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fangswbenefits · 9 months

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Double-edged Sword

Summary: Miguel knows he has to let you go before you can be his. But it’s not that simple. Especially when you keep on testing his limits…

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 2.2k

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed and jealous Miguel. Soft/inexperienced reader. F*ngering.

Part 1 (if you're just starting out) - Previous part

By the time Miguel rose from his slumber, he was met with a pair of curious eyes glaring at him.

"You snore."

A sleepy yawn worked its way out of his throat as he lifted his wrist to assess the time. It was still fairly early in the morning, and he allowed himself to relax against your soft pillows.

You were on your side, both hands tucked under your head, and your trademark sweet smile curling your lips.

"Did you sleep well?"

Miguel nodded, mustering the will to sit up against the bed rest. He soon realised he had fallen asleep on top of the comforter with just a blanket covering him, whereas you were nicely tucked inside your bedsheets.

A distinct barrier between you two.

He looked down at you through sleepy eyes, wishing he could plant a soft kiss to your temple.

You looked so peaceful and it brought a sense of calmness to him as well.

"I was thinking of meeting Tom today.." you began, as you flopped onto your back. "Think you can get someone to cover for me? Just for a while?"

And just like that, Miguel's stomach turned uncomfortably. "Today? Already?"

Your head turned to him. "Why? Do you think I should wait? Do we have something important today?"

"Maybe you should wait a little longer," he said with a sigh. "Take some time to figure out the best approach."

"I've been waiting for months... I just... I really need this," you whispered, now facing away from him.

In reality, Miguel knew there wasn't much he could say to deter you from this. He couldn't really blame you from wanting to set things right with someone who meant so much to you.

He would have given everything to be able to get that opportunity with Gabriella.

However, the less rational side of him was seething with jealousy. After all, you had revealed you had feelings for him.

But what truly fueled his escalating jealousy was what had happened last night. The kiss, him touching himself in front of you, and you touching yourself in front of him. Intimacy had engulfed you both so unexpectedly, that he wondered if it had been a mistake.

He dreaded that thought, so he promptly pushed it away.

"Sure. Take your time."

You then shifted to sit next to him, your shirt briefly clinging to your breasts, letting him know you were braless.

Of course.

He groaned inwardly at the sight of the small protuberances on each nipple.

And you caught him staring, arching a brow in amusement. "Want to see them again?"

He cleared his throat and shook his head. The last thing he needed now was a raging boner.

But it seemed that you were hellbent on torturing him, so when you got on your knees, briefly crawling to him, and finally settling on his lap, he knew he was fucked.

You were wearing nothing but a shirt and sleeping shorts, and when you looped your arms around his neck, he instinctively closed his eyes, bracing himself for yet another erection.

He had expected you to lean in for a kiss, but you remained still, eyeing him with utmost interest.

"This place can be so isolating," you sighed.

Miguel gripped your hips, adjusting you back to prevent having you seating on his crotch.

"Nueva York is overflowing with spiders, yet you still feel so lonely, you know?"

He did know.

It was lonely at the top.

While many spiders had relationships of their own and managed to build their lives around them, Miguel had nearly forgotten how used to being alone he had gotten.

"So you feel lonely here?"

You seemed unsure. "I have you to keep me company, though I figure that doesn't really count. you were forced to babysit me when I forgot got here."

"I wasn't forced to do anything," he corrected, slightly frowning. "I saw the potential in you and wanted to harness that."

Your fingers were absentmindedly caressing the nape of his neck. "I feel really comfortable around you."

That caught him slightly off guard.

"I never thought I'd be able to reveal that secret to anyone... you whispered, shifting to sit on his growing erection. "And last night.."

The not knowing was killing him. On one hand, he was scared to find out that it had been nothing but a hear of the moment thing, but he yearned for more than that... and that part of him needed to kn more.

"Was is because of loneliness, then?"

You pressed your lips tightly together.

"Well, I suppose loneliness gets the best of us, eventually," he sighed, trying his best to seem as casual as possible. "Sometimes, using your hand just doesn't quite do it."

At this, you widened your eyes, before averting your gaze. "It wasn't because I felt lonely... I... I just... you're really attractive and.."

Miguel decided that was enough.

He brought his hand to the back of hour neck and pulled you closer until your lips grazed along his.

"Can I kiss you?"

You swallowed, pressing yourself down on him. "Do you always get this.. excited so easily?"

He gripped your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to have your eyes meet his. "Only for you."

It was a simple confession mixed with desire, but it was enough to startle you.

Fuck.

You leaned back as if snapped from a daydream. "Do you mean that? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

Miguel took a deep breath. "I mean that, and you can feel it," he proved his point with a roll of his hips.

You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut and mouth dropping open.

His sweet girl was so, so responsive...

Instinctively, you tried to match the sway of his hips, but it felt clumsy and Miguel brought both hands to your hips, gripping them tightly.

Your breaths were coming out shaky as he guided you on his clothed cock, guiding you on how to move your body alongside his.

"Does that feel good?" he asked seductively.

"Yes..." you gasped. "I... I'm.."

Miguel felt the first beads of precum drip from his tip. "You're what?"

Your hands came to grip his shoulders, and you took a deep breath before one of them slid down to your

body.

Miguel immediately knew what you meant, but he intended on having things go differently this time.

" can do that for you... he offered, gripping your wrist gently, as your fingers prepared to slide inside your shorts.

You bit your lip, eyes still squeezed shut. "You have to...”

"I want to," he said firmly.

Nodding, you brought your hand up to his shoulder again, and he took the chance to gently slip his fingers past the waistband.

You immediately shuddered and leaned to rest your face against his neck.

He trailed down carefully and his cock twitched once he reached your clit.

"Is this okay?"

You moaned in response, wrapping your arms around him.

Your clit was already swollen and Miguel felt his fangs threatening to drop once he began to slowly roll the pad of his finger around it.

It didn't take long until he felt your wetness seeping through the layers of fabric and staining his suit.

"Please... Miguel..." you groaned, now jerking your hips against his touch.

He began to drag your wetness along your folds to coat your clit with it. You were soaked for him, your body already working on preparing you to take his COCk.

But he would have to be gentle.

He would have you riding his fingers first.

"Please what, sweet girl?" he cooed, planting a kiss to your temple."

You answered by trying to have his finger slide down to your entrance.

So eager...

"Can you take one finger?"

You halted your hips and took a few seconds to nod.

"I can take it..."

He could cum just from your shaky voice and how much you craved him.

As one finger reached your opening, he felt you tense up lightly.

"I'll be gentle," he promised, tracing the sensitive spot. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

"Don't stop..."

He pressed yet another kiss on your flushed skin, and slipped the tip of one finger inside, feeling you immediately squeeze around him.

Miguel realised that if he were to be your first, he would be utterly fucked. The way you gripped his fingers with your walls nearly tipped him over the edge. He couldn't imagine how ridiculously good it'd feel to have his cock inside you instead.

"Try to relax.."

And you did try.

Until his thumb pressed down on your clit.

Your hips immediately bucked into him, encasing his finger inside you until he was buried knuckle-deep.

"Easy..." he growled, his fangs emerging right away from the overload of sensation.

He doubted you'd be able to take another thick finger of his, so he settled for having just one sliding in and out, drawing the sweetest gasps from you.

"You're doing so well.." he praised.

You rolled your hips instinctively, fucking yourself on his finger as best as inexperience allowed you.

"Take... take your... suit..." you pleaded, clawing at his chest with one hand.

The digital layer vanished down to his waist. He didn't want set his cock free or he would cum in an instant.

Then, he saw you roll up your shirt with trembling fingers, exposing your breasts.

He nearly came rigth there and then.

But nothing could have prepared him for what you were about to do.

You desperately brought your pierced nipples to graze against his bare chest, slowly raising your before sinking down around his finger.

Miguel was now certain that you would be the death of him.

He felt your wetness dribbling down his hand, but kept a steady pressure on your pulsing clit. With each undulation of your body, he was able to feel the cool metal of your piercings digging into his skin, and couldn't fight back the growl that emerged from deep within him.

As expected, he was embarrassingly close, and needed to do something about it.

"Lift your hips."

You groaned in response, stilling for a moment.

"Wait….. why?"

"I'm close.."

You slowly clenched around his finger, and his hand came to grip your hip tight.

"Too close..

The beginning of a pout settled on your face, but you did as requested, finally putting a stop to the near excruciating pleasure he was feeling.

Now he could focus on you.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck to anchor your with each flick of his finger and with each sway of your hips.

