Time in a Tree (All Might x Reader)

Clandestine

--hello, again. i'll write a letter explaining myself and post it elsewhere. right now, i want to give yall what i've been neglecting to handle life things. thank you for coming back after all this time. 💖💖--

Journaling. Journaling is good. You think. Well, that's what everyone says, the therapists, the people on the medias, and the coworkers that chat amongst themselves. So you tried journaling.

You say down in that bed, a pretty new journal fresh from a random bookstore you passed by while taking a different route home. You opened it, the spine creaking in protest and the smell of book glue wafting straight to your dome, and pulled out your good pen.

click click click click

Where to start..... click click click You kept pounding at the plunger of your pen, biting your lip as you pondered on something that should have been easy, and that's when you heard it; a crash. Something ceramic, maybe even glass, hitting the floor and its pieces pitter pattering across the floor and the subsequent silence that followed.

You got up relatively fast, not as fast as you had the previous days, but quick enough to give the illusion of empathetic haste. And to the source of the crash you went, feet padding against the runner down the hall and into the kitchen.

"I thought I had it!" An immediate excuse flew from his mouth as you fought a frown. "Tosh..." You rubbed your temples with the pads of your thumb and middle fingers, the other arm wrapping around yourself in support.

"I'm sorry! I'll clean it!"

"No. No it's fine, I got it."

Now, normally you'd have a firm "fuck yes, you will clean it" rolling off your tongue. But these weren't normal circumstances, shit hadn't been normal in nearly two weeks. What you were planning to write in your pretty new journal started on a standard day.

You woke up, at the ass crack of dawn of course, did your morning routine and headed for the agency. Might? Gone, somewhere. At this point, you didn't remember what the hell he had going on the night before or the morning of.

What you do remember is a frantic call from the lobby to your desk as you worked. With what sounded like absolute distress and disaster in the background, you wasted no time getting down there to help.

And what did you find? Several adults chasing a small blond child. And what did the child do upon seeing you? Run over and cling to your legs.

They said something about someone being spiteful with their quirk and turning him, the great All Might into a kid. Which, at the time, sounded like complete bullshit. But right now? Who knows... Bullshit comes in many fonts, and the longer you stayed the more fonts you encountered.

It was cute for a while, sure. The outfits, the hairstyles, little bentos with octopus dogs. Then came the tantrums, because even if Toshinori was in there, the moments of childish, emotional instability were inevitable. Then came the messes because even when pint sized, the strength was there, and it was not always in check. Oh! Can't forget the ear infection. The absolute terror in not seeing or hearing him anywhere in the house. Only to find him curled in on himself inside his blanket that was haphazardly thrown in a corner days prior with intentions to launder it. The following terror and heart beat in your ears when you pulled him out and he was burning up.

It had been a lot.

Nearly two weeks of playing single mother to your not child and no end was in sight. You looked down at the dust pan, your form squatted down as you swept up the shards of glass.