.

Naoya ordered peonies to be planted along the paths, their lush blooms filling the courtyard with heavy color and fragrance. He ordered magnolia trees to be moved from one part of the Zenin estate to his, where you would surely like to see it bloom. He told himself it would make you happier.

You only smiled faintly when you noticed them. So what if it’s a peony or two? Or even a lotus or cherry blossom? All flowers are doomed to bloom, fall, and whither. It was only a matter of waiting.

“Thank you, Naoya,” You said.

“You deserve the best because you’re my wife.”

It was beneath the magnolia tree that he found you later, the same one that had stood there since your childhood. Its branches were heavy with pink blossoms, petals drifting lazily through the air as the wind passed through. You were asleep at its base, leaning on the trunk, expression peaceful in a way that made you look like an immortal.

For a moment, memories of past years came back to him.

He remembered when you had leaned on your shoulder, flower petals falling all around you. Back then, everything was just more simple because you could ignore any problems or trouble you wanted. 

Naoya sat down beside you slowly, careful not to wake you. Without thinking, he leaned against you until your shoulders touched.

And you, asleep beneath the magnolia, unconsciously leaned onto his shoulder.

[xinoroxsah]

『 silently staring, my heart is burning 』

zenin naoya

❝ and that’s when Naoya accepted that he fell in love with you, and only you. ❞

₊˚⊹ zenin naoya × sorcerer!reader ₊˚⊹ chapter: 01 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟ ₊˚⊹ genre: childhood friends, arranged marriage, slow burn ₊˚⊹ warnings: misogyny, possessive behavior, power imbalance

₊˚⊹ synopsis: zenin naoya looked at you with an expression of annoyance, and disappointment. the two of you were about to enter high school, while he was going to receive a formal education in his clan, you were going to a non-sorcerer high school. it was a private academy, but still- a normal school?

“you’re wasting your potential,” naoya told you, looking away because he could not accept how happy you looked in your uniform.

you spun around again, letting the skirt that reached your knees twirl around. “hmm, am i? i am still fighting curses, i just want to be an ordinary girl as well, isn’t that enough? plenty of sorcerers go to normal schools, too.”

naoya decided that your desire for a life that is so-called ordinary is wrong, after all, you were going to be his future wife. how could your life be anything but ordinary? yet, despite his convincing and harsh words, you still went off to Tokyo for high school, leaving him behind.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 | 02

01　the young mistress & the heir

You and Zenin Naoya grew up in the same orbit ever since childhood. 

Your clan was old and prestigious, but quieter and a bit less traditionalistic than the Zenin, your family was still well respected. You were not the heir, just one of many siblings, useful but not essential in the household which meant you had the freedom to do what you wanted to in the future. Your parents allowed you to attend a normal school alongside sorcerer training since childhood, indulging your insistence that you wanted friends who weren't sorcerers.

Naoya hated that about you.

Even as children, he watched you trade your lessons in combat and traditional instruments for playing at the playground with your non-sorcerer friends, choose to go over to your non-sorcerer friends’ houses to play house instead of brightening your cursed techniques, smiling brightly when you talked about wanting a life that didn’t revolve around curses.

When you were both nine, he wanted get through to your head.

“You’re wasting time,” Naoya told you once, sitting beside you during a clan gathering (he chose to sit next to you instead of his father), expression sharp even then. “People like us don’t get to be ordinary. You’re talented too, so why waste your time with those people who can’t even see curses?”

You looked at him before looking down at the pretty food in front you. “I don’t want to fight curses, it’s a hassle,” you said it in your child-like, simple way.

Even as the two of you were both the same age, nine, he shook his head when your answer was unsatisfying, and said, “No, girls are supposed to follow behind their husbands,” he pouted, “I’m going to be heir one day, and you have to follow behind me.”

You hummed and tilted your head, “If I follow behind you, will you protect me?”

At that, he brightened up a bit, “Of course! You’re going to be my wife, I will protect you so you don’t have to do anything.”

You thought to yourself that you won’t even need to be protected if you just chose to have a normal life, plenty of people don’t fight curses and live happy lives. Like your school friends, who know nothing about curses or jujutsu, or the expectation of holding up clan values that felt so outdated.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

When you and Naoya were both thirteen, the playdates and visits to each other were more orchestrated by yourselves instead of parents. He has gotten more brash, from what you could see, and always hated when you talked about your non-source or friends, so you stopped talking about them. 

“There’s some weird curse down at the river, I’ll show you!” Naoya held your hand, pulling you along.

The curse had crawled out of the riverbank like something embarrassed to exist, its form half-liquid, half-wrong, dragging itself over wet stones with a sound like breath pulled through rot. Naoya felt it before he saw it, cursed energy pricking unpleasantly against his skin as he clicked his tongue in irritation, already annoyed that this had been assigned to the two of you instead of something worth his time.

“Stay back, I’ll protect you,” Naoya grinned, fingers flexing as he prepared to strike. “I’ll handle it.”

But you didn’t care for him showing off because you just wanted that curse erased. “Such a pitiful thing, I’ll pray for the peace of the people it harmed,” you sadly lamented, and before Naoya could register your words, you had pulled a kaiken out from the obi sash of your kimono, revealing the blade of the small dagger. 

You moved when the curse lunged, your body flowing forward with the dagger in your hands as you brought it around and traced a clean arc through the air. Your kimono didn’t shift and not a hair was out of place, even the cluster of flowers and hairpins in your hair did not move. 

The sound that echoed was a soft whistle of air, and then the curse was no longer whole. One moment it was reaching to attack you, and the next it split cleanly down the center within one move.

The monster’s cursed energy unraveled in a quiet collapse that dissolved into nothing before it even had time to scream.

Naoya stood frozen, lips parted.

You straightened slowly, the kaiken’s blade tilting downward as residual cursed energy bled harmlessly away. Your expression was still that of a composed young mistress, you didn’t even look particularly proud of yourself.

“Is that it?” you asked lightly, glancing back at Naoya.

For a moment, Naoya did not know what to say.

Something hot and unfamiliar twisted in his chest, sharp and breathless and ugly. “You-” Noaya started, then stopped, frowning.

You tilted your head, curious. “Hm?”

He swallowed, eyes dragging over you in a way that made him angry at himself. You were beautiful like this, he realized suddenly, so beautiful and strong and unruffled, like you could kill anything in the world including him without batting an eyelash.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he snapped finally.

You blinked, “Do what, Naoya-kun?”

“Don’t move ahead of me,” he said sharply. “You’re not supposed to outpace me.”

Kids are easily impressionable and learn from adults, which is why slowly Naoya began to act more like his male relatives. Even as a thirteen year old, you knew that the rosy-cheeked boy you had a crush on back when you were both nine was gone. He was far from the man of your dreams now.

You stared at him for a second, then laughed softly. “I wasn’t competing, it wasn’t a competition, I wanted to kill it sooner because it looked like it was suffering.”

That answer struck deeper than any insult could have.

Naoya looked away, fists clenched at his sides, heart pounding with something that felt too much like awe and resentment tangled together. He told himself it was irritating because you outperformed him. 

But even then, even at thirteen, he knew the truth he would never say out loud. You were beautiful when you fought, you were strong and talented. It left him speechless and that’s when Naoya accepted that he fell in love with you, and only you. 

And the idea that you might choose a life where that strength and brightness was wasted-

That was the first thing he decided he would never forgive about you. 

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

Before you left for high school, you met with Naoya in the inner courtyard of his wing in the Zenin estate, sunlight spilling across the stone path and catching on the hem of your navy skirt as you twirled in place. You were smiling before he even looked at you, excitement buzzing under your skin, fingers fidgeting with the pleats of your uniform as if you couldn’t help yourself.

When Zenin Naoya finally lifted his gaze, his expression hardened from annoyance to disappointment.

The two of you are about to enter high school; he will receive a formal education in his clan, and you will enter a normal high school in Greater Tokyo, a school for students who worry about their grades instead of curses.

“A normal school?” Naoya scoffed quietly, eyes flicking over you, “you’re wasting your potential, Y/n-chan.”

You laughed, turning again, letting the skirt that reached your knees flare just slightly as you moved. In the sunlight, your hair caught the light and the subtle change you’d made became visible. You had dyed your hair a chestnut brown, instead of leaving it the dark black it once was.

“Hm, am I?” you asked lightly. “I’m still fighting curses. I just want to be an ordinary girl too. Isn’t that enough? Plenty of sorcerers go to normal schools, too.”

Naoya looked away, jaw tight, because he could not accept how happy you looked. He couldn’t believe you would even compare yourself to those no-name sorcerers that went to the normal schools. You were not just a regular sorcerer, you were a young mistress from an old jujutsu clan that had respect. Someone of your status should not be going to a normal non-sorceror school.

Naoya decided that your desire for a life that is so-called ordinary is wrong, after all, you were going to be his future wife. How could your life be anything but ordinary?

And yet, despite his words, you still left. You still went off to Tokyo for high school, to enjoy the city lights and train stations and unfamiliar streets swallowing you whole, leaving him behind in the estate that suddenly felt too quiet.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

When you returned for summer break after the first semester, you barely recognized him at first when you arrived at his residence. 

His hair was no longer its natural black color, but dyed a dark blonde with small piercings glinting at his ears, catching the pale light. It was a look you’d seen before only on boys in the city. 

You stared, eyes beginning to sparkle. “Wow, was it me that went to Tokyo or you? You’re experimenting with style, Naoya-kun!”

Naoya stiffened, looking away to hide his awkward upturn of the lips.

“You look so cool, Naoya-kun,” you added, smiling at him the way you always had, “it suits you.”

You didn’t know, or couldn’t have known, that he had done it for you.

When you left, he had begun imagining the boys you’d meet. City boys with dyed hair and easy laughter, boys who walked beside you without knowing your surname meant anything at all. Boys who could touch your shoulder on crowded trains and call you by your first name without fear. Boys who didn’t need to be Naoya to talk to you like a close friend.

The thought had eaten at him.

So he changed himself, not because he wanted to be like them, but because he refused to be less.

Your compliment hit him like validation, intoxicating his ego, and that was enough to convince him that he was right in his method of keeping you within reach.

Naoya muttered, turning his head slightly, “Don’t get weird about it.”

You laughed warmly, already moving past him and talking about something else.

Naoya stayed where he was, fingers brushing one of the piercings absently.

Hours later, under the pink magnolia tree in the garden, the sky was softened by the early summer evening. Flower petals drifted lazily through the air, pale and weightless, falling all around you.

You had meant only to sit for a moment with Naoya, but before you knew it, your head tipped sideways to rest against Naoya’s shoulder, and you sighed quietly as you dozed off. 

Naoya stiffened at first.

He shifted just enough to make sure you were comfortable, careful not to wake you, as though the moment might shatter if he moved too much. After a while, he leaned into you in return.

Your hand lay between the two of you, and without thinking, his hand came down to cover it, palm warm against your skin. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles, a slow, absent movement, as if he could figure out your ring size.

For now, he stayed still beneath the magnolia tree, and told himself there was no need to rush. Summer was long, and there’s still a long time to wait for the right moment to propose marriage between the two families, yours and his.

And you had nowhere else to be other than Tokyo and his arms. 

Surely, you understood his feelings, and loved him back just as much.

In the second semester of your first year in high school, Naoya decided to come to Tokyo to seek you out under the guise of a mission.

Naoya appeared at your school gates the moment the final bell rang, and the iron gates slid open as students poured out in clusters, laughter and chatter spilling onto the sidewalk. Then there Naoya stood, leaning casually against the stone wall as if he belonged there, wearing a green kimono and grey hakama. 

Your phone buzzed in your school bag.

Zenin Naoya: Come out.

You stared at the screen for a second too long before sighing, fingers tightening around your bag strap. You sent a quick message to your club group about having to leave early, and followed the stream of students toward the gate.

You felt his cursed energy before you saw him, and as you stepped outside, you became acutely aware of how many eyes were on him. The girls slowed down to look at him a bit longer, and they whispered and giggled among their friends. 

Someone near the gate audibly gasped, and you heard your name carried on a breathy giggle.

“Y/n, wait,” one of your classmates chirped and caught up with you, grabbing your sleeve. “Isnt that guy cute? He’s just your type, wanna ask for his number?”

A group of five girls ran up to you, asking how you felt about the guy. One of them even mentioned that they wanted to flirt with him. 

“I want to get his number, he’s so cool!” Miki-chan gasped at the group.

Flirt? Get his number? But Naoya was your Naoya- he wouldn’t choose these non-sorcerer, plain, unrefined girls who can’t even use jujutsu as his wife.

Something in your heart skipped, and an unknown feeling of a hotness burned inside your heart. “Oh, he is… He is here for me. We’re going on a date.” A bit of regret hit you, because why did you claim that? That was a total lie but they ate it up anyways.

The girls squealed, half-disbelieving, half-thrilled, their eyes darting between you and Naoya like they were watching something unfold. 

You ran off and didn’t look at him as you reached where he stood, grasping his sleeve firmly and tugging him away from the gates before the attention could thicken.

“What are you doing here?” You asked calmly once you’d put some distance between him and the crowd. “I don’t think you came all the way here from Kyoto just to pick me up from school.”

Naoya glanced over his shoulder once, expression cool, eyes lingering a moment too long on the students still drifting past. There were those boys who had been looking at you only moments ago. Annoyance flickered across his face before it smoothed out again.

“Just checking on you, as per your family’s request because you don't call enough,” Naoya said lightly. “Seeing if you were doing fine at a school full of knuckleheads.”

You frowned. “Really? All the way from Kyoto for that?”

He hummed, dismissive. “Maybe I had an excuse.” And really, he wanted to complain that you don’t text or call him enough, if at all.

His strides matched yours without effort. His presence felt larger here, a bit out of place among convenience stores and crosswalks, like something old forced into a modern frame. He keeps thinking back to some of those boys from your school who had dyed hair.

After a few steps, his tone shifted.

“Who were those boys?” Naoya asked.

You glanced at him. “What boys?”

“The ones who were walking behind you,” he clarified, voice calm, eyes forward. “They seemed comfortable.”

“They’re just classmates,” you said, confused. “They were just walking behind but, uh, we weren’t walking together? I don’t really talk to them, they are second years.”

He stopped walking.

You took another step before realizing he wasn’t beside you anymore. “Naoya-kun?”

He looked at you fully now, expression unreadable, gaze assessing in a way that made your shoulders tense.

“Do they want to marry you?” He asked bluntly.

Your stomach dropped, and you were aghast with disbelief. “What? No?! I don’t even know them like- at all?!”

“I don’t like them, one of them looked at you,” Naoya said simply.

You stared at him, “Well, I think you’re over thinking it.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that it felt private despite the passing crowd.

“I came because there was a curse reported nearby,” explained Naoya, “you’re guiding me around, ‘kay.”