"Are you okay?"

You didn't answer, but he could tell from your erratic breathing that you were nearing your peak. Your whimpers increased in intensity, as you clumsily rode his finger, chasing after your bliss.

The sound of his watch beeping broke the rhythm for a second, but Miguel ignored it.

As long as no canon event was involve, he wouldn't shift his attention from you.

It beeped again.

But you were so close.

"I... I think I'm.."

He didn't need your words, your body language spoke to him in ways he didn't know he craved.

The movement you started convulsing against him and tightening your grip around his neck, he knew you were coming undone. Your walls clenched around his finger as the orgasm tore through your body.

Another beep, which Miguel ignored again.

Miguel allowed himself to enjoy your tightness, realising you would need far more preparation than this if you were to take his cock.

Your legs were shaking slightly, as he kept pressing the pad of his thumb against your pulsing clit.

But what really made his cock twitch was the way you kept mumbling his name in between sobs, eventually slumping against his chest.

He slowly withdrew his finger, earning a deep sigh from you.

Miguel's heart nearly burst out of his chest from the unexpected announcement, and you jolted into him, still descending from your peak.

Instant bones killer.

Much against his will, he brought himself to suit up and carefully set you aside on your bed with a kiss pressed to your forehead, before jumping to his feet, quickly clicking through his watch.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled hurriedly, glazing at you as he neared the bedroom window.

You were a panting mess, but quickly tried to gather yourself. "Don't apologise. Just go."

He hopped onto the window sill and took a deep breath, throwing you a final glance. "TIl find you once I'm done."

"You don't have to... I have to do this on my own."

He nodded. "Don't deactivate your mic."

Your straightened your shirt before sitting on mattress. "Miguel... it'll be fine."

"Do as I say."

You eventually nodded.

He hated having to part from you, but his duty came first, and he couldn't step away from it.

Not even for his sweet girl.

"Lyla, summon squad 12, and give me the readings on the anomaly."

Before swinging into the cool morning air of Nueva York, Miguel saw you crossing your legs and stare at him with those sweet eyes that he was so addicted to.

But he would be there for you again.

He would find you.

And he would make sure your devotion would he his.

Not Tom's.

Once Miguel was done with the canon disruption, he threw himself into a portal to get to you.

Your mic wasn't working, and your bio readings weren't available, and he could only assume you had switched off your watch.

Luckily, he had checked Tom's file before deleting it as you had requested.

He knew exactly where to go.

The sun had began to set on the horizon, engulfing the city in shades of orange that helped mask his movements across the innumerous rooftops. He refrained from using his web often, as the laser-like flashes would draw too much attention.

So he took it to jumping and clawing his way up the steep walls of the building opposite to where he lived on all fours, already being able to pick up some interference coming from your mic.

You were close.

"... you want me to leave."

Miguel reached the metal railing of an emergency exit, and balanced himself on it, feeling his heart stammering against his chest.

"You're so good at that, so go ahead."

From there, he was able to spot you in his apartments, near a window. He caugjt a glimpse of Tom and immediately decided he hated him.

He was scowling deeply at you, arms crossed, and words sharp as knives.

How dare he?

His claws were digging into the railing, and Miguel felt droplets of venom spill from his fangs.

This Tom individual wasn't even attractive to begin with, so he figured your previous attraction to him had to based on something else.

"You hurt me! You cannot do this and expect me to pretend nothing happened."

Clearly not based on personality.

Your voice was so low, Miguel was barely able to make it through the mic. "Tom... it was also hard for me..."

Miguel was visibly seething at this pint, wishing he could just drag you out of there. You deserved better than someome who didn't bother listening to you.

"Please leave."

There was a long pause and Miguel held his breath, not wanting to miss out on your reply.

"Don't do this..." you whispered, and he could hear the sadness in your words.

It was itching him to put an end to it.

But...

Deep down, Miguel knew you needed this. Closure. Even if things didn't go as you had hoped, you had tried your best to remedy this situation.

His heart hadn't wanted you to go visit Tom, but his mind spoke differently. He had to let you go to him, to have you as his.

A double-edged sword.

"You left me for months. Ignored me for months. You don't get to do this without a decent explanation," the idiot went on, further angering Miguel. "And since you don't want to tell me the truth, I want you gone."

This time, you cleared your throat and stormed out of the room, not exchanging another word.

Miguel considered dealing with Tom in his own way, but you came first.

He plunged from the rooftop and into a deserted alley, pacing quickly to meet you as you exited through the door, zipping up the hoodie that hid your suit underneath.

Miguel called after you, but you didn't turn to face him.

"I don't want to talk, Miguel."

Not wanting to be spotted by some passer-by, he urged you to walk into another alley.

"I heard some of it," he said softly once you were both out of sight.

You pressed your back against the wall, looking absolutely defeated. It was almost criminal that someone like you had to ever feel this way.

"You did what you could," he went on, placing one hand on your shoulder. "Maybe one day he'll understand."

Miguel didn't want him to be near you ever again, but he had to comfort you somehow.

You lowered your gaze and fixed it on a small puddle of water at your feet. "I deserve this."

"You do not."

"I don't want your pity."

He shook his head. "You won't have it."

In fact, he was willing to give you his heart if you'd take it. But he wouldn't dare say that out loud. Not in this moment.

He waited for your to make a move, but you remained quiet.

"Let's go back to Nueva York," he suggested, placing one hand on your shoulder.

You sobbed softly, and he saw a couple of teardrops drip from your face.

He just couldn't bear seeing you like this, so he took a step closer and you quickly wrapped your arms around him.

"Thank you... thank you, thank you..." you kept on repeating in between sniffles.

He held you tightly in absolute adoration and devotion. "I'm here for you."

"You're a great friend, Miguel..."

Friend.

That word made his heart sink violently.

"Just as a friend?"

There it was... his obsession for you creeping in.

You pulled away from his grip, teary eyes narrowing at him. "Oh... with benefits?"

That was somehow even worse.

Your face twisted into something else as you patted your face dry. "What do you want from me, Miguel?"

Anything.

Everything.

"Anything you're willing to give me," he said truthfully.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so straightforward, but he was merely answering your question. He didn't want to lie, and didn't want to go back to having to hide how he truly felt.

"I don't know if I can give you much more than this."

Your words lingered in the air after hitting him hard and he felt as though his body had been plunged into freezing water.

"Why?"

Your gaze wavered and you began chewing your lip. "Because I don't know if I'm ready for anything serious..."

Miguel straightened to his full height. "Anything you can give me... I'll take it."

He sounded desperate, and deep down he knew that it was probably working against him. Being intimate with you only could only satisfy him for so long if nothing was to come of it.

As much as his body yearned for you touch, his heart was seeking something that wasn’t skin-deep.

"Can I ask for something?"

Anything.

Everything.

He would give it all to you.

You cleared your throat. "I need time."

He could definitely work with that.

However...

"Do you... like being with me?" Miguel carefully asked. "And I'm not talking about being with me like earlier today." Your fluttering orgasm was proof enough.

Your eyes widened and he could tell you had not expected his bluntness. "Of course I do... I... just need time."

He pressed his lips together into a fine line. In truth, he didn't want to be just friends with you. He didn't crave that level of human connection. He needed much more than that from you.

"You only want me as a friend."

It wasn’t a question, and it sounded more like an accusation.

Was he being fair with you? Was he being fair with himself? These questions kept on looping inside his head, but his emotions had a stronger hold on him.

"I trust you," you said in a whisper. "I don't trust people easily."

That did ease some of the uneasiness within him, but he still wanted more. The grip of his obsession for you was tightening around him viciously, and it was getting harder for him to keep it at bay.

"Maybe I want more than that."

"Miguel..."

He leaned in, bending his head just enough for his lips to almost meet yours, searching for the comfort of your warmth.

He could feel you slipping through his fingers again.

You turned your head lightly and pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek instead.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the dreadful feeling that you were parting from him suddenly overcame him.

"Maybe you should go back..." you said after parting from him. "I'll stay here for a little while..."

"Because of Tom?" he could feel the poison dripping from his words.

You shook your head vehemently. "Because of me."

Part 7

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099

5K notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 month

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Voicemail

A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.

Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.

As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.

Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.

After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it.

It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.

It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.

And he keeps it all these years.

He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack.

If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.

And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s.

With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.

Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.

The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun.

Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.

Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.

Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.

Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’

‘Just a second!’ you call back.

Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best.

It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening.

Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.

‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’

You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’

‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’

‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.

When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’

He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’

You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’

You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him.

Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’

He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’

Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’

Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.

‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.

Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’

‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.

The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.

Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.

Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.

It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.

One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.

Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.

Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.

The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.

There’s no putting it off forever.

In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.

He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.

In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.

Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.

He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins.

Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.

The battery sign appears on the screen.

Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.

1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.

It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -

He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.

He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -

Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -

And everything goes white.

When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.

He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.

You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.

It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no.

Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.

But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.

‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’

As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.

More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller oneshot #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 4 months

Text

all my life i've been frozen, forgive me if i wince at your warmth; kiss my blue lips and say the frost brings out my eyes.

jd6 x reader: maybe roommates wasn't the best idea (sugar pt. 2).

(warnings: blasphemous filth (we're back, and this is a good one), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), oral sex (f on m), hair pulling and spit and all my usual stuff (you guys know. legs and lips and all that nonsense). lots of whining and whimpering from the ducks defenseman with the giant traps. descriptions of general insecurity (but of course!). know yourself and your limits, please don't read if you're not 100% sure).

(a/n: alright, my favorites. here you have it, the promised continuation of my jd6 sugar piece from halloween (so please read that here first so this makes sense)! and yes, it's long (11.1k), so thank you, as always, for your support and kindness and patience and gentleness. congratulations to jd6 for his return to the big leagues. this is his prize, i'm sure he'll be thrilled. it appears it's impossible for me to write a story without using tz11 as a comedic side character. obviously there is nothing realistic about this, such is the upside of fictitious writing. can you tell i had an idea for like two scenes and then filled in all the blanks? (been wanting to write gaming chair head for a million years). if you relate to the more serious insecurities addressed within this story, know i'm here for you. please believe that it is so utterly and completely fathomable that people are and will be attracted to and interested in you! anyways, please let me know what you think (and who/what you want next)! go canucks (and all-star qh43). until next time, all my love).

it had taken little convincing on either side for jamie to move in with you. it was sort of funny, how not so long ago, it had been only you in your apartment, and now he was there, too, evidence of him all around.

a few months in, you had almost forgotten what the fridge looked like without his recovery drinks lining the shelves, what the living room smelled like without his favorite candle burning, what the mudroom looked like without his shoes and bags littered around the door.

you had grown accustomed to him, in his entirety, and the more he revealed about himself, the more trouble you had remembering what this place had been like without him.

it seemed so crucially important that you knew about his culinary endeavors (he was trying ever so hard to branch out beyond chicken and rice). it seemed of the utmost significance that you understood all of his favorites of everything, and that he knew all of yours in return. because if you didn't, one of you might bring home a flavor of ice cream the other didn't like, or flowers the other didn't like the color of, or something like that.

and if he didn't know the names of your favorite movies, how would he be able to talk to you about them? and if you didn't have a little bit of a grasp on the gaming world, how could you keep up when he rambled on about it?

you told yourself it was only polite that you knew about his interests, and his family, and his friends, and his dreams. that he was only being polite when he asked about all of yours.

you were sort of shocked at how quickly he had made his presence known within your routine. his schedule merged with yours on the calendar attached to the fridge. his friends came over to play video games, yours to watch movies.

you were proud of yourself for how you had handled his moving in, really, but you'd be lying if you said he didn't have an effect on you. he was the same blushing, stuttering, beautiful boy who had dropped that plant in your doorway, after all.

and you were acutely aware of the effect he had on you, from that very first day. he didn't seem to let you forget it, like the night, a few days into your new arrangement, when you went into the kitchen around midnight to get a glass of water.

something you had done, time and time again, almost every night, alone. so you were startled, to say the least, when you felt a figure behind you. you whipped around, your heartbeat elevated, thudding in your chest, in your neck.

you placed a hand over your heart to still yourself when you recognized that shaggy dark hair, square face, broad build.

"fuck, jamie," you practically whispered, your voice tense, "you scared me." you made to pour him a glass of water, willed your body to emerge from danger mode.

"'m sorry, petal," he murmured, and his tone alone could have set your body ablaze, rumbling through you like an earthquake. "didn't mean to." apology thickened his words like cornstarch.

"'s okay," you said as you passed him the glass, took a sip from your own.

if it was light you would have seen his eyes track the motion, how his gaze seemed to get stuck on your lips around the rim of your glass.

there was something very heavy about sharing this space with him, especially now, in the cover of the night. you felt freer, almost indulgent, in taking him in. less guilty in your secret wanting. suddenly your brow furrowed in concern. "did i wake you up?"

he shrugged, took a sip of his water, which made your swallow shaky. "walls are thin," he rasped. "just wanted to make sure you were okay."

your exhale was shallow as you took in his words. this exchange in the dark was too dangerous, too much. you made to go back to your room, stopping to place a wanting palm on his corded shoulder as you passed him. you felt him flex instinctively under your touch, suddenly wanted, simultaneously, to be anywhere but here and to never leave. "thanks for checking on me, jamie," you whispered. it seemed to have been so long since someone had done that.

there was a pause full of uncertainty. "'course," he replied, rough and rolling.

you were so, so, close, and such a predicament could have ignited the foundation of the building in all of its seriousness.

that exchange, so early on in knowing him, nonetheless had you promising yourself that you wouldn't let your relationship with jamie grow beyond anything besides roommates. just roommates, you said, and that's it. anything past that boundary was too dangerous, too charged, too soaked in meaning and feeling and wanting.

but such a promise was proving hard to keep, even months later. because as comfortable as you had grown to each other, there was something so deliriously uncomfortable about being so close to each other, so ridiculously entwined in each others' days, and yet not touching, not indulging the desire you both so felt. so scared to look desperate, to be caught red handed in want, even if that was exactly true.

regardless, such a promise was proving hard to keep, especially on days like today.

you were sitting at the kitchen counter, one leg pulled up to your chest as you sat on a stool. you still worked at the same coffee shop, and you still loved it, but you had picked up some copywriting jobs here and there, too.

naturally, you looked up when you sensed another figure enter the room. your gaze caught on a very sleepy jamie with a very sleepy smile.

"morning," he said, his voice rough and raspy with remnants of night.

you felt your mouth tick upwards in response to his presence. "morning, jamie," you replied, shifting on your stool, willing jittery attraction out of your voice, out of your head. there was no space for that here, you told yourself. you cleared your throat as he made himself a cup of tea. "doing anything fun today?"

he turned to you, leaned his frame back against the counter, a movement so comfortable it made you blush. he hummed, thinking, before meeting your eyes. "nothing out of the routine," he mused, his gaze on you making you feel his attention in your feet, in the tips of your fingers. "when're you working? maybe i'll swing by."

your chest thumped at the thought of him taking time to come see you, even though that wasn't necessarily rare anymore. he visited your coffee shop at least once a week, but the sentiment of it all wasn't lost on you. the preciosity of someone deeming you worthy of a drive, however short.

you leaned on your clasped hands, scrunched up your nose in gentle pleasantry. "two to close, today," you told him, "but you don't have to come."

his eyes softened ever so slightly, his expression all maple syrup and pancakes on a lazy sunday morning. "want to, petal," he told you, taking his mug and starting back towards his room. "give me something to look forward to, eh?"

you were glad to hear his door swing shut behind him, if only so that he didn't see your face scrunch up further in guilty delight, at being his something to look forward to.

if jamie had settled into being your roommate, your favorite coworker had not settled into that fact. or maybe she had settled in, but it didn't appear that she would be giving you or him a break anytime soon.

it had only been a couple of months, and she had yet to go a day without bringing him up, nevermind going a visit without saying something you were sure would embarrass him.

as promised, after his workout and skate, the bell above the door jingled. you swore the sound was louder, more jubilant when he opened the door than any other patron.

he's here, the bell seemed to sing, finally, finally, he's here! you fought the urge to shush the inanimate object.

"well, well, well," your coworker said, wiping down the counter, "honestly, 6, i'm shocked you had any time to stop by, given your packed schedule of not shooting the puck."

you shook your head at her. "don't be mean, lovely," you chastised. you locked eyes with jamie, molten chocolate and stained glass. "i'm sure you shoot just enough."

his returning grin was carefully confident. "right as always," he told your coworker, "if we had a coaching opening i'd put in a good word."

this quickly spurred your coworker into a heated rant about how poorly the coach of the ducks was handling his roster full of young talent.

you began the process of making his drink, the one he insisted on ever since that first day. he had told you before that nothing could possibly be better than your fall themed treat. as you shook the maple syrup and espresso with ice, you missed the way a flush dusted across the bridge of his nose, like a day out in the sun.

your coworker did not miss this, however. she smirked, tilted her head. "a bit hot in here, drysdale? you look a little flushed."

he shot her a look, one which she mimicked before you turned to hand him his drink.