“Oh, that was it?” You tilted your head slightly, the tension easing out of your shoulders. “I thought maybe something important happened in your clan for you to visit all this way.”

Naoya watched you for a moment, eyes narrowing just a fraction as if measuring the sincerity in your expression. Then he looked away, gaze shifting toward the road ahead.

“The curse was reported in Ikebukuro,” he said instead, tone clipped, and showed you his phone that had the relative area’s address. “Near a bunch of old hotels.”

You nodded immediately, already adjusting your grip on your bag. “That’s not too far from here, let’s take the train.”

The two of you walked toward the station together, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. The city swallowed you quickly as traffic noise got louder and people started to leave work and school.

“I probably won’t be much help,” you said after a moment, almost apologetic. “I haven’t used my cursed technique in a while, or killed any curses, I’ve mostly been just focused on school work. I don’t have a cursed tool on me either.”

Naoya’s eyes flicked to your waist, to where he knew that your kaiken used to be there in the past, but now you gave that up as well. To you, however, you did not want to get caught with a knife in school, that could lead to expulsion.

“That’s fine,” Naoya replied coolly. “I’ll handle it.”

You smiled at that, relieved. “Thank you, I didn’t want to slow you down.” 

He scoffed softly. “You won’t.”

You didn’t notice the way his hand flexed at his side, or how his gaze lingered on the reflection of your face in the station windows as you descended the stairs into the station. To you, this was familiar, Naoya being blunt, a little rude, but reliable. The same older boy who had always stepped forward first, who had always insisted on taking responsibility whether you asked him to or not.

On the platform, you stood close out of habit, speaking quietly over the rush of air as a train passed through the station. You told him about your classes, about how different Tokyo felt depending on the neighborhood, about how you were still getting used to navigating it all after living your first year here alone. 

He listened without interrupting, eyes on you with a warmness that felt almost flattering if you noticed it at all.

“I’m doing great,” you added, as if to reassure him. 

Naoya hummed in response.

As the train arrived and you stepped inside together, Naoya thought of the way those boys had laughed behind you, of the way your friends had clung to your sleeve so easily, of how naturally you belonged here.

And he decided, quietly and without asking you, that it wouldn’t last because you simply shined brighter as a sorcerer. He was sure of it.

You got off the train together, the station emptying into the city and it took about ten minutes of walking before reaching the destination.

Heart-shaped neon signs weren’t turned on yet, but you could see the curtained entrances tucked discreetly between narrow buildings.

It was a district of host clubs and love hotels, which you don’t step into often unless needing to cross by. 

“Better during the day than the night,” you piped up.

At night is where places like these come to life, and it’s no wonder why this place would fester with a curse or two. 

Naoya noticed your pause and glanced around, unimpressed. “Let’s get this over with before it gets dark, then the prostitutes will start to come out.”

You nodded, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I know Shinjuku has an area like this, but I only come to Ikebukuro for the shopping mall.”

“If we don’t find the curse before nightfall,” Naoya added casually, “we could always stay in one of these hotels.”

You stopped short, then laughed, covering your mouth out of reflex. “Naoya-kun, you’re awful. Don’t say things like that so seriously.”

He looked at you sidelong, grinning. “You’re the one laughing.”

You shook your head, still smiling, and continued walking, missing the way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long before turning forward again.

The curse made itself known a few blocks in.

At first it was just pressure that the two of you felt, a stagnant cursed energy clinging to the alleyways between hotels like damp fog. Then one curse crawled out from behind a dumpster, followed by another, malformed and twitching, their bodies looked like a twitching ugly swan.

“Multiple,” you murmured, stepping back.

Naoya moved immediately.

His cursed energy flared as he cut through the nearest curse without hesitation, exorcising it in a clean, brutal strike. Another followed seconds later, dissolved before it could even shriek.

You watched, feeling impressed but unsurprised. That was just Naoya, and you cheered him on with a lighthearted jest, “Woo, Naoya-kun is so fast!”

Then you felt it, a thread of cursed energy slipping away, retreating deeper into the alleyways.

“Naoya,” you said calmly, pointing, “one’s getting away. I’ll get that one.”

He turned to look, yet you were already moving first.

You didn’t carry your kaiken anymore, but your body remembered what speed felt like, your hand plunged into your school bag as you ran, fingers closing around a ruler.

You imbued cursed energy into the ruler while keeping an eye on the fleeing curse ahead of you. 

You closed the distance in seconds, arm moving in a clean, precise arc. The ruler cut through the air and through the line perfectly.

The curse split apart, unraveling mid-motion, dissolving before it hit the ground.

You stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling, then looked down at the ruler in your hand like you’d only just remembered what you were holding.

“I guess nothing really changed,” you mumbled to yourself.

Naoya’s eyes wide, seeing how his prior thoughts were proven correct: you shined like this even more.

Bright, skilled, terrifyingly suited to a world you insisted you didn’t belong in.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said at last.

You blinked at him. “Do what?”

“You shouldn’t use something like that as a weapon,” he replied flatly. “It’s unreliable. Come back to Kyoto with me, and we will find you a weapon that suits you.”

You smiled apologetically, “Sorry, Naoya-kun, maybe I’ll start carrying a box cutter around.”

He didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on you, something dark and possessive settling behind it.

Even without the blade at your waist, even pretending to be ordinary, you were still this dangerous and beautiful.

And Naoya thought that the world had no right to look at you like this, and let you walk away.

Not when you shined so brightly as a sorcerer.

“You’re wasting your talent here,” Naoya pointed out.

“I think I also have a talent for math and science, according to my grades,” you rebutted. “So how about staying in Tokyo for a few days?

“I have my own lessons tomorrow, I’m heading back soon.”

You frowned, “So soon? Naoya-kun showed up just to make me be a tour guide for an hour?”

Naoya shrugged then reached out his hand, beckoning you to come with, “My transportation leaves in two hours, so why don’t you show me around?”

You instantly brightened up at that, nodded and went to his side, your school bag swinging on your shoulder. “Mn! Naoya-kun is the best! Can we get parfaits?”

“Whatever Y/n-chan wants,” Naoya laughed.  

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

After your first year of high school, you came back to your clan’s estate to a dinner hosted for you. 

Dinner was loud in the way your family gatherings always were, voices overlapping across the banquet hall as family spoke over cups of sake or juice. Lantern light warmed the room, catching on lacquered wood and porcelain, and Naoya sat beside you on the tatami as if it was the most appropriate place to sit at, rather than next to your older brothers.

You were about to eat a piece of stewed lotus root, when your younger sister leaned forward suddenly, eyes bright with mischief. “Ah- speaking of school, mother,” she began, grinning, “did you know Y/n onee-san got so many love letters on White Day?”

The room paused for half a second before erupting into amused laughter.

“Oh?” one of your aunts chuckled, “my, my, is that so?”

You froze, chopsticks hovering midair, blushing a bit, “Well- it was only three.”

That was a lie, because it was actually ten love letters.

Your sister only laughed harder. “Boys kept giving her letters and chocolate, she even mailed some to me!”

Your mother smiled over the rim of her teacup, amused. “My, you’ve become popular.”

Another relative chimed in teasingly, “That’s what happens when you send a pretty girl to the city.”

You felt your face warm, flustered despite yourself. “It wasn’t like that,” you said quickly, “I rejected them all.”

That earned another round of laughter, but some people’s gazes flickered uneasily over Naoya.

“Well, at least she’s honest,” an uncle said.

Your younger sister raised her hand. “I want to go to a normal school, father, Y/n onee-san is having so much fun there!”

Your father laughed softly and shook her head, “Now the older ones are teaching the younger ones bad habits.”

Your mother glanced at you then, expression fond rather than scolding. “If there ever is a boy you like,” she added lightly, “just make sure he treats you well.”

You nodded, embarrassed but smiling, “Of course.”

Beside you, Naoya had gone very still.

You didn’t notice the way his hand tightened slightly around his chopsticks, the way his gaze flicked toward you and lingered just a moment too long. He didn’t speak until the conversation moved on, until laughter softened back into idle chatter.

Then, quietly, Naoya leaned to whisper, “You didn’t mention that to me before.”

You blinked and turned toward him, “Mention what, Naoya-kun?”

“The love letters.”

You hesitated, unsure why the question made you feel awkward all of a sudden. “They’re just letters.”

“Letters still mean something,” he insisted.

You shook your head gently. “Not really. Words are just words. I didn’t even read them.”

Naoya studied your face, as if searching for something beneath your calm explanation, something you weren’t saying. Slowly, his expression smoothed again, composure settling back into place like a mask.

You smiled at him. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t smile back right away.

To Naoya, those boys being bold enough to write you love letters were proof that others were already reaching for what he considered his, even now, even while you laughed innocently beside him, unaware of how tightly his jealousy coiled beneath the surface.

Later that night, after the estate had settled into silence and the corridors dimmed to the warm glow of lantern light, Naoya came to your room.

He knocked politely enough to give you time to answer before he slid the door open at your invitation. Your room was simple and traditional, far removed from the modern apartment you kept in Tokyo, which he had only seen through the pictures you’d sent him before. Tatami mats stretched beneath your feet, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air, and your futon had already been laid out neatly to one side. A low vanity and its mirror rested near the wall, your hairbrush and a small bottle of oil set beside it, evidence of your routine winding down for the night.

Your hair was still damp, brushed smooth and gleaming softly where the overhead light caught it, the nice scent of hair oil being combed through your hair. You turned toward him with a gentle smile, still relaxed from the warmth of the evening.

Naoya stood just inside the doorway for a moment, as if taking in the scene and imagining it as a glimpse of a married life with you, before stepping closer. From within his sleeve, he produced a small dark wood box.

“I meant to give this to you earlier, Y/n-chan,” Noaya said, trying to keep his tone casual, and he slid the door shut after entering.

“Hm?” You hummed.

“I wasn't there to celebrate your birthday when you were in school last month, but I did get you a gift.”

You blinked in surprise, turning your head to face him. “Naoya-kun, you didn’t have to-”

“I know,” interrupted Naoya calmly, “but I wanted to.”

He sat down on the tatami without a mat, and handed you the box with both hands.

You accepted the box, fingers lifting the lid to see a jade hairpin inside, pale green and cool to the touch, with peonies carved at the end.

With a surprised expression, you said, “You still remembered that I liked peonies?”

“It suits you. Peonies are the queen of flowers, but I never really asked why you liked them.”

With a shy smile that reflected your joy in receiving such a gift, you looked up at Naoya to recite a poem in explanation, “‘The withered flowers still hold fragrance on the stems; they never surrender or fall in the northern wind’, I like peonies because of their integrity, because even in winter they are in full bloom.”

He nodded, adding on, “I always liked how they are spring and winter flowers, shining on their own even amongst snow.” But in truth, Naoya only liked them because of you.

You smiled brightly, delighted, and without hesitation you rose onto your knees, turning slightly toward the mirror. “Will you help me put it in?”

“I don’t know how,” he admitted after a beat, almost embarrassed because he couldn’t fulfill your request.

You laughed softly. “It’s easy, I’ll show you how I do it, then.”

You guided him closer, settling back down on the tatami. You lifted your hair, gathering it loosely, and gently took his hand, placing it where it needed to be. His fingers were warm against yours, unfamiliar in this careful, domestic closeness.

“Like this,” you murmured, guiding his hand.

Naoya followed your movements with intense focus, shoulders tense as if afraid of doing something wrong. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck by accident, and you flinched faintly, though you didn’t pull away. With your guidance, the pin slid into place, securing your hair neatly into a half-up half-down style.

When you looked up at the mirror, the jade rested perfectly, making you look radiant like a cold beauty when illuminated by the overhead light within your room.

You sighed, smoothing a strand of your damp hair, “See? You did it.”

For a moment, he forgot to look away.

The hairpin sat in your hair like it belonged there, as if it was to be yours from the beginning of time when that jade was being formed under the earth. “Yes,” he agreed, “It looks beautiful on you, Y/n-chan.”

Somewhere, quietly, you understood that a gift like this could be an intention to marry, or be a gift for betrothal. 

But you did not linger on the thought.

You told yourself it was simply Naoya being Naoya, he was raised in a tradition that clung to birthday gifts being more grand. If you acknowledged the implication, it would make the impending knowledge of marriage to Naoya that you weren’t ready to face. And so you smiled instead, choosing the safer interpretation, the one that let you keep pretending his feelings aren’t close to romance, and that he treasured you like a sister.

You aren’t ready to handle the reality that this might be the man you have to marry.

“Thank you, Naoya-kun,” you chirped warmly.

Noaya smiled and took the comb from your vanity, and began to comb out the bottom of your hair more, as the both of you admired the jade hairpin in the mirror.

“When I become the head of the clan, I’ll commission a kimono embroidered with peonies for you,” Naoya promised.

It wasn’t that he can’t do the same now, but the significance is that it would be the kimono which marked you as his wife. 

You thought back to when you were little kids, where he happily came to you after finding out he would be the next head of the clan.

(“Y/n-chan! Y/n-chan!” Naoya, only eight years old at the time, met with you in his courtyard, where his rosy cheeks were only overshadowed by his bright smile. “I’m going to be the next clan head! Me!”

Gasping, you jumped up in joy for him, “Naoya-kun is so cool! Really? You’re going to be the next successor?!”

Naoya nodded quickly, “Mn!”

But even as a child, you couldn’t ignore the jealousy festering in your heart. He was the youngest of his father’s sons, yet he was made the heir. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

There was no future for you here, you will just only ever be another daughter in your clan, struggling to live up to expectations that were too high and demanding. Is the only thing you’ll truly be good for is to be a chess piece for marriage? Marrying into the Zenin clan, at that. Where women were treated like servants? 

Is that why your family makes you interact with Naoya, a son from the Zenin clan? To marry him? 

“That’s great, Naoya-kun,” You clapped your hands.

Naoya was smitten as he took in your bright smile, and looked at the peony flower tucked in your hair. 

“When I become the head of the clan, I’ll commission a kimono embroidered with peonies for you,” Naoya promised.)

“Thank you, Naoya-kun,” you replied after pausing for a bit, not sure what you really wanted in the very end.

When he finished combing through your hair, you knew it was time for him to leave.

Yet, you so badly wanted to grab his hand and tell him to not go. After all these years, does he even understand you? Will he come to understand you even a little bit? Maybe f he does, then you would have no more hesitation in wanting to love him.

“I shall excuse myself, I’ll see you in the morning,” and he stood up, smoothing out his hakama and turned to leave.

You wanted to grab his hand and tell him to stay, but decided against it. “Goodnight, Naoya-kun.”

“Goodnight, Y/n-chan.”

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

It was the end of your second year of high school, the point where exams were finally over and spring had fully settled in. Cherry blossom season had arrived all at once, petals blooming so thickly that the world felt washed in pale pink. 

You had returned to your family’s estate for spring vacation, as you always did.