"here you are," you said as his hand closed over yours around the to-go cup.

your mind sparked and sputtered at the feeling of his warm hand over your fingers. he could have grabbed under your hand, the hopeless romantic in your head screeched. he could have avoided your touch, but he didn't!

but you had long ago resigned to refusing to listen to the hopeless romantic, in all of her desperate and shameful loveliness. you couldn't trust her, you had learned. she only ever left you feeling lost and longing.

so you silenced her, ignored her big, teary eyes as you dismissed her for the thousandth time, pulled your hand away.

"thank you, petal," he said, so genuine and sweet, so exactly him. it seemed cruel that you still weren't used to him, to his kindness, that he was still evoking this kind of response from you.

your only solace was that he didn't seem to be finding it especially easy, either, if his flickering gaze or flexing hands were anything to go by.

"you're welcome," you replied. "headed home now?"

he hummed in affirmation, rocked back on his heels. "when will you be home?"

you could have sighed at just how domestic it all was, like some kind of sixties fantasy. honey, i'm home! echoed in your head.

but you shut that down as quickly as it appeared. "why?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, "expecting company, or something?" your mouth quirked. "maybe a girl?"

he paled, and you were surprised at your nerve, too. you didn't really know why you were doing this, why you would ask. you and jamie didn't have that kind of relationship, and why would you ask that anyway, when you knew for a fact one of the possible two answers would cut through you like a warm knife through butter?

thankfully, your coworker broke the tension with an exaggerated laugh, actually slapping the counter before looking up and clocking both of the confused looks turned her way. "oh," she said, looking between the two of you, "was that not a joke?" she nodded. "alright then, my bad."

jamie gave a short shake of his head as if mentally moving on. "no one's coming over," he said to you, "just wanted to know when i should make dinner."

in a cartoon, your heart would have beat out of your chest, through your shirt and folded apron. "i'll be back at seven," you told him. "i'll see you then?"

his smile warmed the room. "see you then, petal."

the bell rang, this time dreary and disappointed, as the door shut behind him.

your coworker immediately turned to you, eyes teasing and playful.

"if you're gonna say something, lovely, just say it," you prompted, taking out the closing checklist.

she was practically buzzing on her feet. "tell me you've given up on your no fraternizing with roommates rule," she begged, clasping her hands for emphasis. "tell me you realize how obvious you're both being."

you waved her off, shook your head. "the rule is there because it's important," you chided, "and there's no way he's into me like i'm into him." a line you had used about almost every guy you had liked, repeated so many times in your head it was practically a hymn.

she folded her arms in front of her chest, rolled her eyes. "when you're ready to come to terms with people finding you attractive and interesting and wonderful, as you are, let me know," she called out over her shoulder as she went on her smoke break.

her words stayed with you, though, because they were meaningful. it was hard for you, dreadfully so, to even fathom that someone could find you worthy of their time, their energy, their attention.

even when you were actively flirting with people, acting confident, like you were that first day when jamie walked into your coffee shop, it felt as false, as foreign, as theatrical as shakespeare in the park.

why was it so easy for you to give all of that to others, why did you want to give it to them so desperately? why did it feel like such an impossible ask for someone to give that to you?

her words were burrowing in the back of your mind as you locked the front door of your apartment behind you, breathed in a delicious smell, maybe rosemary? thyme?

you let yourself drift into the kitchen, were met with a freshly showered jamie in pajama pants and an old ohl t-shirt. he stood over the stovetop, humming something, before turning and meeting your eyes, sending a spark flickering through your veins.

"welcome home, petal," he said, his full lips quirking up in that gentle smile you had come to crave.

"long time no see," you teased, knowing it had been only a couple of hours.

his gaze was full of something heavy when he tilted his head, heaped some pasta onto two plates. "felt long," he admitted, "the house is so weird without you here."

your stomach flipped. he couldn't just say things like that, you decided, if he didn't expect you to melt completely, a puddle of pink glitter glue on the hardwood floor.

"weird how?" you asked, hating yourself for pushing.

your mother's voice was jarring, harsh in your head. don't fish for compliments, she always said, it's vain.

now that you were older, you wanted a chance to respond to her. is it fishing for compliments if you never get any? if all you ever hear is how you could do better? you took a breath. is it so wrong to want to hear something good?

jamie didn't appear to think you were being vain, anyways. "weird like quiet," he said, gentle and soft, "i don't know, honestly, just different. it's better when you're here."

you couldn't help but blush at his words, even though you had asked for them. the mother in your head scoffed.

you smiled at him, so genuine you could feel your eyes crinkle at the corners. "i think it's better when you're here, too," you said, low and loaded like a secret.

suddenly the air between you grew thick and heavy, simmering with something the reason in you knew better than to identify. you held each other's gazes for a moment, almost begging, daring the other to do something.

you had never been the kind of person to pick dare during sleepover games, always felt truth was the safer bet. now, there was nothing safe about the truth, either. you cleared your throat, fidgeted with your fingers, dropped your gaze and asked him about practice, what he made for dinner.

do you think about me like i think about you? you wanted to ask him. have you ever wanted me to just hold you after a long day? have you ever thought about what my lips would feel like on your neck?

you shivered, pushed the thoughts away as you ate dinner together, tried to lean into the privilege of spending time with him, even if you wished for something more.

can't this be enough? you pleaded. why isn't this enough?

the words of your routine spun around the two of you like a whirlpool. work, skate, game, lift, dinner, road trip, copywriting. the words of your combined schedules swirled around your head.

better those that the other words, always lurking around the two of you like childhood monsters under a bed: eyes, heat, lips, sweet, gentle, soft, shoulders, arms.

you must have zoned out, because he waved a hand once in front of your face. "petal?"

you shook yourself out of your trance-like state. "sorry," you said, already feeling the familiar flush of embarrassment.

he fixed you with a look. "for what?" he asked, less confused, more curious.

you closed your eyes for a second, took a deep breath. why was he making you explain this? "i mean, i was probably staring at you, right?" you said, feeling the shame of it prick you on the fingers like a thousand needles.

his gaze dropped to your mouth for a millisecond before meeting your eyes again. there was a silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was husky. "you can stare at me all you want, petal."

you could have whimpered, could have screamed. don't say things like that to me, you wanted to tell him. tell me things like that every second until i die, you also wanted to say.

"really?" you whispered, too starry-eyed to cringe at yourself. your food lay forgotten in front of you. how many times had you eaten dinner together, just like this? how many times had you pushed this feeling away? was it possible that he was doing just the same?

he hummed, ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth, a self-satisfied move from him you have never really seen before. you rubbed your crossed ankles together.

you took a breath, a last beat of courage, before reaching across the counter and brushing his hair from out of his eyes. his skin scorched your fingertips, his eyes made your breathing slow and shallow. "you can stare at me, too," you said to him, pulling your arm back.

his eyes were full of understanding. "i know," he told you. "i do."

that knowledge was still haunting you days later. that he noticed you, registered your presence, like you did him. how could you ever act normally again, knowing this? how could you ever act without the constant weight of him around?

so you did the only thing you could think of - you ignored him, avoided him, hoped to skillfully evade his careful gaze, however much it hurt you not to see him, to talk with him, to ask him how practices and games went.

such a task became impossible when the bell clinked cheerily, the following weekend, signifying you and the coffee shop of the arrival of its favorite patron.

you looked up, halfway surprised to see him enter with another person, too, a teammate you had met, you were sure of it, but one you couldn't quite recall the name of. the two of them approached the counter in a shroud of laughter and easiness.

apparently, your coworker recognized the friend, too, because upon their approach she began a slow, sarcastic applause. "gentlemen," she said, "allow me to congratulate you on a recording breaking game last night."

jamie and his friend shared a look. "um," jamie began, careful, "we lost last night."

"oh," your coworker finished an order and set it on the pick-up counter. "i should have clarified. the record was for laziest defensive performance i've ever witnessed." she gave them a quick thumbs up. "congrats again! know you guys have been working real hard for this one."

jamie shook his head lightheartedly before locking eyes with you, smiling slightly. you hadn't really spoken since the other night, but you still didn't really know what to say. you didn't know where you stood, what lines were still drawn.

thankfully, your coworker refused to drop it, not leaving any opportunity for silence, now speaking directly to the newcomer. "i'm so happy you're here, 11," she continued. "you know that you're allowed in your own defensive zone, right? feel free to cross the red line, i think you'll find that defense makes winning a lot easier."

the object of your coworkers jabs turned to jamie. "am i supposed to take this?"

jamie shrugged. "i usually do."

she waved him off. "yeah, but you're hoping i'll put in a good word with your roommate." you blushed at her words, hope sparking at the possibility of them being true.

jamie didn't drop your gaze. "yeah, and how far is that getting me? you gonna put in a good word?"

every fiber of your being told you not to take his words at face value. every fiber of your being wanted to.

she scoffed. "yeah, right. if anything i'd just say you're a pushover."

the newcomer scrunched up his expressive face. "well, in that case, why don't you keep your thoughtful advice to yourself?"

she tilted her head back and laughed. "what, 11, can't take a little feedback?" she pouted, false pity all over her face. "guess you're every bit the flashy bust they say you are."

"no one is saying that!" he fumed, "literally name one person who is saying that!"

you and your roommate stifled your laughter as their argument grew.

you made him his drink, handed it over. his face was gentle, soft as took the cup from you. "you're avoiding me," he said, not accusatory, a simple observation.

you couldn't lie to him and say you weren't, so you only stayed quiet.

"i miss you," he said, so simple and genuine in its honesty that you could have cried.

"i miss you, too," you said, easy as an exhale.

his gaze glimmered. "so watch a movie with me tonight, yeah?"

your mouth twitched, because you wanted to, so badly, but you didn't know if you could trust yourself.

he shifted back and forth on his heels. the sun dripped so languishingly over his brow, down his jaw and neck. "please?" he asked, and you were done.

"okay," you conceded, butterflies already fluttering to life in your stomach at the thought of spending tonight with him on the couch.

a thud and a grunt shook you both from your conversation as you turned to your respective friends. your coworker appeared to be throwing bags of coffee beans at jamie's teammate. "can't hide behind a ref now, can you?" she taunted the lanky newcomer, who struggled to catch the bags.

"this is the behavior of a deranged fan," he pointed out, placing the bags back on the counter. "i hope you realize that."

"you wish i was a fan of yours," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "on an unrelated note, can i take a video of you wishing my little brother good luck on his math test tomorrow?"

the video was filmed, reluctant thanks and apologies were given and accepted.

"i apologize for the physical assault, but not the truth, 11," your coworker conceded, "and you're only getting any apology at all because this is going to mean the world to my brother."

"can't you just apologize normally?" you pushed, looking to make the rest of the patrons more comfortable, the energy less combative.

"tell you what," she said to him, "if you put in some effort next game to something besides michigans and between-the-legs shots, i'll give you the best apology you've ever seen."

jamie hissed. "he's gonna take that in a way you won't like."

his teammate leveled your coworker with a smirk. "do i get to pick how you apologize?"

she scoffed, an angry flush all over her face. "no, you don't get to pick! what the hell is the matter with you?"

you and jamie shared a look at their bickering. see you at home, petal, he mouthed to you on the way out, argumentative words still saturating the air.

bye, jamie, you mouthed back with a wave.

when you got back from work, called out your greeting, settled in, and changed out of your uniform, you found him on the couch, were all too happy to join him, however off limits it felt.

he felt off limits, like this, all messy hair and eyes tired with the day, worn-in sweatpants and sweatshirts from junior hockey and lazy stretches that revealed slivers of skin.

you lifted up a blanket, pulled your knees to your chest underneath it, avoided his gaze. "your friend's a character, hm?" you started.

he shifted his posture to get a better look at you, even though he was now faced halfway away from the movie he was in the middle of. "who, trevor?" he gave a playful roll of his eyes. "ignore him. he thinks your friend's hot and doesn't know what to do about it."

"that's him flirting?" you said, eyes wide, words spoken slowly for emphasis. "good grief, his act needs some work."

jamie's smile slanted into something dangerous. "what, wouldn't work on you, petal?" suddenly the blanket over you seemed like entirely not enough coverage. you felt completely exposed as you gave a slight shake of your head. he draped a heavy arm along the back of the couch. "no?" he paused, forced you to meet his magnetic gaze as he ran a hand through his hair. "what would work on you, then?"

you searched his eyes for a drop of humor, of teasing, of something that would hurt you, as you had long ago trained yourself to. you could sniff out potential abandonment, embarrassment like a bloodhound. but you came up empty, with him.

what could you say to him? that anything that he does, anything he could ever do, that's what would work on you? that he works on you?

your careful silence could have been a banshee scream into an open expanse as the air between the two of you again adopted that rolling flame, that lick of heat up your bare legs.

your eyes widened as he tugged your feet and calves into his laps with one hand, gently but firmly, just enough so that you could feel the warmth from his thick quads pooling in the backs of your knees.

just close enough to want more. just close enough to know you shouldn't.

"'m picky," you said, almost out of breath, swallowing your uneasiness down until the only thing you felt was him. "not into the interest disguised as insults."

he hummed as if he understood, ran his fingers over your shins, feather-light, so much so that later you would wonder if you had only imagined he had touched you. "so what?" he said, meeting your eyes in the dim light you had long ago deemed especially dangerous. "like to be called pretty, petal? like it when they make it, so, so easy for you?" his fingers dragged across your ankle in an electrifying way that had you forgetting about your promise. "like when they go slow?"

you let out some kind of strangled sound, halfway between a nervous laugh and a whimper. because you did like all of those things, of course you did. you liked proof that people cared about you, how could you not?

you couldn't even dwell on how delicious the word pretty sounded in his mouth, how much you wanted to taste it, because something else in his wording willed confidence into your body, clarity into your head in place of guilt.

"who's they?" you asked, your voice steadier than it had been in weeks.

"hm?" he asked, rough.

"i said," you repeated, shifting your body until you rested on top of his lap, your legs on either side of his hips. "who's they?" you were closer than you had ever been as you felt him underneath you, almost chest to chest. so close you could feel his breathing stutter against you. you brushed his messy hair from his face until you could see his eyes in all of their gorgeous truth. "i don't care much about them, jamie."

something rumbled in him, something you felt in your bones. he looked so, so beautiful, and his mouth was right there, and was he tilting his head closer to you? and-

"jim! when the hell are you gonna give me back my blender?" your door swinging open and shut might as well have been a strike of lightning as you scrambled away from each other. trevor's voice cut through your apartment like thunder, like a cold shower.

in a moment he appeared in the doorframe, suddenly eyeing the two of you with the suspicion only a best friend could muster. he gestured between the two of you, now comically far apart on opposite sides of the couch.

"what's going on here?" he asked.

jamie tilted his head back again, wiped at his face with both hands. "sure, yeah, come on in," he said to trevor through his fingers.

"how did you get in here?" you asked, you voice still dark with want, the aftermath of confidence still lacing your tone.

"key," trevor said, waving you off as if this piece of information wasn't relevant. "why?" he looked between the two of you again, eyes narrowed. "'m i interrupting something?"

silence followed. you didn't look at jamie, and he didn't clarify. "no," you said finally, not angry, but knowing the moment was over. "i guess not."

and so you pulled yourself up, made your way back to your room, every inch of your skin buzzing, every heartbeat a burst of electricity through your body.

voices grew fainter as you neared your door.

"if you'd just give me back my blender this wouldn't be such a problem," trevor hissed.

"and you couldn't've shot me a text? figured you'd just break in to my house?" jamie's voice was resigned. you knew he could never stay mad at his friend.

"it's not breaking in if you gave me a key, scumbag."

you shut your door behind you and collapsed onto your bed, still feeling the phantom of his body underneath you, the ghost of his fingertips digging into your hips. you groaned into a pillow, hating that when you closed your eyes all you saw was his full, pink mouth.

the next day, when you relayed all of this new, and not so new information to your friend at work, she shook her head slowly.

"i don't know," she said, pouring a double shot over ice, "but it sounds like you've either gotta make this thing serious or check out your other options." she shot you a look. "no more of this pining bullshit."

you whacked her with a rag playfully, but sighed. "i can't make it serious. and i don't have other options, so looks like pining's all i got."

"tell me you're kidding." she glared at you. "i've had like three friends just in the past week come in and text me after asking if you're single."

you scrunched up your face. "no, you haven't," you said, knowing there's no way that could be true.

"callin' me a liar?" she prompted, pulling out her phone with her free hand and scrolling until she found one of the texts, facing it to you.

sure enough, there was a message from some guy, some ordinary name, asking if she'd set him up with the "smoke in the canada hat," referring to the hat you had borrowed of jamie's earlier this week.

"whatever," you said, "it doesn't really matter."