Your clan’s temple stood deep within the land your family owned, nestled at the center of a mile-long stretch of cherry blossom fields. The trees had been planted generations ago, their branches arching over the stone paths, petals falling constantly no matter how still the air was. Visiting the temple this time of year was customary, to pray for the coming months, for health, and for fortune.

You and Naoya went together.

Both of you wore a hakama, the fabric brushing your ankles as you walked side by side along the path. Your sleeves swayed with each step, and petals caught in the folds of your clothing and in your hair, clinging there stubbornly. Naoya walked slightly ahead of you, hands tucked into his sleeves, posture straight and familiar in a way that felt grounding.

“You always walk too fast,” you said, half-teasing.

He glanced back at you. “You’re just slow.”

“I’m enjoying the view,” you replied, lifting your eyes toward the blossoms overhead.

He snorted quietly but slowed his steps anyway.

The temple came into view soon after, its wooden structure partly hidden by falling petals. The stone stairs leading up to it were scattered thickly with blossoms, the surface slick where petals had layered too deeply. You stepped forward without thinking, lifting the hem of your skirt slightly as you climbed.

Your foot slipped, not in a dramatic way, but just enough to throw you off balance. Your breath caught sharply as you tilted forward, immediately steadying yourself.

Naoya’s hand shot out to grab your arm. “Told you to watch your footing,” he said, irritation threaded through his voice.

“I was watching,” you protested softly, “it’s just slippery.”

Naoya clicked his tongue and, without warning, bent down and lifted you off the ground, carrying you in his arms.

“Naoya-!” you gasped, your arms flying to wrap around his neck for support. “What are you doing?!”

“Carrying you,” Naoya replied flatly, as if there were no other option. “You’ll slip again if I don’t.”

“You don’t have to…” you started, face heating.

“I do,” he interrupted. 

You went quiet, heart racing, as he adjusted his grip and began walking up the steps with you in his arms. Petals drifted down around the two of you, catching in his hair, settling against your sleeves. From this close, you could feel his warmth.

“Thank you, Naoya-kun,” you muttered.

He looked down at you briefly. “You wanted to look at the view, right? Just look at the cherry blossoms.”

When he reached the top of the steps, he set you down carefully beneath the temple’s eaves, hands lingering just a moment too long at your waist before pulling away. You smoothed your hakama, trying to ignore how your heart was still beating too fast.

Naoya turned his gaze toward the temple, expression teasing. “Don’t slip again.”

You smiled despite yourself.

Behind you, the cherry blossoms continued to fall, covering the steps and stone path.

After you finished praying, neither of you moved to leave right away.

The temple bell had long since stilled, the incense you lit thinning into the air until it was barely there, and the world beyond the steps looked unreal beneath the cherry blossoms. 

You walked together toward the edge of the platform, stopping just before the stairs, where the view opened wide to show rows of cherry trees stretching out endlessly.

You rested your hands against your sleeves, gaze unfocused, letting the moment settle in.

“Remember when we used to come here in summer too?” you asked.

Naoya followed your line of sight without answering right away. “You mean when it was too hot and you complained the whole way?”

You laughed softly. “And you’d say it was good training.”

He gave a small huff, “It was.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes still on the view. “We’d sit by the lake near the back of the grounds. You’d skip stones, and I’d just watch.” Your voice softened, memory pulling you back.

The breeze picked up, petals brushing past your shoulders, catching briefly in your hair before slipping free.

“‘The spring waters are like the cloudless skies’,” you recited, voice low and even. “‘And we sleep on boats to hear the soft rain’.”

Naoya’s gaze shifted to you then, “You still remember poems like that?”

You smiled faintly. “What else was there to do when I didn’t want to develop my cursed technique?”

“You still can, it’s never too late to become stronger.”

“Even if I become stronger, will I ever be the strongest?” You asked almost sadly.

“Even if you don’t become the strongest, you will always be the prettiest,” Naoya insisted.

The two of you stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, holding onto the view just a little longer, as if leaving it behind would mean  never seeing it again.

₊˚⊹₊ ⋆ 𓂃𓈒𓏸

(You had been the only friend Naoya had since childhood, meeting when merely toddlers and building up years worth of memories since forever. The first time you roughly remember having other kids be thrusted into your friendship was when the two of you were seven.

The Zenin estate had been loud that afternoon, voices of children echoing across the stone paths and inner courtyards as they were ushered together under the vague instruction to play together. You had been seven, the sleeves of your kimono felt too long and you hated how tight your clothes felt, the hem brushing your ankles as you lingered near the engawa. Naoya stood at the center of it all, already carrying himself with an ego and air of self-importance that did not suit a seven years old boy. Other children had gathered around him, or at least tried to play with him.

Naoya didn’t tolerate it for long.

“Go away,” Naoya said sharply, pushing the other kids away when they got too close. “You’re annoying.”

One of the boys laughed nervously, trying to turn it into a joke, but Naoya’s glare made him shrink away. Another girl reached out, trying to hold his hand, and Naoya stepped back before kicking her leg.

“You’re not worthy of talking to me,” he said coldly. “Don’t stand so close.”

They scattered quickly after that, retreating with tears and downcast eyes, leaving the courtyard suddenly too quiet. You had watched it all from where you stood, a bit of pity in your stomach for the other kids who just weren’t important enough in the Zenin clan. 

Naoya turned then, gaze snapping to you. “You’re fine,” he said, tone changing instantly. “You’re going to be my wife someday.”

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind.

Your face burned hot, the sensation unfamiliar and overwhelming. “Eh?!” you exclaimed, stamping your foot, voice trembling between embarrassment and indignation. “You’re being mean! I’m not marrying you!”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction.

Before he could say anything else, you turned and ran, shoes slapping against stone as you fled down the path, heart pounding, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. You didn’t know why you were laughing, only that the moment felt too strange.

“Hey-!” Naoya shouted, startled.

Then he was chasing after you, calling your name as he followed, that slowly dissolved into breathless laughter of his own. You cut around a corner, nearly slipping on the smooth stones, and he grabbed your sleeve just in time, the both of you stumbling together before collapsing onto the grass in a tangle of limbs and giggles.

“You’re- you’re stupid,” Naoya said between laughs, pushing himself up on one elbow.

“You’re mean,” you shot back, cheeks still flushed.

You never went back to check on the children he had chased away. You didn’t speak up for them, and never stopped Noaya from bullying any of them in the coming days. At seven years old, it was not you being cruel on purpose, but you allowed things to be the way they were, simply due to the fact that this was the Zenin household.)

At seventeen, in your third year of high school now, you returned to the Zenin estate for the summer to visit. The gates opened for you without question, servants bowing as they always had, the long stone paths unchanged despite the months you’d spent away in Tokyo since your last visit. The cicadas were loud, the heat heavy, and the estate was still as big as you remembered.

You hadn’t intended to find Noaya so soon on the way to his wing of the estate.

The sharp sound of impact carried across the training yard just as you passed that side of the building. You slowed, and turned toward the noise. Naoya stood there, wearing a black compressed shirt, and at his feet was a girl, way younger than you, her body pressed to the ground beneath his shoe. 

She barely moved, breath shallow, fingers trembling against the dirt.

Naoya was looking down at her with mild disinterest when he noticed you.

His expression shifted instantly into a joyous smile. “Y/n-chan!”

“Bullying another one?” you asked calmly, yet there was a frown that you didn’t bother hiding.

He lifted his foot without urgency, letting it rest on the ground beside her instead, and turned fully toward you. “She’s just some useless cousin,” Naoya explained dismissively. “Don’t mind her.”

Naoya took a step toward you, attention already pulled away from her entirely. “Why are you here? You didn’t say you were coming today.”

“I came to see you, of course,” you replied easily, the words coming out before you could weigh them. Then your gaze flicked back to the girl, still crumpled on the ground. “Just let her go. If you think women are weak, then don’t show such violent tendencies toward them, they can’t handle it.”

“All of them are weak and trash compared to you,” Naoya said simply.

The words were meant to be a compliment, but it didn’t make you any happier.

You still didn’t smile.

This wasn’t your household, and these weren’t your rules. You had grown up in a clan that was less cruel in its hierarchies, even if tradition still pressed down on women in subtler ways in your clan. You knew better than to lecture him here, or criticize the Zenin household that you did not belong in.

Still, you hadn’t looked away, and hadn’t stopped frowning.

“Fine,” Naoya said at last, sighing, “I won’t bully her again, how about that?”

“At least you know,” you replied, turning away before he could see the conflict in your expression.

You didn’t wait to see if the girl stood up or if she was even carried off by servants. You only felt Naoya fall into step beside you as you walked through the stoned path of the estates, his pace matching yours without effort, as if this had always been the way of things. Together, you made your way back toward his courtyard in the north wing of the estate, the air between the two of you becoming clearer now.

“Do you remember that summer when we were kids, when lotuses were planted in the ponds?” Naoya asked.

You glanced at him. “Hm? Of course I remember, I ate a lot of lotus seeds that year.”

As the two of you passed through the last corridor and stepped into his courtyard, you stopped in your steps when you saw his garden.

The pond stretched across the center of the courtyard, broad and carefully tended, its surface broken by wide lotus leaves and pale blossoms floating serenely atop the water. The lotuses were in full bloom, layered and luminous, their long stems disappearing into the dark depths below. It wasn’t wild or overgrown, rather every plant had been placed with intention, arranged so the blooms faced the engawa and caught the light just right. 

The air carried a faint, clean scent.

“…Naoya,” you murmured, genuinely stunned.

He had prepared an entire pond full of lotus flowers for you.

He watched your face closely, chest lifting just a fraction as if he’d been holding his breath. “I had them planted and made sure they bloomed in time for when you came back,” he confessed softly.

You stepped closer to the pond, kneeling at its edge, fingertips hovering just above the water’s surface. “They’re beautiful,” you said softly. “I haven’t seen this many lotuses in such a long time, thank you, Naoya-kun.”

“That summer when you were kids, you came back from the pond with an armful of lotus flowers and lotus pods,” he recounted. 

You glanced back at him, smiling faintly, still caught in the quiet wonder of it all. “You really remembered something like that from so long ago?”

He nodded, fixing his gaze on the lotus pond instead of you, “That was when I decided that I wanted you to be my wife.”

The words landed gently and all the same, they stopped you cold.

You rose slowly to your feet and turned to face him, searching his expression for some hint of humor, some sign that he meant it lightly. Finding none, you let out a quiet laugh instead, soft and disbelieving, shaking your head as if the idea itself were harmless.

“Those were what we said when we were kids, we shouldn’t remember things like that.”

“Y/n-”

“In the future-” you added quickly, trying to sound as calm as you can and not to let your nervousness show, “-we can talk about things like that properly. Not now.”

The courtyard fell silent again, broken only by the faint sound of water shifting beneath the lotus leaves as the breeze drifted by.

Naoya studied you for a long moment, and then nodded. “…Alright,” he agreed, as if he were granting you a small kindness.

Relieved, you turned back toward the pond, unaware of the way his fingers curled slowly at his side, or how his gaze lingered on your back.

He had already decided that this place with these flowers, this courtyard, and this everything all belonged to you. Whether you wanted it yet or not.

[xinoroxsah]

『 illumination in falling flower petals 』

illumi zoldyck

❝ they’re like flowers, no one can say which one is the prettiest, but i only like the one in front of me. ❞

❀ illumi zoldyck × bodyguard!reader ❀ chapter: 02 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟

01 | °❀.ೃ࿔*

02

Half of your jobs were in Yorknew City where you grew up in, and the other half were in other continents and cities.

When clients had money- which were all of your clients- they paid for your speed sent to whatever city they needed you in. It was just another part of the job, and flying on the airships in first class was normal.

But this time, your client who was waiting in the capital of the Kakin Empire wasn’t the only complication.

At the boarding gate, you felt the presence of eyes on you. You turned and saw Illumi Zoldyck among the other passengers.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, then, almost at the same time, you both went, “Oh.”

“Looks like fate brought us together, this time it wasn’t me following you,” Illumi said, looking a bit satisfied with himself.

You were inclined to believe him, because he was not the person to lie about such things. “I see, then that’s interesting.”

The first-class bar on the airship was all soft leather seats and brass rails, the low hum of engines behind the glass windows. Below, the clouds stretched like endless white seas, and Illumi thought nothing could compare to the beauty of you in the clothes you wore for your jobs.

You wore simple clothes that made your movements more free, it made him imagine that the two of you can take on assassination jobs together. 

The two of you sat in a private booth, a small table lamp making the atmosphere almost intimate.

You swirled your cocktail, a pomegranate mule, watching the ice clink. Illumi sat across from you, posture a bit relaxed as he had a glass of whiskey he sipped from.

You asked softly, enjoying the calm moment, “What are you even doing in Yorknew anyway?”

“Passing through,” Illumi replied. “I accepted a job in Kakin.”

You gave a short laugh, sipping your drink. “And here I thought you were stalking me, just like the Hunter Exams.”

“I meant to follow Killu during the exams, but seeing you was a bonus,” His head tilted slightly, black eyes fixed on you. “Did you wish I was following you right now?”

“Well,” you said, setting your glass down, “not really because if you followed me I would think you were going to kill me.”

“I doubt any amount of money could make me take on a job like that.”

You wondered if he was flirting, but pushed aside the thought at the expense that you were probably misreading it, since you did not want things to be awkward.

You leaned back against the booth, breaking eye contact first. “I’m just being flown out to talk about a job, like you, I suppose. Nothing exciting. Half these contracts aren’t worth my time. You may not see it, but I’m one of the top bodyguards for hire in my field, so many mafia families want me as a long term employee and I declined.”

Illumi’s voice came out a bit blunt. “And yet you accepted this job?”

“That’s life, isn’t it?” You shrugged, raising your glass again. “Someone pays me money so I listen. I get to keep my nice city apartment from the money, and I get to pretend I’m just another girl in her twenties who can buy whatever.”

“So you find joy in materialistic things?” Illumi asked, but it wasn’t in a critical way.

“I like to go out and try new foods, buy nice clothes, and hang out with my friends,” you smiled, “if money buys me nice things then of course I’m happy. It makes me live a normal life.”

“I guess I don’t understand it,” Illumi sipped his drink. 

To anyone else, it would look like two ordinary travelers sharing a quiet drink on the way to Kakin, and not an assassin and bodyguard on their way to do their jobs.

By the time the airship descended into Kakin’s capital, it was the afternoon. 

You stepped off into the crowded terminal, small luggage in hand. Illumi was there too, unbothered by the press of bodies, his gaze calm and cutting as ever.

He spoke first, as if the thought had been waiting since the bar. “There are wine houses here, I got a few recommended by my grandfather. If you want to meet again tonight, choose one.”

He gave you his phone, can you put in your number and handed it back to him.

You gave him a sideways glance, lips tugging faintly at the corner into a teasing smile. “Is that an invitation, Illumi?”