"it does matter." your friend set the drink down on the pickup counter and turned to meet your gaze entirely. "it matters to me that you find it so hard to believe that people are into you." she grasped for one of your hands, held it firmly.

her touch was welcome, and so were her words. because honestly, you knew why you found it so hard to believe. because even though you had a pretty good relationship with yourself, even though you knew now that you were beautiful, and smart, and funny, and kind, when you were young, you didn't know that. when you were young, the people you were closest to were basically telling you that you weren't those things.

flashes of tense family dinners, long car rides during which you were the butt of every joke shot across your mind like meteors, just as destructive.

saw you talking to a boy today during lunch, one of your older siblings would say after a long day, maybe middle school, maybe sophomore year. is he your boy-friend? the words slow and taunting, malicious, immediately making an angry, embarrassed flush break out across your face.

don't be ridiculous, peanut, your mother would scold your sibling from the front seat, it's rude. and it's not like she was wrong, the boy you had been talking to wasn't your boyfriend, but it stung like a wasp nonetheless.

why is it ridiculous? you wanted to ask, tears brimming, hot behind your eyes. would that really be so hard to believe?

or countless calls with your parents during your first year of college, each more demeaning than the last. you know you're allowed to date, right? your mother might say. you know we aren't strict about that kind of thing. you held back a bitter and sarcastic congratulations.

i know, you would say, trying to hide the defeat you felt at the disappointed sigh she had done such a poor job of hiding.

every not-so subtle jab landed deep, until even the words put yourself out there induced a physical reaction.

it hurt to think about allowing yourself to want, to be wanted, because what if they laughed in your face? what if it all really was ridiculous, all this time? what if it really was hard to believe?

you sighed, now, squeezed your coworker's hand.

"how about this," she proposed, her eyes as soft as you had ever seen them. "how about i set you up with one of my friends who's interested, just one date, and we see how it goes? no pressure, and i'll make sure he knows it's no pressure. think of it like practice."

you thought for a moment, bit your lip. you could use a stress-free practice, that much was true, and you trusted this friend to not set you up with a sleaze-ball. and, you confessed, if you wanted to fizzle out whatever was going on with your roommate, this would probably be a good start.

so you agreed. the decision was made easier by the fact that jamie was on the road this week, so you didn't have him to distract you. the day of your dinner date ended up being the day he was set to return, but he wasn't supposed to get back until the middle of the night.

you wouldn't have to explain yourself to anyone, or even tell anyone how it went, if you didn't want to, you reminded yourself. just practice, no pressure.

and the guy was really sweet, honestly. he was good-looking, too, if not a bit more lanky, taller than the guys you usually went for. he asked you questions, and seemed to care about the answers, and you found yourself in a full conversation with him pretty easily.

but then something in your mind would catch on his shoulders and think not big enough to sink your teeth into, and then on his mouth and think he'd never call you petal, and then on his cheeks, which didn't blush the whole night, not even once.

and he was a really nice guy, but you found yourself wanting to invite him to join your friend group's book club, not invite him back to your place. you found yourself thinking quite intently about a certain person who was not, in fact, the man sitting across from you at the table.

which was fine, you realized, because this is practice, and he doesn't have to be the one. practice means you can find a friend.

so, with a smile, a shared admission that you would like to get to know each others as friends, and a promise to send him the address to the next book club meeting, you left your first date in forever feeling proud of yourself.

on your way back into your apartment, you sent your friend from work a thank you text before making your way to your room and changing into something more comfortable.

you settled on sleep shorts and an old t-shirt before heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, breathing in the smell of steeping chamomile when a sound behind you made you jump.

thankfully you would recognize that frame anywhere. you exhaled. "jesus, jamie," you breathed, "thought you wouldn't be back 'til later."

he stepped forward, the light so dark and dim and dangerous, especially after not seeing him all week. the slope of his high cheekbones, the sharp cut of his jaw, the deep pooling of feeling in his eyes. it all rushed at you a million miles an hour and stole your breath.

"got in early," he explained, his gaze ever so slow down your figure, like he was mapping it, committing it to memory. "were you out?" he asked, his voice suddenly rough.

you swallowed, thinking about what to say. a pause settled between the two of you, thick like mud, decadent like chocolate pudding.

i missed you, you wanted to tell him. tell me you missed me, too.

he inched closer still, leaned against the kitchen counter as you busied yourself with stirring your tea with the tea bag. "don't wanna tell me?" he mused. "how could that be, petal?"

you didn't meet his eyes, suddenly feeling childish. "went on a date."

you were both silent, for a moment. you looked up to check if he was still there. "and why didn't you wanna tell me?" his voice was gravelly.

your hands were shaking, you realized, so you set down your mug, crossed your arms against your chest with a sigh. "he was nice," you admitted, didn't quite miss the green flame that sparked across his gaze, blinked out in a moment. "but i was distracted." you looked down at your feet.

then he was right in front of you, a step apart. it had been so long since you had been so close, and the memory of what had happed that last time burned between the two of you, unspoken, yet the most obvious fixture in the room.

you looked up to meet his curious, careful gaze, wanted so badly to lean forward, sink into his broad chest, breathe him in and never stop.

"by what, petal?" he asked, so close you could practically feel the words on your own lips, his tone so low and heavy your stomach dropped.

you swallowed, watched his eyes track the movement. "you," you said simply, honestly.

and then his eyes searched yours for a single telling moment before his hands came to cup your face, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that held a million i missed you, i missed you, i missed you's.

you let out some soft noise into his mouth at the lovely pressure of his lips against yours, so firm and knowing. you pressed yourself so closely against his chest, one hand on his collarbone, the other grasping around his neck.

he leaned forward into you so pleasantly before moving his arms down to lift you by the waist, setting you down gently on the top of the counter, moaning when you fixed your hands in his hair.

you swallowed down his sounds like elixir, wanted every single one of them, as his wide hands kneaded at the flesh of your hips slowly. you raked your hands down the back of neck delicately, enough to relish in the shudder left in their wake.

finally, you both pulled away, only just, only enough to slow your heaving chests, enough to selfishly see the effect you both had on the other. matching glossed over gazes, swollen lips, exhales heavy with unspoken words.

you pushed some of his hair from his face, soft under your gentle fingers, could have swooned at how he was looking at you, right now. like there was no one else in the universe, like the stars existed only for you.

"i have to go home tomorrow," you said, suddenly, like a ridiculous idiot, wanting to shove the words back into your mouth as he traced light circles across the tops of your thigh. why did you say that?

but his expression didn't change. "i'll come," he said immediately.

your heart jumped, but you didn't want him to come and see your family, really, because family gatherings never were the most flattering, for you. "you don't have to," you said, "i know you're busy, and it's just for a little bit, just for the day."

"i'll come, petal," he repeated.

your mouth quirked, just a bit. "yeah?"

"yeah," he said, a drowsy smile slanting across his face. a smile you couldn't say no to, a smile you just had to feel against your lips.

a smile that meant, the following morning, you were standing on the front step of your childhood home next to jamie, who was holding a potted plant.

"you know you didn't need to bring anything," you said after you rang the doorbell, jittery with nerves. how long had it been?

he only pinched you lightly in the side. "swear i won't drop it this time, petal," he said with the easy tone that calmed your nerves, if only slightly.

and then the door was opening, and you were ushered in among a flurry of hugs and exclamations of it having been to long.

your older brother said you looked different, your mother said you needed to visit more often. you had the sinking feeling that coming home was a mistake.

then came the inevitable. "and who's this handsome young man?" your mother asked in a sugary sweet tone that made the room smell like the dentist's office, at least to you. "is this that friend from work you told me about a while ago?"

you opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it again, slightly confused, maybe disappointed? other people's parents assumed they were dating any person they spoke to, which you were sure was its own beast, but you had actually brought someone to a family meal and your mom thought he was your coworker?

"uh," you started, struggling to find your footing. "this is jamie."

you wanted to put your forehead through the tastefully muted wallpaper of the mudroom, but jamie only shook your father's hand, endured awkward hugs from your mother and siblings, handed over his plant with practiced grace.

you felt your hands tremble ever so slightly, willed them to still, begged any courage and confidence to show itself, but your chest was tight, like your lungs were filling up with polluted water.

jamie caught your eye, registered your defensive stance, gave you a look full of softness and acceptance before stepping to your side and pulling you in for a gentle side-hug, his embrace strong and sure in all the ways you were not. he pressed his lips to the top of your head, lips you still felt the memory of on your mouth, lips that sent a shiver of stability down your spine. "much better than last time, eh, petal?" he said, looking down at you, still tucked into his side. "no dirt under your nails, this time."

you couldn't help but give a slight shake of your head, squeezed him tighter in a way you hoped said thank you.

when you looked back up to your family, there was an almost comical look of surprise in your mother's eyes, a look of extreme boredom in your siblings'.

you father cleared his throat. "brunch's ready," he said, urging your mother to lead you all to the dining room.

jamie pulled out your chair for you, leaned forward to your ear when you sat down. "look so pretty today," he whispered, his voice a low rasp, only for you, only to help you settle, only because it was the truth.