He nodded simply.

You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head as you moved into the stream of people. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The wine house rose like a lantern against Kakin’s night, its carved eaves and painted beams glowing beneath silk banners. The clamor of the streets dulled as you stepped inside, replaced by the hush of silk slippers, the hum of zithers, and the sweet smoke of incense.

Redwood pillars stretched upward, gilded carvings glinting in the light of hanging lanterns. The second floor was lined with curtained alcoves, each screened by beaded drapes or gauzy silk, affording privacy without cutting away the view of the main hall.

Below, dancers drifted across the stage, long sleeves trailing like streams of water. A pipa thrummed, its notes sharp and playful, weaving against the deeper, lingering voice of a guqin. The rhythm of the city outside vanished into the music.

You sat in one of the alcoves, legs tucked neatly to one side, a porcelain flask at hand. Illumi sat opposite you at the lacquered table, pale face caught in the lantern glow. The opulence of the room seemed to ignore him; he absorbed it with the same still stillness he carried everywhere.

You tilted the flask, pouring into two tiny porcelain cups. The liquid ran clear and smooth, almost silky in the light, catching faint shadows of pink from the lanterns above. You pushed one cup toward him.

“Try the peach wine here,” you said, voice calm as you raised your own. “I think it’s way better than whiskey.”

You don’t get how he drank that stuff, it was too bitter. Maybe it was your age, but you can't handle strong alcohol anymore.

He raised the cup you poured for him and drank, not having too much of a reaction but nodded, “Hm, is it better than drinking whiskey, but taste never mattered to me.”

You sipped the wine from your cup, tasting the flavor that was sweet on the tongue, but sharp in the throat. For a moment, you let it linger, watching the sleeves of the dancers sweep like blue fish swimming below on the performance floor.

“So, how was the contract? Are you taking the job?” Illumi asked.

“Of course, there’s lots of money involved so why not earn it?” You smiled, pouring yourself and him another cup full. “But seeing my client, the bride-girl, she’s clearly pregnant with someone else’s child.”

“Oh?” Illumi blinked.

“She’s five months pregnant and burning mugwort leaves already,” you continued, “So, it looks like her baby won’t stay for long anyways. Clearly she’s been having bleeding issues-“ you sighed with a huff, “-she can’t save the baby now.”

Illumi’s eyes tracked you, steady, unblinking. “So they’re making you take the bride's place as they leave, and then you will leave? There’s some holes in their plan.”

“They definitely didn’t think this through,” you murmured. The music swelled faintly below, zithers striking brighter notes as a dancer spun. “The husband’s family have been keeping an eye on the bride, so if she leaves entirely for a day or two that would raise suspicions. They’re getting her out to go see a doctor not associated with the husband’s family, and then getting rid of it before it kills her.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Wouldnt this be more dangerous on you?”

You gave a small laugh, humorless, tapping the porcelain cup with your finger. “Not as dangerous as being chased by you while protecting a client,” you told him, “aren’t our jobs the same? Putting our lives on the line to either kill someone or protect someone.”

“Perhaps, I guess I always underestimate you,” and it wasn’t because Illumi looked down on you that you were weaker than him, but rather some part of him felt concerned that even if a hair goes amiss on you, then he would lose his mind.

You sighed, “But I’m not going to lie, their plan is all a gamble, they are trying to get her out of the city because the wedding is tomorrow, they refuse to disclose the rest. They will try and get her out during the wedding processions, which is where I come in as a double.”

“They’re not going to make some maid do it?”

“That’s why they hired me, in case the fake bride they hired escapes and gives out information to rat them out, so I make sure their secret is safe. And I don’t live here, so their politics matters nothing to me.” Adding on the fact that they hired you, a top bodyguard from Yorknew to make it seem they are protecting the bride on the wedding day, erasing any thought that they will hire a fake bride.

Illumi hummed in agreement, then tilted his chin, gaze never leaving yours. “The groom on the other side, do you have any information on him?”

“No,” You set the cup down, porcelain clicking softly against the lacquered table. “They kept details tight, I assume they don’t even know a lot about him, it’s more common than you think.”

The music shifted again below, a slow, flowing piece now, dancers bending low in a cascade of silk. 

“Be careful,” he said at last, “if he knows a trick or two, you could get compromised.”

You met his gaze across the table, half-wry, half-aloof. “I know how to keep people from getting too close to me. Don’t worry, I’ve been told to drug him to sleep with the wine we will drink.”

His voice didn’t waver. “Good, or else I’d start doubting your skills.”

You let the silence rest between you as you gazed at the dancer below, who was joined by five more women, dancing all together as a group. From your alcove, the world below looked painted, the dancers moving like flowing water, accompanied by musicians playing music skillfully.

“Hey, which one do you think is the prettiest?” You asked Illumi. 

He smiled, averting his eyes from the stage to you. “They’re like flowers, no one can say which one is the prettiest, but I only like the one in front of me. So the one in front of me is the prettiest.”

You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, “Every flower will bloom and wither, it's only a matter of sooner or later.”

“You seem to like the dancers,” Illumi noted, “I don’t see how they are entertaining.”

You glanced at him before focusing back onto the show. “I used to dance a bit when I was little, just in my room by myself. So I always liked to accompany my master into places like this.”

Illumi seemed to perk up just a little bit, “You lived here?”

“Something like that, I was a servant, nothing as grand as your birth,” you answered. “I was a servant for a minister's household, and my young master was the son of Minister Mu.”

“Huh, so you were a servant?”

“If I was born a young mistress, I don’t think I would be doing this line of work,” you pointed out, “I left when I was around fourteen, and went to Yorknew.”

“I see,” Illumi nodded, “you definitely don’t look like a servant, you look too well bred.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Three more jugs of wine disappeared somewhere between more conversations, and listening to the music performances. You weren’t counting anymore on how much you drank, your cheeks were warm and flushed with a warm glow, thoughts drifting so slowly.

Illumi, unsurprisingly, looked exactly the same.

He stood beside you with that same straight posture, still sober. His gaze flicked to you once, assessing, and you felt the weight of it even through the haze.

Without comment, he lifted a hand and caught the attention of a passing server. The man hurried over, bowing slightly, eyes flicking between the two of you with curiosity. Illumi reached into his sleeve and produced a small pouch, the coins inside made a metallic clink as he placed it neatly into the server’s palm.

“Find us a private bedroom,” Illumi said calmly, voice low. “Make sure no one can hear us.”

The server then nodded quickly, glancing at the pouch again as if to reassure himself it was real before disappearing into the crowd, muttering that he will be back.

You turned your head toward Illumi, squinting slightly, lips parting in an unimpressed smile. “Wow,” you murmured. “Straight to kidnapping now? I can take advantage of you, but you can't take advantage of me.”

“It’s not kidnapping,” he replied evenly. “You’re drunk.”

As if to prove his point, you shifted your weight and felt the world tilt just enough to make you gasp softly under your breath. Before you could recover, Illumi’s hand was there, firm at your elbow, grounding you softly.

Soon the server returned and bowed, whispering to follow him.

Illumi followed the server, guiding you away from the noise and through corridors that soon fell more quiet away from all the noise.

The bedroom was dim and spacious, lanternlight casting soft shadows across silk curtains and carved wood. The door closed behind you with a muted click.

You blinked, looking around.

Illumi led you to the bed and helped you sit, he wasn’t rough at all with his movements which surprised you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, and you stared up at the ceiling for a moment, breathing slow, letting the wine hum through your veins.

Then the silence settled.

There was a pause. His head tilted slightly, and he asked, “I want you to explain why you kissed me.”

Your lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “…That.” You drew in a slow breath, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I wanted to see if I felt something. But of course- I don’t feel anything for you.”

The words hung in the air, blunt as stone, yet you would be lying if you didn't feel anything for him. You definitely felt at least a little bit of attraction.

Inwardly, you felt it tighten in your chest because you were scared of him more than you liked him. Because you couldn’t understand him, and it was easier to hate what you couldn’t understand.

If your rejection struck him, he didn’t show it through his expressions.

You moved to leave, but suddenly his hand closed around yours firmly.

You froze, eyes snapping up, but before you could react he pulled you forward, not violently, but with his strength that you couldn’t fight against. You collided lightly against his chest and his arms settled around you. Your other hand twitched toward your gourd, the cork already hot with Nen, but his hand slid to press against it, pinning it in place.

His voice was low, calm, close to your ear. “Where are you planning to escape to now?”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself, and tilted your chin up. “You and I aren’t meant to be together, we don’t owe each other anything.”

“You owe me love,” Illumi told you.

You held his gaze before coldly asking, “Does someone like you even understand what love is?”

Silence stretched. His grip on you didn’t loosen, but something shifted in his eyes like he was contemplating your words.

Your hand pressed against his chest, firm, steady. Slowly, you pushed yourself out of his hold. His arm lowered without resistance, but his black eyes never left you.

“I don’t want someone like you in my life,” you said quietly. “After I feel like I earned enough money, I’m going to retire and live a normal, easy life. You aren’t a part of that because you aren’t normal.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but he didn’t argue. He only watched you, gaze unreadable, head tilting the faintest degree as though memorizing the shape of your words.

When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, calm as ever. “So do you think you are normal? What is normal?”

You leaned against the railing, gaze fixed forward. “…What do you want from me, Illumi? Really.”

For once, he didn’t answer right away. His head tilted slightly, as though he were studying the question itself. Then his voice came, calm as ever. “I don’t know.”

That drew your eyes to him. “You don’t know?” You almost said that in a mocking way.

“I don’t understand why people kiss,” he continued, expression unreadable, “or why they touch hands, or why they call that love. But I want to.”

Your chest tightened despite your composure. “…That’s not something you can figure out instantly, and that’s not something I can and want to teach you. The last thing I want to do is build a man up and teach him how to love me.”

He stepped closer, silent as shadow, his presence wrapping around you like the air had grown thicker.

“I want to know,” Illumi repeated, gaze fixed on yours. “With you.”

Before you could stop him, his hand rose to your face, cool fingers brushing against your cheek. And then he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours and his tongue pushed against yours.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, you froze, your mind blank from the sheer audacity of it because of all the people you hadn’t expected Illumi Zoldyck to actually kiss you. You almost wanted to tell him that you can take advantage of him, but he isn’t allowed to take advantage of you.

Then you drew back sharply, eyes wide, heart beating faster than you would allow him to see.

The space between you lingered after you pulled away, charged but strangely quiet, as if the kiss had unsettled something neither of you knew how to name. Your breath came a little uneven, wine-heavy and tired, and Illumi watched the way your shoulders subtly rose and fell, the way your focus wavered for just a fraction too long. He didn’t move immediately. He rarely did. When he did, it was always because he had reached a conclusion.

“You’re exhausted,” he said at last, voice even, observational rather than concerned. “You hate this place, I can see it. You didn’t want to come back to Kakin.”

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, though the words lacked conviction as your body betrayed you, swaying just slightly where you stood.

Illumi’s gaze dropped, taking in the tension you were holding, the way your balance compensated a beat too late. Without asking, he stepped closer, hands light but certain as they settled at your shoulders. The contact wasn’t heated, wasn’t exploratory. It was corrective. He guided you back toward the bed with the same care he used when setting down something fragile but valuable, easing you onto the mattress until you were sitting, then gently coaxing you to lie back.

“You don’t need to help me,” you murmured, eyes half-lidded, watching him through your half-lidded eyes. “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he replied simply. “That isn’t the issue.”

He began removing your outer layers without hesitation, fingers working buttons and fastenings without haste. You gasped quietly, face burning hotter than it already was but at the same time you expected nothing. Illumi isn’t the type to have sex with you while you are drunk, he rather you be wide awake and sober, so he can acknowledge every single genuine emotion.

When all your clothes were gone, only then did he turn away, undoing his own clothing with the same calmness, folding each piece neatly and placing it aside. “Since I already paid for the room, it would be a waste not to use it to rest,” Illumi said when his body was bare, save for his pants, and he laid down beside you, pulling you close into his chest so the two of you shared each other’s bodyheat. 

You shifted and he adjusted without comment, once the two of you felt comfortable was when you noticed how possessive of a person he was.

“It feels nice,” Illumi admitted so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “It’s almost like you’re mine.”

For a moment, you lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the world narrowing to the warmth at your back and the strange calm that came with it. Nothing else happened, just his arm around you, keeping you still, keeping you safe in a way that made your heart ache. 

Sleep took you before you realized it had come.

Illumi remained awake a little longer, eyes open in the dark, aware of the way your body relaxed fully against him. He adjusted his hold minutely, ensuring you wouldn’t slip, wouldn’t wake. When your breathing evened out to match his, he allowed his eyes to close as well, yet he never truly sleeps as an assassin.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The next day, the mission went smoothly thus far. 

The bridal garments were heavy.

Red silk weighed down your shoulders, the embroidered phoenixes gleaming gold in the flicker of lantern light. Wide sleeves draped past your wrists, brushing against the polished floor. The veil covered your face, scarlet fabric spilling over your head until the world beyond was dim and suffused in red.

You sat with your hands folded in your lap, perfectly still on the chair with an empty seat across from you, the small table filled with nuts and fruit, and wine. Outside, the noise was deafening. Firecrackers cracked in rapid bursts, drums thundered in rhythm, laughter and celebration spilled through the courtyard like a flood. The sounds of joy and tradition, hiding something far uglier underneath, because everyone sounded so on edge.

When the family approached you with this job, they were careful with their words. The girl’s parents had pressed the offer on you with desperation in their eyes. They had already prepared her escape route; she was gone hours ago, on a ship that would take her far away. And you, for a heavy sum, agreed to sit in her place.

The contract had been simple in theory. Appear as the bride. Keep your face hidden under the veil. Go through the motions of the ceremony until the bridal chamber, and then drug the groom with wine to sleep. That way, he won’t see your face under the veil and you won’t need to do bedroom activities with that stranger.

Yet, time passed and the voices of the guests have all gone quiet, yet the groom was not here. You could feel the sense that something had already gone wrong, meaning it was smart of you to keep weapons on your person and prepare to fight if needed.

The next minute, the door opened and closed.

The chamber was filled with stillness, the weight of another presence settling across your skin.

You expected the groom. You braced for him, for the awkwardness of a stranger’s company, for the possibility of needing to fight your way free. The groom did not say a word, and you could not see anything from being under your veil.

The rites were performed quickly, from the man silently guiding you through them without hesitation. Then he led you to the bed, sat you down, and for a moment you wanted to take the knife out from your belt and stab him because the drug should have worked by now.

His hand held the bottom of your veil, and lifted the fabric.

Your world opened into red and shadow, candlelight spilling across-

Illumi Zoldyck?

Your breath stilled and you visibly looked confused. Of course. Of course it would be him. You thought of the amount of money that was on the line for this job to be completed. 