"you know, jamie, she's never brought someone home before," your mother said at some point during the meal, like it was some kind of inside joke between the two of them, a joke you were not a part of. she shared some kind of look with him, but his face was blank. "honestly, we were starting to get worried." your father and her gave light laughs, laughs that made your stomach roll with anxiety, shame.

good god, couldn't they give you a break? you pushed your food around your plate, very much not hungry, very much wanting to leave.

jamie didn't laugh, though, didn't indulge them, didn't pretend like he was in on their joke. "worried about what?" he asked, his expression and tone entirely plain and curious, waiting patiently for elaboration that never came. his question was met with flickering glances between your parents, nervous laughter dying in their mouths.

you looked down at your plate again, bit your lip to hide your smile, reached under the table to squeeze his hand. he squeezed yours right back.

the rest of the meal was fine. soon enough, you were saying your goodbyes, doling out your own awkward hugs along with vague assurances that you would be back soon.

"and it was so wonderful to meet you, jamie," your mother said, a hand on his forearm, "know you're welcome here anytime."

you pushed aside the spark of jealousy within you. what would it be like to know that for yourself? to feel welcome in this home, whenever you wanted?

jamie just looked at you with that molten softness in his dark eyes. you pushed his hair from his face, the way you had grown accustomed to doing, more a comfort to you at this point. he leaned into your touch, however slightly.

"thank you for having me," he said, politely, before looking at you once more. "'m honored to be the first person petal's felt comfortable enough to bring home."

you could have melted at how genuine he sounded, at the idea that he was honored to be around you, of all things, at all.

when you were both in the car, you turned to him. "you didn't have to say that, you know," you told him as he pulled the car out of the driveway, started the trek home.

he just kept one hand on the wheel, took yours with the other. "wanted to," he said, glancing over at you with a steadiness that was impossible to deny. "meant it."

a smile came easily to your face, a flush came easier. he lifted your hand to his mouth, lightly pressed his lips to the top of it, making you shift in your seat with poorly hidden delight, perfectly warm all over.

you arrived back home, and fell back into your routine.

jamie dropped you off at work the following day, rolling his window down when you got out the passenger door. "petal!" he called.

you turned, that grin that seemed to be every-present around him on your face. "yeah?"

the faintest of blushes began to prick at his cheeks. "can i have a kiss, please?"

you were all too willing to comply, leaning against the side of the car and pulling his lips to yours with a gentle hand on his jaw. "see you later?" you murmured against his mouth, butterflies so alive in your stomach you half believed they would fly up your throat. he nodded, a little dazed, promised to see you after your shift, as he had the day off.

the lovely dizziness began to dull as soon as you entered the coffee shop, as there was a very unexpected guest behind the counter with your friend.

"have you never even heard of a latte?" your coworker seethed, the words hard and angry through her teeth.

"feel free to call this off at any time, sugar," a smug trevor drawled, wearing an apron and a haphazardly drawn name tag.

you set your things down and began to tie your own apron around yourself. "afternoon, lovely," you greeted your friend before looking at the newcomer. "trevor."

he nodded to you with a smile in a greeting of his own before the espresso machine started making a menacing sound.

you took the next customer's order, began to prepare it. "do i wanna know why you appear to be an employee today?"

"lost a bet," he said, looking at your coworker, who grimaced.

"we agreed that if he didn't block five shots against the hawks last week, he'd work a shift," she crossed her arms over her chest. "but already this is more of a punishment for me than for him."

he turned up his smile to the megawatts.

you shook your head with a laugh. "you know this is breaking, like, a billion laws," you said, pouring soy milk into a cup. "we can't just hire randoms to work a single shift."

trevor placed a fake-offended hand over his heart. "i'm not some random," he clarified.

"according to california law, you are," you said, matter-of-factly, finishing off the drink and placing it on the pickup counter.

"oh, whatever, 11, just go," your coworker said, exasperated, "you've already messed up like twelve times in the last two hours."

he pouted, teasing like a kindergarten bully, all grown up. "you wound me, sugar," he said, turning around slowly. "untie my apron for me?"

she took off her bucket hat and whacked him with it. "don't think i've forgiven you, either," she said, pointing a warning finger at him.

"wouldn't dream of it," he cooed, taking out him phone. "haven't i earned a drink for my troubles? jimmy won't be here for another five minutes."

you scrunched up your brow. "jamie?" you groaned for him, "wish you'd called it quits like two minutes earlier. he was just here."

both your coworker and trevor whipped their heads around. "jim dropped you off?"

you nodded. your coworker gave you an impressed grin, held her hand down low for trevor to slap in a high-five. "let's go," she said, pumping her fist.

you rolled your eyes at the two of them. "so the goon squad is working together, now?" you asked.

trevor rested his elbow on the top of your friend's head, making her hiss and bat his arm away. "best team around," he said, smugly, before looking at his phone. "time to go," he stated, accepting the two drinks you pushed into his hands with a thank you. "until next time, sugar," he said, looking at your friend.

"the red line won't hurt you unless you let it," she called out behind him.

you immediately started peppering her with questions about her bet with jamie's teammate, trying to get her to admit she didn't hate him as much as she let on.

"jamie says he just thinks you're hot and doesn't know what to do about it," you told her before she went out back for her break.

she fixed you with a look. "you can tell jamie that his friend better find out what to do about it." you laughed as the door shut behind her.

the rest of your shift went by terribly slowly. it wasn't that busy, and, honestly, you really missed jamie. you had only just found out what his lips felt like on your own, after all, and now you were having a hard time thinking about anything else. no one should feel this overheated, this distracted, while trying to steep peppermint tea and froth oat milk.

too many times, you lost yourself in daydreams about what his thighs felt like underneath you, how his fingers would feel like in your mouth, what his hand would feel like, gripping your hair.

you just wanted to be close to him, as close to him as possible.

by the time your coworker was dropping you off at your apartment, your mouth was practically dry with want, and if someone were to call you desperate, you weren't sure if you would have it in you to care.

you locked the door behind you, the silence in the kitchen and mudroom telling you he was probably in his own room, probably gaming.

you could have whined, thinking you would have to wait until he was done until you could kiss him, touch him, feel him how you wanted to.

you lasted pretty much as long as it took you to change into more comfortable clothes. undeniable want had you rapping your knuckles lightly against his door, exhaling gratefully when a soft come in wafted through the air.

and then the door was open, and he was there, exactly as you had thought him to be. his headset pushed his messy hair up in different directions, his knees spread wide, his posture relaxed.

he made eye contact with you, something warm shining in his gaze as he pushed his mic away from his mouth. "hey, petal," he rasped, his voice weary with use. "you're home."

you nodded, bit your lip, twisted the sole of your foot into the ground slowly. "know you're busy," you said, soft, almost bashful, "but can i just sit with you?" you swallowed down any shakiness. "couldn't stop thinking 'bout you at work."

you knew he wouldn't laugh at you, but were splendidly pleased anyways when he simply nodded, let that smile slant across his face, opened up his arms in invitation, contentment obvious in his expression.

you breathed out and crossed the room to where he sat, lowered yourself onto his lap as he spread his legs apart wider to make you more comfortable. you crossed your legs over his thigh, leaned back into his chest, let the warmth and feeling of him envelop you like a fog. his arms came to reach around you as he kept playing, fiddling with his controller. you could have fallen asleep here, if you weren't so alert, if every inch of your body didn't feel like it was slowly catching flame.

you hummed, shifted your hips back against him, making him let out a soft grunt. "getting comfortable?" he whispered, to which you nodded, smiled, leaned your head against his chest.

you tried to stay still, watch the screen as he played, but something about feeling his breaths against your back, the heat of him pooling in your neck, the firmness of him underneath you, it made you restless, impatient.

so much so that after maybe a few minutes, you were craning your head up to press your lips lightly to his jaw, his throat, just behind his ear, twisting your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

he let out a groan, low and dangerous. "thought you just wanted to sit," he said, his mouth quirking up, a tightness to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"changed my mind," you mumbled into his shoulder, grazing your teeth over his deltoid.