“…Oh no,” Your voice sounded tired, “Who did you kill?”

His tone was even, flat, polite as ever. “The bride, oh- and her family.”

You blinked once, your lips parting slightly in disbelief. “…I- I don’t even… Then what was the point of me dressing up like this? And you-! You and I went through all the rites of marriage?! You could have just tapped me on the shoulder and said it was you!”

Illumi sighed, and sat down next to you on the bed. “I have to thank you, if it wasn’t for you telling me of their general plan, then I would have probably wasted more time.”

Oh right, you practically spilled the bride’s entire plans of escaping and their motives to him last night at the winehouse. Now, you weren’t even mad at him, just mad at yourself. Was this the fourth time he was after your client? And the third time he succeeded? Why even bother counting at this point, clearly Illumi was not an auspicious person to be around.

“Then, my job here is done,” you huffed, standing up from the bed to leave.

But before you could step away, his hand caught your wrist and he drew you back to the bed with a strength that allowed no refusal. His face was calm, his gaze steady, as if this were nothing unusual at all.

“What if our wedding was like this?” Illumi asked, holding you tight against his chest.

You turned your head, staring at him through the dim light, the red of your bridal robes painting you both in the same shade.

“…You’re insane,” You couldn’t help but smile affectionately. “Completely crazy!”

His hand was still on your wrist, his eyes unblinking as they bore into yours. “Imagine it, if this were our wedding.”

The words sank into the chamber, mingling with the red shadows cast by the lanterns. 

“I am, I can imagine so much blood,” you sighed, exasperated, because you were joking with him. “I’m guessing you also killed everyone outside.”

Before you could reply, his hand moved from your wrist to your cheek, his pale fingers cool against your skin. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss deepened, slow but inescapable, until your breath hitched against him. The silk you wore rustled as you shifted back, and he followed, his arm guiding you down onto the bridal bed.

The red sheets crumpled beneath you both, golden embroidery catching in the flicker of the candlelight. 

His hair fell forward, brushing against your cheek, as his mouth found yours again. 

Your hands came up instinctively, one against his chest as though to push him back, but they lingered there instead.

You broke the kiss for a moment, tilting your head back into the pillow, eyes searching his face. His expression hadn’t shifted, it was still calm and still unreadable, but his gaze was locked on you with a soft intensity.

It felt nice and loving, but you felt pain with the choice to stay or leave. 

“…I don’t think it will ever become true,” you whispered again, though softer this time.

His lips brushed yours again as his hand still held your cheek. “Then imagine it,” Illumi murmured. “Imagine this as ours… because I’m imagining you as mine right now.”

And before you could think better of it, you found yourself tangled with him in the bridal chamber, red silk pooling around you both, your breaths and his lips sealing the space once again.

“Do you understand love yet?” You asked him quietly when the kiss broke apart again.

You so badly wanted him to be just a bit different, but if so then was he still Illumi? You thought about it for a long time before this mission, that maybe the two of you would make a lovely pair.

Illumi placed his hand against your cheek, caressing it, “If wanting you more right now means love, then I am in love.”

“What is love, what is hate? Doesn’t it feel like we’ve been jumping around each other for too long?”

Something in his eyes changed, rather darkened, and his hold on you felt tighter now. “When has time ever mattered between us? The only thing that changed is me holding back.”

You glanced up to see the red veils hanging above, the bed meant for a bride now soaked in illusion. Was this really right to do this with him?

Reality crashed into you, sharp as a blade.

You pressed a hand to his chest, not shoving, just enough to put space between you, “This is wrong.”

Illumi blinked, his expression flat, unreadable, his hand still firm on your waist. “Why?”

“Because none of this is real,” you said, eyes steady despite the tremor in your voice, your fingers curled in the fabric of his robe, then released it, “I don’t believe you know what love is, and I want real love even if I would never get it, or deserve it.”

Too much karma had been building up in your life, a weight you carried no one could see. The people you protected were never innocent, the rich elites always had dirty hands from money, and your hands were no cleaner. You had killed many people as well, so what sort of love could survive under all of that? Because it did not feel like real love, at all.

His head tilted, black eyes locked on you without wavering. “You’re here and I’m here, isn’t this all that matters?”

Your breath caught, half at the certainty in his tone, half at the emptiness of it. You shook your head, sliding free of his grasp though you felt his fingers twitch as if he would pull you back.

“I can’t,” you said, “you wanting me isn’t enough. Is that love, or control and ownership?”

He only watched, eyes following you as you put distance between the two of you.

His black eyes never left yours. “You kissed me back, that means everything.”

“Illumi-” Your mouth opened to retort, but the words stuck in your throat. His logic was infuriating in its simplicity.

Before you could finish, his hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His lips pressed against yours again, a kiss that felt less like affection and more like a claim. His other hand stayed firm at your waist, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

You inhaled sharply against him, torn between pushing him away and letting yourself fall into it once more. His kiss wasn’t desperate, like he’d keep going until you stopped fighting.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice came quiet, almost questioning, though no warmth touched it. “This is real, isn’t it?”

“Illumi-” you tried to push him off but he did not budge one bit. It occurred to you that he was stronger, how could you have forgotten? And now, you doubt you could escape with you practically in his arms, being held so close and vulnerable. 

There's no way any amount of fighting or flower petals could let you escape.

“Where are you going to run away to now?” Illumi whispered, his hands trailed down your waist, and in a quick movement, had ripped away the sashes that held together your robes, bringing the tassels of pearls and gold scattering over the bed, some falling to the floor in a pitter-pattered sound, as if rain.

“Illumi?!” You gasped, trying to keep together your robes but his hands went behind your waist, pulling down the red silk from your body. Perhaps it was because he was fast, or perhaps you were just so shocked and panicked that everything passed in a blur. “Wait- wait! Illumi- let’s talk about this first!”

“Talking didn’t work at all, even now, you always run away and I let you,” Illumi laid you onto the bed, stopping how you struggled by pinning your hands above you. His smile darkened, and a part of you clearly saw that he was done holding back. Illumi hated seeing you struggle, so he stuck a needle right below your collarbone, the effects instant as it began to make you sluggish.

Your arms relaxed and they dropped to your side, you gasped when his cold hand touched up your pelvis and bare stomach. 

He lifted up your legs, getting past the layers that made up your skirt and pulled down the white pants you had worn as your intimates, and then your panties. 

“No! Wait!” you begged, tears at the corner of your eyes.

Without another word, or before you even realized, he thrusted deeply into you. The lack of foreplay or anything else made it so the intrusion was even more painful.

“This way, you can’t leave,” Illumi claimed, closing his eyes and capturing your lips into a deep kiss.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

A sob tore out of you, sharp and humiliating, the sound caught in your throat as Illumi finally pulled away after using your body for the last hour or two. 

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, paralyzed by the needle lodged under your collarbone, and yet you could still feel everything with heightened sensitivity.

The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat and perfume from earlier in the night, all of it mixed into something intimate. You could feel his release leaking out of you, the fullness in your stomach easing just slightly, and it made your face burn with shame because it was overly lewd. 

Your chest hitched as another weak sob escaped you, and you hated yourself for the way your voice cracked when you spoke. “Illumi…” you whimpered, eyes glassy, lashes wet with tears. “I want you to hold me, please.”

It was pathetic. You knew it was. But you were too raw to pretend you did not enjoy it, too exhausted to keep your pride upright when your body had been reduced to trembling pieces beneath him. 

Illumi’s gaze moved over you slowly, as if admiring his work before his hand slid beneath your collarbone to remove the needle.

The moment the paralysis was released, it hit you like a wave. Your arms were suddenly yours again, your fingers twitching as sensation returned too quickly, too loudly. You didn’t even think, you just reached for him, hands wrapping around his neck, dragging him down with a shaky urgency.

His body folded over yours, and when his chest met yours, you felt the heat of him and it startled you, because you expected him to be cold but he was burning. His body was hotter than yours, almost. 

Your face pressed into the side of his neck and you clung to him, shaking, breathing in shallow, uneven pulls.

“It hurts,” you whispered, voice breaking again, the words muffled against him. “And you came inside…”

Illumi’s hand slid along your back in a sweet way, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Illumi murmured, lips close to your skin. “I’ll never cause you pain like that. Next time it won’t hurt.”

Next time.

You swallowed hard, tears still slipping down your cheeks, and your hands tightened at his neck as if holding him there could stop reality from returning.

Then his voice came again, calm as ever, as if he were offering something simple.

“Come back with me,” Illumi said. “You’ll never have to do any missions that will endanger you again.”

His offer just felt like he was going to lock you up in a cage.

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice hoarse, the words scraping out of you like they hurt to say. “I can’t… I have so much of my life to live.”

Illumi’s eyes didn’t change, but something in his stillness sharpened, as though he had heard you and dismissed the weight of it in the same instant.

“I’ll give you time,” he decided.

No. You had to get out of here.

The thought came with sudden clarity, sobering you in the worst way, because your body was still warm and wrecked and clinging to him, but your mind was screaming at you to runbefore he decided you weren’t allowed to.

You forced yourself to pull back. Your hands slid from his neck to his shoulders, bracing there for a moment as you sat up with trembling effort. Your skin felt too sensitive under the air, every shift of fabric against you sending a flare of discomfort through your nerves. 

You gathered your clothing with clumsy fingers, trying to straighten it, trying to reclaim some dignity, some separation, some proof that you were still yourself.

Illumi didn’t stop you.

He just watched.

You stood on unsteady legs. Nearly limping as you moved toward the door, your chest tight from your heart not wanting to leave him.

Your hand grasped into the sliding doors, for a second you hesitated, because leaving meant stepping back into whatever waited outside, and you already knew Illumi did not do things halfway.

You slid open the door that led into the courtyard.

Wedding guests sprawled across the stone-laid ground like rice sacks. You saw the needles that glinted in their foreheads, not surprised in the slightest that he decided to kill everyone as well.

He was clean and effortless with his work, and that made it all look beautiful in your eyes. Even if you train for another twenty years, you wouldn’t be at his level.

Behind you, you could feel Illumi’s presence, still in the room, still close enough that he could reach you if he wanted. You didn’t look back. You didn’t trust yourself, because if you saw his face right now you weren’t sure what you would do.

You stepped forward anyway, feet moving as if guided by something older than thought.

You didn’t have a place to go that was truly yours here, but your body chose a direction with certainty, carrying you past the trail of corpses.

You kept walking towards the direction of your old home.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The small island appeared out of the mist like a dream you weren’t sure you wanted to see again. It had been ten years since you’d last seen any of the peach blossoms from the Mu Manor, and even now the peach blossoms looked all the same. Their pale petals shimmered against the night sky, as they blew from the trees surrounding the island as well as inward, drifting down onto the dark waters.

You pushed your small boat along with nen, which is how the boat was designed as no paddles were on the boat.

You couldn’t tell if you were angry, sad, or hollow. Only that your feet had carried you here, to the one place you’d ever thought of as home.

You remembered being six, an orphan in Kakin at a rundown restaurant. The old master of the Mu Minister Manor had found you, and took you in because you were the child he had with another woman. He had taken you into his house, not as a daughter openly, but as a little maid. You became the servant to his son, Shilin, who was only eleven himself, five years older than you.

It had been enough.

Eight years passed, and you grew with the house and the young master you took care of. So, at fourteen, you were placed in the care of the young master’s new wife, becoming her personal maid. When she became pregnant, the halls buzzed with celebration. You helped her walk to each room, poured her tea, served her medicine every morning without fail.

And then she miscarried so suddenly at four months, at the point where her pregnancy should have been stable.

(You sprinted out of the Madam’s chambers, then two more doctors passed you in an instant, rushing into the madam’s room as if the people in there helping her was not enough already.

Her screams pierced the late afternoon, filling you with dread as you noticed the droplets of blood staining the edge of your robes.

You stumbled to a pause off the steps of the doors, feeling bile rush up but you coughed, suppressing it. Of course, you should have seen it coming, with how day by day she seemed to be weaker and more tired. You as well.

Where did it go wrong? When did someone get the chance to poison her? You were going to die for this, despite not being the culprit. Then what rushed up your throat wasn’t vomit, but rather blood.

You coughed, hand over your mouth and saw the red blood that exploded out. Instantly frightened, you wiped it across your robes, figuring you’d just say it was the blood of the madam. 

Were you poisoned? Was the madam poisoned?

How-

“Y/n!” The young master, Shilin, rushed up to you, clasping your hands into his, worried, “Y/n, are you okay?”

“The madam, she’s been throwing up all morning but- but suddenly she said her stomach hurts!” You cried out, trying to lower your head to hide your bloodied mouth. “I don’t know what happened, me and the doctors always watched over what she ate and drank!”

Shilin brought your hands up to his lips and he kissed them. “Don’t worry, you aren’t in the wrong. I will protect you.”

Then your heart dropped to your stomach. “Young master, what are you saying?”

“If she is out of the way, I can ask father to make you my second wife, it’s okay if you won’t be able to have kids like her,” Shilin said, “as long as you are by my side, where I can see you, that’s all I want. It will be just like how it was when we were kids.”

Tears flooded your eyes, you had known the young master liked you but you had thought it to be like sibling love. It occurred to you because he was never told by the old master or you, that you two were related, maybe this all started going downhill at the beginning. “Young master, what are you saying? That’s your wife… The madam is miscarrying right now, and you want me?” You shook your head in disbelief, “you’re fucking crazy.”)

The incense burners had always smoked heavily in the madam’s, Shilin’s wife’s, chambers. Only after two years did you realize the musk scent and bitter herbs that were masked by peaches. You knew now what you hadn’t then: it was the fragrance that had killed the baby, nothing tied to you. But in her eyes and everyone else’s, you were the culprit. It wasn’t fair, you had been affected as well with the slow poison, making you unable to ever bear children.

You left that night. The old master had been sick during that time, too sick to protect you or speak against his son’s wife and any of the family members. The young master, Shilin, could not protect you either, with his plan of taking you as his second wife was said too early, and more accusations happened that you seduced him with fox demon charms. Not even Shilin could speak for you, then.

That night, you packed some belongings and fled, stealing the family’s martial arts manual from the old master’s study. You left Kakin, training on your own and learned nen from the martial arts manual, before taking on jobs as a bodyguard. How long has it been? Ten years? Yes, you are older now, in your early twenties.

You had never come back or thought of coming back. Until now.

The boat slid against the island’s shore. Peach petals clung to your sleeves as you stepped onto the soil.

The estate loomed greatly, its lanterns glowing soft against the dark. You crept close, careful as a shadow. And then a small voice startled you.

“Who are you?”

A little girl stood in the garden path, clutching a lantern almost too big for her hands. Her eyes were wide, curious, but not afraid.

“I’m… a new servant,” you said softly, forcing a smile.

The girl tilted her head. “What’s your name? Why are you wearing red and so messy?”

Your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak the truth. Not here. Not when your name had been cursed in this place.

“My name is Yangliu,” you said, confident in your lie. “I just got married.”

And it did sting, because you remembered writing the poem where the name Yangliu, meaning willow, came from:

As the willow grows,and mulberry will harvest,Yet where is home,If not with rain falling down.

“Master said we can’t let anyone named Y/n in,” the girl said suddenly, with a child’s bluntness. “But they said she has a pretty face that is like the spring flowers here.”

You stiffened. “…Oh? Why is that?”

“Because she caused my mother to lose a baby.” The girl’s voice grew small, uncertain. “She made father sad when she left.”

Your chest ached. This was Shilin and his wife’s second child, you held your breath for a moment before you forced another smile, this one trembling at the edges.

“Then it’s good my name isn’t Y/n,” you said quietly. “I’m Yangliu.”

The girl nodded, satisfied, and skipped ahead, her lantern swaying. You stayed rooted to the path, the blossoms drifting down around you, petals clinging like memories you couldn’t shake.

The peach blossom petals floated down like pale snow, their fragrance faint against the copper tang of blood. You had come here to remember what once felt like home, yet now cruelly reminded of people that caused you such misfortune. 

What did you expect coming back here? 

When you looked up, reaching out your hand to the little girl walking away, suddenly she was knocked down with a golden needle sticking from the back of her head. She collapsed like a ragdoll.

You turned around, seeing Illumi right behind you. How had you not seen him? When did he start following?

“Illumi- why?” your voice cracked, sharp, trembling.

His tall figure stepped from the shadows, needles glinting faintly in the moonlight. “You were crying,” he said flatly. “Does this place not bring you pain?”

You touched your cheek, finding that indeed, there were tears. “It does,” you whispered, your throat burning. “But she didn’t have to die, she didn’t cause me any pain!”

“I promised to protect you,” Illumi replied, a darkening smile on his face that was illuminated by the little girl’s fallen lantern. “So anyone that harms you- all of them- must die. I love you, is this not enough?”

“No,” you shook your head, your hands trembling at your sides. “I don’t want to go with you.”

His black eyes fixed on you without blinking. “If you didn’t, you would have stopped me already. I know you’re stronger than you let on.” He tilted his head slightly, his tone calm, almost gentle. “You don’t need these people. They left you behind.”

“How did you know?” You clutched your hand into his arm, yet it was mostly to steady yourself. 

“I had a thorough background check on you ever since our first encounter, of course I know everything about you.”

And then the massacre began when Illumi slipped past you.

All forty-eight people: servants, wives, husbands, cousins, and children had been killed in the middle of the night. 

The halls of the estate filled with blood, soaking into the polished wood, dripping down silk curtains, staining the pale blossoms at the windows. Illumi only needed his hands and a few needles.

You stood among it, you only watched, rooted in place, as if your feet were nailed into the earth.

When silence fell again, the screams and shouts stopped, only the rustle of peach blossoms filled the night. Illumi stood motionless in the carnage, his eyes steady on you from where he left the front gate, as though he had not been killed at all. 

You walked through his bloodbath, right past him without a word, allowing the pools of blood to leech onto you rolling robes and sashes trailing behind you. If anything, it just made it look like a deeper red at the bottom.

Nothing really changed in the manor, you remembered the path to the old master’s study. That’s where you found him, sadly.

The old master. The man who had taken you in, who had once treated you as a daughter though you were never acknowledged as one, made you into a servant instead. He lay slumped in his chair, neck slit, his white robes soaked with blood that had poured onto the scrolls in front of him. His breath rattled, shallow, broken, blood gurgling at his lips.

“Father,” you whispered, sinking down before him into a kneeling bow. “It’s me, Y/n.”

Your voice trembled, though your body was strangely steady, too steady.

“I came back here,” you said, unable to look up at him with any dignity, “I came back here married. Isn’t that funny?”

You glanced down at yourself, imagining what a sight you must have been. You were sure you looked like a female ghost bride, your red robes disheveled, sashes trailing unevenly behind you like torn banners, gold hair pins unsymmetrical with some missing, and strands of hair that were disheveled. You must have looked like the stories children whispered of wandering brides who killed themselves, and came back to haunt the living.

“After I left home, I learned the family’s fighting style on my own, I’m sorry I stole the manual,” you continued, voice quieter, eyes burning as you stared at the man who had once been kind to you. “And then I became a bodyguard for families like ours, and only ever found temporary peace, and wished to go back to better days.”

Your hands curled against your lap, the jade bracelets clinking faintly.

“But I didn’t get anything good out of it,” you said, almost to yourself now. “In the end, I still ended up back here. Back where I started.” Just a little servant girl that no one really wanted, or treated genuinely.

The old master’s eyes fluttered, but his throat only spilled blood. He tried to speak, but no words came.

Your breathing trembled as you closed your eyes, forcing the tears back, your composure cracking for just a moment as he took his last breath and died. 

Just like that, your last time seeing him with the chance to talk.

Footsteps echoed behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Illumi stood in the doorway, his figure framed in the blood-soaked hall, needles still glinting in his hand. His black eyes fixed on you as though nothing else existed in the room.

“You’re beautiful,” Illumi said simply, without inflection, as if stating a fact. “Even like this.”

You turned your face away from him, but your voice carried, low, raw. “Beautiful? Look at me. I’m drenched in blood, my hair’s a mess, I look like a female ghost.”

Illumi walked forward until he stood just behind you. His hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder, and he helped you stand up.

“You don’t look any less beautiful,” Illumi said. 

You inhaled sharply, a cry coming out that turned into a sob. “Really? Am I- am I pretty?” 

He leaned closer, his voice calm, soothing, “You don’t need this place. You don’t need anyone else, so come with me, now.”

And in that moment, with the peach blossoms drifting down and scent of blood still fresh in the air, you knew he was right about one thing, that this house was no longer your home.

His hand stayed on your shoulder, light but immovable. You didn’t flinch away from his touch anymore, maybe it was because you couldn’t, or maybe a part of you didn’t want to.

Illumi’s hand slipped down from your shoulder to your wrist. His fingers were cool, firm, as he laced them with yours and pulled you to your feet. You let him.

The jade bangles at your wrist clinked against his pale skin as he guided you from the room, through the halls of the estate you had once known like the lines of your own palm. 

Bodies lay where they had fallen, servants in their plain clothes, family in their nicer silk clothing, yet all the same when dead. 

The peach blossoms drifted in from the courtyard, carried by the night wind, scattering across the floors and clinging to blood like pale paper confetti.

Outside, the estate opened to the garden where you had once played as a child, where you had once stolen moments of sunlight between duties. Lanterns still burned faintly, swaying with the wind, but the garden paths were painted red.

Illumi stopped at the gate. He turned to look at you, his hand still holding yours as if letting go had never been an option. His black eyes caught yours, almost unreadable.

“Come with me,” he said.

And still, you let him lead you out, peach blossoms trailing behind you. 

The lake was still, black as ink, petals floating along like the pale boat across its surface that you and Illumi were on now. The small vessel rocked as Illumi pushed it forward with nen, silent, his gaze fixed straight ahead. 

It felt heavy, and you sighed as you sat down, wondering what a sight it would be when you reach the airport.

So you pulled the pins from your hair one by one and let them fall into the dark water, it wasn’t real gold anyways, just some metal. The sound was a small plop, spreading out and vanishing with ripple. Next went the jade bangles, then the earrings, then the necklace. 

You shrugged the red robes from your shoulders, silks sliding heavy into the water, spreading like blood across its glassy surface before sinking into nothing. When it was done, you sat in only the simple white layers beneath, which funnily was not stained with any blood. Your hair was loose and pooled around your shoulders, tangled by the wind. You tied it back at last with nothing but a strip of ribbon, the simplest thing you had kept.

For the first time since the night began, you felt lighter and more of the person you once were, just a servant girl in white, drifting across a lake under peach blossoms and moonlight.

“This feels like my childhood again, I would sneak out with the young master during the night, and he would take me to festivals and buy me candy,” you reminisced almost sadly.

“I would do the same for you,” Illumi noted. “Whatever you want, as long as you stop talking about those people. It makes me feel irritated.”

“Aren’t you just jealous?”

“Maybe so,” he simply said. 

“It’s weird seeing me cruel, don’t you think? People like me should be more outspoken and bold, more defying of you and to deny you,” you said, “but I feel tired, I’ve never felt this tired before. I just know that when I get better, nothing will change, so why not just not care about it?”

“You’re too tied to emotions, that’s why you have turmoil,” said Illumi.

“I admire you a lot, you know?” You smiled.

You admired him for how great of an assassin he was, how he controlled his emotions and won you over so painstakingly, how strong he was. Even then, even now, he liked you.

“Do you still like me?” You asked him. 

“Yes, you are still you no matter who you become, so I like you.”

And you thought about it, wondering if he had sides of him that were uglier than murdering people. Even if so, it felt like it didn’t matter, because you were no better than him.

“Ah,” you sighed, “I hate losing to you. If I somehow escape right now, will you leave me alone for another year?”

Illumi looked at you with a deadpan expression.

“I’m just joking,” smiling, you stood up and hugged him. “Come back to York New with me, do you want to meet my friends?”

[xinoroxsah]

『 illumination in falling flower petals 』

illumi zoldyck

❝ someone had to ruin your perfect record. a zoldyck assassin. ❞

❀ illumi zoldyck × bodyguard!reader ❀ chapter: 01 / 02 ↳⌜ ao3 ⌟ ❀ genre: slow burn, enemies to lovers, romance, yandere ❀ warnings: graphic depictions of violence, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dubious consent, implied sexual content

❀ synopsis: almost your entire life has been spent as a bodyguard for hire. by your late-teens, you were one of the most sought-after bodyguards in the city. top families hired you to protect them at galas, auctions, business meetings, even weddings. politicians whispered your name, and their rich heirs bragged about having you on their payroll. 

every job ended the same with the client alive, you alive, and your record as beautiful as your face that you hide behind a mask. 

until him, of course, since someone had to ruin your perfect record. a zoldyck assassin.

°❀.ೃ࿔* | 02

01　the bodyguard & the assassin

Almost your entire life has been spent as a bodyguard for hire.

You weren’t born into wealth, but you had been surrounded by it. You were an orphan taken in as a servant when you were young, then as a guard for wealthy children close to your age, and later their parents. One assignment became another, and soon your name was passed around among Yorknew’s elite.

By your late-teens, you were one of the most sought-after bodyguards in the city. Top families hired you to protect them at galas, auctions, business meetings, even weddings. Politicians whispered your name, and their rich heirs bragged about having you on their payroll. Every job ended the same with the client alive, you alive, and your record as beautiful as your face that you hide behind a mask.

Until him, of course, someone had to ruin your perfect record.

A Zoldyck assassin.

He appeared during one of your high-profile jobs, and for the first time, you failed in protecting your client.

(The first encounter was when you were 19, where the polished marble floor was slick with blood, the smell of iron sharp in the air. A rich entrepreneur laid dead at your feet, and in front of you stood a tall figure with dark, short hair and eyes like a cat’s. His hands dripped with blood, his gaze flat and unreadable.

You had stilled in silence, knife raised, your mask covering the lower half of your face hiding your trembling lips.

Almost calmly, he said so-simply, “I wasn’t told to kill you, so you can go.”

“Eh?” You blinked, lowering your shoulders an inch.

“Eh?” the assassin blinked back, almost too innocently. “Are you perhaps deaf?”

“Uh- no, no. I just think…” You stopped yourself, sighed, “Never mind. I guess I’m not getting paid out, then.” You bit down the urge to argue that wasn’t it an assassin’s job to kill the witnesses too? But you didn’t dare test your luck. You hadn’t even seen him appear, and now your client’s life was gone like blowing out a candle. “May I ask your name? You are a skilled assassin.”

He seemed to think for a few seconds, then said, “Illumi Zoldyck.”

And then he left, vanishing into the night as if he’d never been there at all.)

That night was the first stain on your record.

The next year, it happened again. Another client was killed before you could blink, and it was Illumi Zoldyck. He only spared you a glance before vanishing.

Now, even two years later, his name stained your reputation a little bit. Wealthy clients didn’t care about your skills when they heard the word “Zoldyck”, you were still top of your field, but it hurt your pride just a little. Some even left bad reviews, not because of you, but because they hadn’t survived long enough to leave praise and it was their families saying you didn’t do your job correctly.

You kept working, of course, other than living as a normal woman in her early-twenties. 

And tonight, you faced him again for the third time.

Your latest client was a politician’s son, a vain man in a custom suit, who had no idea how close death had already followed him. He’d hired you to guard him during a business trip through Yorknew’s nightlife district, and for a while, everything had gone smoothly.

Until you felt it and turned around to see Illumi Zoldyck just behind you.

Needles gleamed faintly in his hand, his black eyes already fixed on your client.

You didn’t hesitate, so with a swift touch of aura, you uncorked the small gourd at your belt and it sealed away your client inside after you hissed his name, and he replied with a surprised hum. The small gourd was your Nen ability, you had conjured it years ago, shaping your aura into a vessel that could swallow what you commanded. Objects could be sealed inside with ease, while living beings had a condition that they had to respond when you called their name, but it wasn’t limitless, the strain of keeping larger, heavier things inside drained your aura faster, and stubborn people who resisted your call could not be taken.

And then you ran.

Not because you were a coward that ran from every fight, but because you knew you couldn’t win against him. His years of trained kills outweighed your every trick, and you were not confident you could even land a hit on him.

Now, the city below had already faded, neon colors bleeding into the night, horns echoing from the streets like whispers. Up on the skyscraper rooftops, it was only you, your gourd, and Illumi chasing after you.

Once again, the long-haired Zoldyck assassin was going to kill another one of your clients. 

The gourd at your hip gently rattled from your belt with every leap. Your client was safe inside, sealed away where the Zoldyck couldn’t reach. You weren’t sure if he was going to kill you this time, but you imagined it wouldn’t be hard for him to kill you if he really wanted to.

He followed you effortlessly, his pace never slowed. No matter how far you ran or which building you jumped to, he was always there. 

As you landed on top of a concrete roof, you spun around and swung your fist at him, yet not disappointed when you didn’t land the hit.

“I need to complete a job,” Illumi said, voice as flat as the blade of a knife.

“Same here,” you answered, breath steady, eyes forward.

A glint of his needles split the dark, and he sent four flying you away, each you had avoided before the two of you exchanged hits.

You darted forward, fist cutting through the air as his hand shot up to block, the clash echoing sharp in the night. He countered with a kick aimed at your ribs, but you twisted aside, heel skidding across the rooftop, your own strike sweeping toward his jaw before he tilted his head just enough to let it pass. 

His needles flashed again, and you ducked low, spinning to sweep his legs, but he leapt over you, landing silent as a cat. Both yours and his movements were precise, but both of you deflected each other’s blows easily.

However, you didn’t focus fast enough as one of his needles grazed the left side of your head, only cutting through one of the straps that held up your mask, but the fear of almost being hit had made you freeze.

Your mask fell, and the dark wood clattered against the rooftop, spinning once before landing against the edge.

Now, you weren’t scared because you cared about the mask or your identity, but because Illumi had stopped in his own movements as well.

His eyes, so cold and unreadable, fixed on you with an intensity that felt wrong. For a man who had never faltered, never hesitated, his stillness was louder than the wind blowing across the tall skyscrapers. 

No one had ever seen your face since you began to wear a mask for your job in your early teenage years. It was kind of your brand and privacy, in a way.

But now, here, under the flicker of the city lights, he saw your bare face.

And Illumi Zoldyck was caught off guard.

You saw the faintest crack in his expression, the barest shift in his gaze that you were able to read. He wasn’t looking at you as a job or an obstacle, but he was looking at you specifically for you.

The moment lasted only a heartbeat, but it was enough to buy time.

You gripped the small gourd at your hip, aura flooding through it until it pulsed hot in your palm. His eyes followed the motion, snapping back into focus but too late.

The cork popped to unleash a storm of pink flower petals burst from the mouth of the gourd, swirling into a waterfall-like cascade. They filled the night air, rushing between you and him, fragrant and endless. Thousands spun across the rooftop, caught in the wind, wrapping him in a cyclone of pink blossoms.

He slashed through them, needles flashing, but it didn’t matter. The petals clung to him, veiling his sight, his skin, his breath.

And when the storm cleared, you were gone.

The rooftop lay empty, save for fading petals scattered like ash in the night.

Illumi stood alone, unmoving, the image of your face seared into his mind.

For the first time in his life, he felt something he didn’t understand and couldn’t name.

But he knew one thing with absolute clarity, that this wasn’t the last time he would see you because he needed to see you again.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The job was done. The client was tucked safely back into their penthouse, and the payment for your work was funneled into your account before sunrise. Of course, if Illumi Zoldyck kills him after your job ends then it wasn’t your business, and you could care less.

By the time you went back to your apartment, and fell asleep in bed with your grimy clothes, it was already morning. 

You woke up when it was almost evening, as sunlight spilled into your apartment in a golden shade, catching against the polished floors and nice furniture of your highrise apartment. Everything you owned was clean and expensive, the kind of place that was meant for a rich young woman rather than a stone-cold bodyguard for hire. However, who said you couldn’t do both?

You took a long shower, placed your bedsheets into the washer, and got dressed nicely in light colors and simple jewelry.

Out in the city, you were just another young woman in her twenties, and not a name whispered among the York New elites. 

By the time you stepped into the streets, you blended in with the other people busy going home or going out to meet with friends, or attend to other businesses. You walked into the expensive districts, where glass storefronts gleamed as designer bags lining the windows. 

You treated yourself to dinner, drinking good wine, and eating expensive meat where between bites your phone buzzed from your friends’ group chat.

Kanako: High tea tomorrow at The Soft Parlor. Don’t be late. Ardanza: Any color themes? I have a bunch of new cute dressss Mireya: Yellow and blue this time Aramune: It’s winter, how about teddy bear theme instead Kovanba: Brown is boring. We need red for Christmas. You: Red and white is perfect Christmas. Kanako: Perfect. Christmas theme it is, so what’s everyone doing on the actual day? Ardanza: Family dinner, of course. Mireya: Two parties. One for family, one for networking. Aramune: Going to the resort again. Kovanba: Flying out to warm weather, finally. You: Travelling for work. Kanako: Of course Mireya: You’re insane, you need to relax

Laughter-filled emojis followed, the chat lighting up again with plans, shoes, matching nail ideas. To them, you were just another heiress who worked too much. Not the girl who had fought a deadly Zoldyck on a rooftop less than twenty-four hours ago, in fact, they have no idea of your real job because you’re masked all the time.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The porcelain clinked softly as you set your cup back onto its saucer. The steam of lavender black tea rose between you and the small group of women gathered around the table, where flowers and tiered stands of small pastries and sandwiches filled the table.  

The private tearoom was quiet, tucked behind sliding panels of pale wood and silk screens painted with blossoms. Only the faint sound of the city filtered through the window, a reminder that beyond these walls, the world was louder and less refined, and poor. 

Your friends, all dressed in chic dresses and expensive jewelry, leaned in as they spoke in lively tones. They were from good families, although not as wealthy as the client you're protecting, but still rich with lots of money to burn. And to them, you were an independent young woman with a high paying engineering job.

No one here knew the truth, and you preferred it that way.

“So,” Kanako said, setting her cup of tea down with a soft thud, “have any of you heard? The Hunter Exam is coming up again.”

There was a murmur of surprise around the table.

“Eh, that scary thing?” Ardanza laughed. “Doesn’t it only happen once a year? I know Father tried to hire a Hunter for a job, but it was so expensive.”

“It does,” Kanako confirmed. “And apparently the license is worth a fortune. Connections, money, even immunity from most laws. You’d be untouchable.”

The girls hummed, eyes wide. Mireya shook her head quickly. “Sounds terrifying. Who in their right mind would risk their life for that?”

“I know!” Aramune chimed in, giggling. “It’s supposed to be impossible. I’d never dare. You’d have to be insane, or super strong.”

You lifted your cup again, sipping slowly, hiding the way the words caught in your chest.

You had heard whispers of the Hunter Exam before, of course. Every mercenary, every underground broker, every wealthy client with more ambition than sense had brought it up at least once. But you’d never considered it for yourself because you were busy, too many contracts, and too much to lose if you die.

But why not?

You set your cup down carefully. “Mhm,” you hummed, serene as ever. “I see, I see.”

Your friends went on laughing, spinning their daydreams about what they would do if they were ever reckless enough to try. Kovanba joked she’d use the legal immunity to kill some old school rival and the others dissolved into laughter.

The room filled with their chatter and amusement, while you sat quietly, your smile polite, your posture perfect.

But inside, something stirred.

The license wasn’t just money or luxury, it was basically more freedom to do what you want, and take on better jobs.

And more than that, you were strong enough now compared to the past. You knew it.

The thought settled like a seed in your chest.

You listened to your friends’ laughter, nodding occasionally, your serene mask never slipping. But your decision had already begun to take shape to take the Hunter Exam.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The first exam hall was suffocating, only because with so many people, some wanted to talk and you did not want that. You weren’t here to make friends with these people, since you’re never too sure who really is being genuine and who was just trying to scope out competition.

There were nervous whispers, cocky boasts, the sound of weapons being adjusted and boots shuffling against stone. The energy was restless, and it was noticeable who were the  people hungry for glory, and too confident. They will definitely die.

You leaned lightly against the wall, your mask in place, bored and reading from a small, pocket-sized book you picked up on your journey to here.

And then you felt a heavy stare.

You lifted your eyes slowly, scanning the crowd until you found him. It was a man that was freakishly tall, with pale-lavender skin, and gold spheres jutting from his face that looked grotesque. His presence clung like static, and he looked at you so boldly it was almost obscene.

“Wah,” you muttered under your breath, lips barely moving, “how scary.”

It should be crimes on how ugly someone can be. Ew. After years of living in high society, seeing beautiful women and men, and taking care of yourself as well, seeing someone so ugly made you just want to look away.

Your brows twitched the faintest degree, though your posture stayed unbothered. You looked back down at your book, though you could still feel his gaze still, it felt heavy and invasive. If he tried something, you could handle it, probably? He looked strong, though, so you really weren’t sure if you could win.

The crowd hushed as the wall at the front of the hall screeched upward like a garage door. The examiner’s voice droned over them, giving instructions for the first phase. You barely listened, your eyes already trained on the path ahead and thinking how long this running stage will stretch.

Then someone stepped near, and you glanced beside to see a pale man in circus-like clothes, red hair slicked back in a vivid curl, the faint scent of iron and cologne trailing with him. He glanced at the tall figure across the room, then at you.

“That’s Gittarackur,” he said smoothly, as if offering a secret.

You blinked at him, “Oh, I see.” Were you supposed to say something else? You didn’t even ask him, were they friends?

He chuckled, and suddenly there was a playing card in his fingers, gleaming white and red. He slid it into your hand without asking. His smile curled, too sharp, too amused. “My name’s Hisoka.” His eyes raked over you slowly, openly, the way a predator measured prey before deciding if it was worth hunting. 

Wah, another creep. “Thank you, good luck on the exam,” you said politely, eyes casted down.

“Mmm,” Hisoka hummed, his voice rolling like a purr. “How fun. Good luck to you as well.”

You didn’t flinch, though a faint chill raced up your spine. Not one, but two creepy people that you encountered? 

°❀.ೃ࿔*

The endless tunnel run eventually ended for a moment at a place called the Marshlands, the musty air of the tunnel giving way to damp wind and the open sprawl of the swamps. 

The marsh was a trap in itself. You could see it immediately with the slick mud, and some shadows of shifting creatures.

You moved carefully and did not stray from the path, and didn’t bat an eye when some lacked behind or got killed. So far, it felt easy, what were some people even worried about?

A hulking frog the size of a man lurched from the reeds, its throat ballooning before snapping one unlucky examinee into its jaws. 

You kept moving, breathing evenly,

A rustle came from your left. You turned your head just slightly, enough to see another swamp beast rising from the water, snake-like jaws gaping as it lunged toward you.

And then, without warning, it collapsed with a golden balled needle sticking into its head.

You blinked, tilted your head. “…Eh? What?”

Some other player probably thought it was going to affect them.

You moved on.

It happened again when a swarm of stinger-insects lifted from the trees, their buzzing building loudly. You prepared to open your gourd, to scatter them with a gust when suddenly they dropped mid-flight, bodies littering the wet ground as though some invisible hand had plucked the life from them.

Again, you paused and looked down at the insects. “…Eh?”

You pressed forward, now just a bit perturbed. 

Behind you, Gittarackur’s pace never faltered. His eyes never wavered. Every time a threat shifted near you, his hand flicked almost imperceptibly and killed whatever was going to attack you.

Was he protecting you or himself? Every time he shifted a bit closer to you, you shifted away, as if changing lanes while driving. 

The examiner led onward, deeper into the marsh. You adjusted your pace and followed.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

Trick Tower

The waiting chamber was large, but the air felt stifling and uncomfortable when you walked in after your trial. The ceiling arched high overhead, and at the very least it looked clean.

Three people were already there.

The ninja sat neatly, posture perfect, knees folded beneath him and looked to be meditating. Hisoka and Gittarackur were both playing cards, which was an interesting sight, but you guessed that they were friends.

Your footsteps echoed softly as you entered, and the stone door lowered behind you, sealing with a dull thud.

Hisoka was the first to glance up, head tilting like a cat studying something new. “Oh?” His voice was warm in that unsettling, too-amused way. “Did you struggle?”

You stopped a few paces in, blinking once in confusion, “I didn’t?”

He gestured vaguely toward your face, a fingertip tracing the air near his own cheek. “You have blood, right there.”

You raised your fingers and brushed across the cheekbone of your mask. The smear came away dark and dried. “It’s not mine,” you said in a sigh.

Hisoka’s smile deepened, as if this answer pleased him more than anything else you could have said.

The ninja gave you a single acknowledging nod.

You crossed the space and chose a seat near the ninja, not close enough to imply camaraderie but just enough distance to avoid the other two psychos. 

Gittarackur didn’t move and did not say anything to you like the other two, but what was it with him purposefully protecting you during the trial in the Marshlands? You prided yourself on good instinct and reading people, that’s how most of your clients survived when suspicious people tried to take their life, and Gittarackur was no exception because you could feel his attention on you, despite him not looking at you or saying anything. 

You didn’t look his way, deciding not to bother unless he tries to do something stupid, like murder you. 

But for now, the four of you simply existed together in this vast waiting room for another two days or so. 

So, you leaned against the wall, resting your eyes. 

°❀.ೃ࿔*

Zevil Island

When it was your turn to go onto the island, you had thought the right thing to do was go as deep into the forest as possible. 

Moving swiftly and silently, you cut through the undergrowth, putting as much distance between yourself and the main cluster of participants as possible. The farther you were, the fewer eyes would find you.

At last, when the forest grew quiet and only the chirr of insects filled the air, you stopped. You closed your eyes, let your aura vanish, slipping into Zetsu. Your presence thinned to nothing, your breath lightened. The forest would not notice you, nor would any of the people.

And so, you watched.

Hours passed. You perched in the crook of a tree, unseen, observing the movements of others. Candidates crept through the brush, fought beasts, ambushed each other. 

By the end of the first day, you had tracked, cornered, and taken one player’s badge even if it wasn’t the person you were supposed to hunt. You slipped it into your pouch, and later into the safety of your infinite gourd.

It was progress, sort of. It felt like a turmoil to you that you had to take Gittarackur’s badge, because how could you win against him? It felt impossible, but maybe not the most impossible if you and someone else attacked him at the same time. 

As dusk almost came, you were perched on a tree, ready to rest for a little and think of another plan. 

However, a presence cut into the quiet, and survival instinct snapped through you and you dropped from the tree in a fluid motion, feet landing onto the forest floor. Your hand was already on the infinite gourd on your belt.

Gittarackur stepped from between the trees like he had always been there.

Your heart kicked once from fear, but your face didn’t betray it.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“Your badge,” he said.

There was no point speaking further because a feeling in your chest told you that you hesitate a moment more, he would totally kill you.

The cork of your gourd flicked loose, bouncing once as it dangled by its cord, and a flood of flower petals burst outward, their movement like a sudden bloom of spring caught in a storm. They spiraled through the air in dazzling, weightless arcs as you surged forward, twisting your body low and aiming for his ribs. He shifted so easily that it made you feel slow.

You didn’t let the miss slow you, so your heel swept low at his ankles.

Gittarackur slid back and his hand lifted to swing at you, at the same time releasing a needle.

You dropped under it just in time, but the needle nearly grazed your cheek.

Another set of petals burst from the gourd, swirling around you in tight, controlled spirals. This time, you used the cover to gain distance, feet digging into the soft earth as you pushed off, flipping back and upward. Your hand dipped into the gourd once more, but this time for the stones you had collected earlier at the lakeside of this island, some bigger than your body. 

The stones poured out from the gourd then accelerated, raining downward like a shower of projectiles.

They should have struck him, at least one, but Gittarackur began to hit away and break every single one of them.

You pivoted sharply as he was distracted, pushing off the ground and ran.

No way you were going to win against him, and a tiny part of you felt afraid.

When you thought you had gotten away, with no footsteps even behind you-

Sharp pain speared your upper arm, and a paralysis spread quickly, closing over your muscles like ice. Your knees buckled, collapsing instantly and you landed on your side, breath cut short. You couldn’t turn your head, but you could feel that a needle was embedded into your arm. 

Footsteps approached, unhurried. He crouched beside you, close enough that you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. Then his hand lifted, tugging away the wooden mask on your face.

Your eyes rolled up, and you saw that it was Illumi.

His hair was loose, falling around his face, and his eyes were exactly as you remembered them.

“It feels like all you do is run,” Illumi said, and his voice was so quiet it almost dissolved into the background of rustling leaves.

Your pulse stumbled. “You’re-”

“Yes,” he answered, “I’m surprised you did not recognize me sooner.”

You swallowed, the paralysis fading in slow, stinging waves. “Why here?”

“For the license, of course," answered Illumi, “and to watch over my younger brother, but seeing you again is simply a bonus.”

Your fingers curled against the grass, “What a ugly surprise, are you here to kill me?”

“I don’t want to,” he replied, “but I did get annoyed when you ran off last time. So, where is your badge?”

Almost carefully, he removed the needle from your arm, making it feel a bit better, but you were still unable to move any part of your body. 

“My badge is gone, someone took it,” you said, trying your best to lie even if there was no point in it.

“Don’t lie,” he said softly. “I’ve been watching you since the moment you arrived on this island.”

You exhaled, a small, tired laugh. “Of course you have.” The world seemed to still for a moment, and you weren’t sure what was next.

“I won’t force you,” Illumi added, as though clarifying something important. “I know you kept it in your little Nen tool, but if you don’t want to give that up, I can’t do much about it.” Illumi glanced toward your chest, to the inner fold of your robe where you kept important things. “I’ll take the other badge instead.”

Before you could answer, he slipped an arm under your knees and lifted you effortlessly, settling you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your breath stuttered, not out of surprise, but because of the clarity of his intent.

His fingers brushed the edge of your inner pocket, moving around inside until his hand was under your breast, and drew out the badge you had stolen earlier. He held it lightly for a moment in the air between you, then slipped his own badge into the same pocket, and it felt intimate in a way that it shouldn’t.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you said nothing.

He shifted, supporting you with one hand as he helped you lean back against the base of the tree. The bark was cool against your spine. The petals that had settled earlier still clung to your hair, drifting with the smallest breeze.

Illumi leaned in, and you did not refuse either because you did not understand.

His lips touched yours with the kind of softness that seemed impossible from someone like him, and you didn’ know how much time passed until he pulled away, “For the rest of the days, you should rest.”

Your eyelashes lowered. 

°❀.ೃ࿔*

Yorknew City

You returned to Yorknew alone and without a Hunter’s License.

It didn’t bother you as much as it should have, mostly because you did it for the experience of it all. It wasn’t yours before, so when you didn’t have it now you weren’t saddened by the fact. Your bank account had millions, and your client list was full waiting for your service.

When you arrived back at your apartment, the sudden frustration of it all flooded into you.

You kicked your shoes off in the front hall and threw yourself onto the couch with a slow exhale that came from somewhere behind your ribs. Although you showered and changed before you boarded the airship, you still had been on a 10 hour flight. 

“…That was a waste of time,” you muttered, hands on your face in utter moping. 

You lost like, what? Two weeks of your life? Not much at all, but now it’s time to lie to your friends again about the work trip you went on, explaining why you were gone for so long.

It wasn’t entirely true, due to the fact that you had also gained an annoying assassin admirer.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Kanako: Tea this Saturday? Same time? Ardanza: Don’t forget the silver earrings I loaned you Mireya: I reserved the private room this time Kovanba: What color theme?????

You stared at the screen for a moment, face blank, mind blanker. Your fingers typed back without thought.

You: Sundress time

You closed the phone, dropped it onto your chest, and let silence settle into the room.

That’s right, nothing much has changed, you were still the young woman who attended high tea in pretty outfits, who smiled elegantly with wealthy daughters about anything and everything. You were still the same woman who had been groped and kissed by Illumi Zoldyck in a forest, which is less than ideal.

You didn’t want this attention from him, really, it really did not look like it would do your life any favors in being better. People like him just looked like they don’t know the first thing about talking to people, even if the two of you date, it would suck to introduce him to your friends. 

“Annoying,” you murmured, to no one.

Your gourd sat where you always left it, on the low lacquered table near the window. The cork was secure. The petals inside were quiet. It looked harmless right now, but who could ever think such a small gourd saved your life many times.

You wondered when Illumi would show up next.

You had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t wait this time, or leave it up to fate for the two of you to meet again. 

°❀.ೃ࿔*

One Week Later, Yorknew City 

Work resumed the way it always did for you. The Hunter Exam ended, and with it the strange limbo where your world had brushed too closely against people like Illumi Zoldyck finally faded after a week of resting. You returned to Yorknew with your body unharmed, and your reputation intact enough to keep contracts flowing in. The exam had changed nothing on your resume or your client’s eyes, if anything it meant they did not have to pay you more. 

The contract came through a private intermediary, and this time your client was a celebrity about to get married, famous enough that paparazzi had already begun circling the venue her wedding was rumored to be. The request was simple on the surface: a bodyguard dressed as a bridesmaid, close enough to the bride to shield her without drawing attention, present for before and after the ceremony, up until the end of the reception. You were chosen because of your specialty in disguises, which was an easier word for facial prosthetics and makeup. 

You accepted because it paid heavily. 

The wedding venue itself was a castle in all but name, stone walls softened by climbing ivy, gardens arranged with obsessive care, fountains lit from beneath so water caught the light like falling glass. From the moment you arrived, everything felt curated for beauty rather than safety, and that meant your attention should never be rested. 

You memorized staff routines, counted exits, noted where security grew lax under the illusion of exclusivity. Your prosthetic face was perfect,  just a face a plain woman would have, nothing exciting or pretty, it was crafted to ensure that if a photograph slipped through it would never truly be your real face.

By the time evening fell, you had already neutralized three potential incidents before they became problems. A staff member whose credentials didn’t match his movements, and turned out to be a photographer that snuck in. A delivery that arrived too late to be legitimate, she turned out to be a journalist. A guest who wasn’t on the guestlist demanded to be let in, and he turned out just to be a hardcore fan. 

By the time the ceremony began, you were confident enough to let the tension in your shoulders ease, and just enjoyed the ceremony where the bride and groom said their vows.

A bit of jealousy tugged at your heart, you wished you could experience something like this.

And when the time stated on your contract finally passed, when the reception started and when the bride was safely surrounded by family, you allowed yourself a break.

The night was quiet when you stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the warm chaos of the ballroom behind. The doors shut softly, and the muffled music became only a distant hum, replaced by the stillness of air touched by spring.

The castle’s gardens stretched below you, paths curling between trimmed hedges and fountains lit by lanterns. Trees swayed in the breeze, carrying with it the scent of roses and jasmine. Blossoms of pear trees loosened by the night air drifted down, caught in the soft winds, floating across the balcony like slow, quiet confetti. You leaned against the stone railing, letting yourself exhale for the first time in hours.

For a moment, you allowed yourself peace at a job well done, just another minute meant you have finished your job, as that was the end of the contract.

Then the footsteps came.

You felt them before you heard them, like a shift in the air, a weight settling behind you. You turned sharply, eyes narrowing, every muscle tense.

Illumi stood in the archway.

Moonlight clung to him, outlining the tall frame, the smooth fall of his long black hair. His pale skin looked even sharper in silver light, his black eyes fixed on you, deep and unreadable. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. The dread rose in you instantly.

Your mind went straight to your client, the bride. The thought that he was here for her was enough to make your heart skip a beat. But before you could even open your mouth, his voice came, flat and steady as ever.

“Don’t worry. The bride isn’t my client, another guest was, he’s already dead.”

He said it like one might state a fact about the weather. A detail of the night. Nothing more.

You didn’t answer, because what could you say to that? The relief was small, but the unease was greater at the question of why he approached you in the first place.

Illumi took another step closer, and his eyes moved over you in a way that felt heavier than before. Was he here to fight you? Was he mad about how you didn’t bother to finish the last exam trial? 

“Well, then it looks like I can still get paid tonight,” You sighed, and the faintest stir of wind brought petals across the balcony between you.

He extended his hand.

“Dance with me.”

The world seemed to hold still. You stared at him, heartbeat steady but loud in your ears. Everything in you knew better than to accept. Yet his hand lingered in the air, patient, waiting, inevitable.

“…Why?” Your voice was calm, your tone as even as you could make it sound fairly innocent.

He blinked once. “Because I want to.”

The answer shouldn’t have carried weight, but it did.

Slowly, against your better judgment, you placed your hand in his.

Illumi drew you toward him with ease, his other hand resting against your waist. The contact was firm, unyielding, pulling you close until your body brushed his chest. The faint strains of music drifted through the open doors, just enough for him to guide you into a slow, steady rhythm that flowed along with the music from inside the hall.

The petals that had floated from the gardens now swirled around your feet, caught by the wind, brushing against the hem of your dress as you moved.

“You shouldn’t wear those prosthetics,” Illumi murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “They hide your nice face.”

Your lips curved in the faintest smile, but your voice remained quiet, controlled. “That’s the point. My face isn’t for strangers. My life outside work isn’t for anyone else to see.”

His head tilted slightly. “But I’ve already seen both.”

His words pressed closer than his hands ever could. You inhaled softly, steadying yourself. “And what will you do with that?” you asked, like you were really curious and unsure of what his answer will be.

There was no hesitation. “Keep it, and ingrain it into my memory forever.”

You let out a breath, a bit taken aback. “I feel like I can’t read you,” Whispering, you felt like it wasn’t auspicious to do so, and it was dangerous to be even with this man. 

The petals lifted again on the breeze, circling the two of you in slow spirals. For a moment, under the glow of lanterns and the watchful moon, it looked like you were dancing inside a small whirlpool of flowers. 

His hand at your waist tightened just slightly, and though his expression never changed, you felt the weight of his focus, absolute and inescapable.

And still, you didn’t look away.

His hand rose slowly, fingertips brushing against your cheek in a gesture almost tender. Your own hand came up, holding his, and you guided it away from your face with quiet deliberation. For a breath, you stood that way, your calmness hiding the shift inside you.

Then, with a slow motion you reached up and peeled away the prosthetic mask that covered your features. It slipped free from your skin, leaving your true face in the open air, revealed under the pale light.

Illumi’s eyes lingered, sharper now, darker. His hand returned, and this time he cupped your bare cheek, cool fingers resting against your skin as if claiming it.

And you, perhaps against every shred of judgment you had, slowly leaned in and kissed him on the lips. It was only for mere seconds, not even five, but you felt your entire body ready to melt into his arms.

Illumi didn’t kiss back, yet it was not rejection because it was not that he didn’t like you, if he did not like you then he would simply have not let you kiss him. He felt something different from ‘indifference’.

You pulled away and tilted your head up slightly to look at him. Smiling, you said quietly, “Let’s try not to meet again, I don’t want you in my life.” Then you pushed yourself off from him gently.

You eased back, your fingers brushing his hand from your face as you pushed yourself out of his hold.

Illumi’s black eyes followed you, and for the first time, he looked annoyed. His voice came low and steady, sounding blunt, “You don’t decide that. If I want to see you again, I will find a way.”

It wasn’t a threat, not exactly.

Your hand went to the gourd at your hip, aura surging into it, the cork glowing faintly under your touch. The air shifted; petals lifted from the gardens below, carried upward by a sudden rush of wind. They spilled onto the balcony in a flurry, brushing against your dress, your hair, veiling the space between you.

The storm of blossoms thickened until it cloaked you entirely.

Illumi’s hand moved, reaching out but was not quick enough to grab you, only able to hold a fistful of petals as you disappeared in front of him again.

And when the wind quieted, the balcony was empty. Only the flowers remained, scattered across the stone in your absence.

Illumi stood alone, hand slowly lowering to his side, his eyes fixed on the space where you had been. 

You sat atop a cellular tower, legs drawn in slightly as the city stretched out beneath you in layers of light and shadow, the hum of distant traffic softened by the height. Up here, the air was cooler, cleaner, carrying the faint metallic scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. 

You were good at escape, excellent at disappearance, but even you were beginning to recognize the pattern. It was getting old, predictable in a way you hated, but you still didn’t know how to finish a conversation like that without surrendering ground you weren’t willing to lose. Illumi was too unpredictable, you didn’t want to be off guard and then have him kill you.

You sighed, the sound carried away instantly by the wind, and reached up to undo the tight updo that had held through the wedding and the fight and the aftermath. Pins slipped free one by one, clicking softly as they fell against metal, until your hair spilled loose around your shoulders. 

With one job finished, another was already waiting. That was how your life worked, clean lines drawn between contracts, payment, and rest. Being your own boss meant you could stop when you wanted, take a break when it suited you, refuse when something felt wrong. And right now, the next destination was the Kakin Empire. 

You were just beginning to lean back on your hands, letting yourself exist in the quiet, when something shifted.

The air behind you changed, the way it always did when someone stepped into your space without you seeing them, but you can feel their heavier presence. Your shoulders tensed instinctively, muscles tightening even before the nearly silent landing of footsteps registered fully in your ears.

“Huh,” Illumi’s voice came from behind you, mild and observant, as if he’d stumbled upon something curious rather than hunted it down across rooftops and distance. “You leave a trail of a flower scent.”

“What a stalker,” you sighed, tone flat, unimpressed, though your fingers curled briefly against the metal beneath you before relaxing again. “And I thought I looked cool leaving you like that.”

Illumi stepped closer, stopping just far enough away to be deliberate about it, his shadow stretching across the tower under the city lights. “You were surrounded by petals earlier, it’s illogical to expect them not to follow.”

You glanced over your shoulder then, laughing. “I vanished into the wind. That’s usually enough.”

“For most people,” he agreed, black eyes fixed on you, unblinking. “But you could have been killed by this slip-up, you’re lucky it was me”

The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been. Below, the city continued on, unaware of the quiet standoff unfolding above it. You straightened slightly, annoyed now, “If you followed me just to comment on my natural scent,” you said lightly, “you’re wasting your time. If I can run away once, I will run away again from you.”

The wind picked up then, tugging at your loose hair, carrying with it that same faint floral scent he’d mentioned. You rose to your feet in one smooth motion, closing the distance just enough to make your point without giving him anything else. 

Illumi hummed, “I’ll allow you to leave first.”

You're scoffed. “How generous.”

You stepped back, aura already shifting, wind beginning to coil at your heels as petals you hadn’t noticed clinging to your clothes lifted into the air around you. Illumi’s gaze tracked every movement, intent and unwavering, as if committing the moment to memory.

“Try not to run too far,” added Illumi, “It makes the reunion less interesting.”

To tease him, you gave a small wave before jumping off the cell tower, and used the other skyscrapers to traverse throughout the rest of the city.

Illumi remained where he was, looking out over the city, fingers curling slowly at his side as the last stray blossom drifted past his hand. He caught it without thinking, holding it between his fingers.