"be patient, petal," he rumbled, "wait 'til 'm finished, hm?"

you pouted against his jaw, figured you had done months of waiting, if you counted back to that first day. more than your fair share. you were done being patient.

so, instead of waiting, like he had asked you to, you wordlessly pushed yourself from his chest, sank down to your knees into front of his chair, gently placed your palms on his thighs, forcing his attention to you.

his gaze settled on you like heavy sediment, scorching, bubbling. when he spoke, you felt it against your face like a caress. "fuck, petal, dreamt of you like this."

your smile was slight, sly. "what? on my knees for you, jamie?"

he gave an almost pained shake of his head, made some strained sound of refutation. he set his controller down and pulled off his headset, tossed it aside as you tugged at his sweatpants, rolled your hand over him, hard and hot.

he tilted his head back, groaned. "dreamt of you lookin' at me like this," he confessed, words thick with revelation, "like you want me."

something almost religious passed between you, because what was this, if not something worth worshipping? something built on devotion beyond logic, beyond better judgement?

"i do want you, jamie," you said, finality swimming in your heated tone, "i want you so, so bad."

you bit your lip to hide your grin when he whimpered at your words, his eyes screwing shut as you took him in your hand, spit onto his cock, pumped him up and down before running your tongue along the length of him, drinking in his sounds greedily.

he rooted his thick hand in your hair, draping it away from your face as you sunk your mouth down onto him. "fuck," he choked out, slow and strained, "fuck, petal, you can have me."

you moaned around him, grounded by his grip, the pleasant tug on your scalp, urged him to the back of your throat until your eyes began to water, until his thighs began to tense, before retreating again, peering up at him, eager to take every inch of him in, like this.

so unguarded and uncontrolled, knowing he was thinking only of you, pure want dripping down his frame and face like watercolor, this image of him made you acutely aware of just how wet you already were.

you tugged your hand up and down him again, grinned when he shuddered. "taste so good, jamie," you rasped, running your thumb along the tip, "'ve wanted your cock in my mouth for so long, baby."

his chest rose and fell as he moaned, desperate, overwhelmed. his thumb circled your jaw as you continued moving your hand, spitting onto him again. "should've told me, petal," he whined, "would've given you anything you wanted." his voice shook, you felt his muscles tense again as you took him in your mouth again. "waited so good for me, hm?"

you hummed, held him in your mouth, hollowed out your cheeks until tears broke your waterline, his grunts telling you he was close as you let your nails dig into the tops of his thighs.

"fuck, 'm gonna cum," he breathed, "feel so good like this, petal, too good, can't hold on." his grip in your hair tightened, his hips bucking up, hitting a deeper spot in your throat. he made to pull back, but you only moved your head with him, swallowing around him until you tasted him on your tongue, his moan resounding in your head like an organ in a cathedral.

only after he finished did you pull your mouth up off of him, tilted your head onto your elbow, which was resting on his thigh, red with marks from your clutching hands. you watched him come down from his high, watched his lashes flutter as his eyes opened, felt his grip loosen in your hair and his hand come down to rest under your chin, as gentle and affectionate a touch as you had ever felt.

he led your mouth to his, lifting you off of your knees, slanting his lips across yours like a smile before pulling away, looking at you for a moment, tracing your mouth with his thumb. "look so pretty like this, petal," he praised, low and steady, "so fuckin' perfect."

and you blushed, because you knew how you looked.

you knew that your face was flushed with exertion, knew that spit ran down onto your chin, knew that your lashes were clumped together with tears, knew that your lips with swollen and your neck shone with sweat.

he kissed the corner of your mouth anyways, looked at you like there had never been anything more beautiful. "let me taste you, hm?" he murmured against your skin.

you shivered with pleasure at his words, but whined. "need you so bad, jamie," you pleaded, "need you inside of me." you peered up at him through your lashes. "please?"

he shifted until you hovered above him, tugged your shorts aside, ran his fingers through your folds and cursed at how wet he found you. "anything you want, petal," he rasped, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking you off of them. "fuck, pretty girl, askin' me so nicely, hm?"

you nodded feverishly, reached under you to find him impossibly hard, again, before angling him to you and sinking down onto him, your knees on either side of his hips.

his head fell back at that first feeling, your mouth dropping open as your body pulled taut at the stretch. you whimpered when he reached behind you to pull you to his chest, changing the angle, while he shifted under you, both of you breathing heavy, searching for something to stop you from floating away.

you settled on letting your heavy head drop to his neck, letting shaky exhales escape past your teeth, melt into his collarbone like snowflakes on windowpanes.

he clutched at your waist, began to slowly move his hips, lifting you up and down in a rhythm that burned behind your eyes, that you felt on your tongue, in your toes.

"how do you feel like this?" he whispered, practically to himself, as if in a dream, as he kept up his pace, slow and brutal.

"like what, baby?" you breathed, picking your head up and beginning to fuck back onto him with more force, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

"fuck," he whimpered, searching for an answer, his messy hair falling into his face, sticking to the gloss of sweat shining on his brow, "better than i imagined, petal. so perfect, made for me."

you moaned at his admission, reached around his neck for support. "been thinkin' 'bout me, jamie?" you asked, an almost cocky grin peeking through.

"so much," he whined, picking up his pace now, causing you to choke down a strangled moan, "fuck, petal, was worried you'd hear me through the walls."

his confession shot right to your core as you clenched around him, imagining him trying to keep quiet, touching himself, thinking of you. you dug your nails into the back of his neck as he laid a hand across your stomach, pressed down until he could feel the outline of himself inside of you, moving in and out.

the sensation was so intense that you had to shut your eyes, the pressure inside of you pulling so tightly you bit your tongue.

"like that, hm?" he said, only the faintest trace of smugness in his tone. "like that i thought of you with my hand around my cock, petal?"

you nodded, moaned your affirmation, felt yourself grow so deliciously close.

"thought of you, just like this," he breathed into your neck, still pushing at your stomach, hitting somewhere impossibly deep inside you, hard and fast. "squeezing me so perfect, making those pretty sounds for me."

"'m so close, jamie," you pleaded, your voice wrecked, your jaw aching, "please make me cum? need you so bad, been needin' you for so long."

his neck tensed under your palm as his thrusts grew sporadic, his breathing labored. "fuck, petal, cum on my cock, yeah?" his other hand gripped your hip so hard you knew it would leave a mark. "been such a good girl for me."

you came apart at his words, collapsing onto his chest, clenching down on him so completely that he reached another high, warm and absolute. he stilled, both of your chests rising and falling against each other. you ran your fingers soothingly over the back of his neck, he rubbed circles into the sides of your hips as if in a daze.

finally, when the fog cleared like falling rain, you pulled back to look at his face, flushed, long lashes framing heavy lids, his gaze thick and syrupy with affection.

you lightly swept the damp hair from his forehead, pressed a gentle kiss to his brow that made him smile up at you lazily.

he ran his thumb along your cheekbone. "wanna stay in my room, tonight?" he asked, cheekily, like you were kids planning a sleepover, scheming up the best way to ask your parents.

so you just nodded and laughed, and he kissed the laugh from your lips as if it tasted of sugar.

fin.

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #nhl smut #smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #quinn hughes #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes x reader #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale smut #anaheim ducks #quinn hughes smut #jamie drysdale x y/n #new jersey devils #luke hughes smut

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grandline-fics · 2 months

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Hi! Hope I’m no bother but I fell upon your blog and I couldn’t help but love it. I wondered if I could have a hcs, drables, one shot, any format who arrange you, with Shanks and Mihawk (Sorry if you aren’t comfortable with those characters, pick up other if you prefer) who meet their first love after years and years of no see? I heard a lot that you will forever love your first love, so I wondered how they would reacted to meet them/her once adults and mature. They stay with their first genuine love quite a long time, 5-7 years, and broke up for no real valid reasons, just because they were young and else, they met their first love maybe at 16-17 yo. Sorry my English is awful :,)

DESCRIPTION: You’re their first love and reunite after so many years

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,388

A/N: Sorry I've gotten so behind on these, it's been a rough few weeks but I'll hopefully be back on track soon. Thank you for this request. I really hope you like it!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

MIHAWK

Love wasn’t a word Mihawk considered to be heavily used in his vocabulary. Some would call him heartless and cruel but he was a realist. If anything he thought the world overused it to the point of it losing it’s depth and importance which was why he tended to rarely let it fall from his lips. Yes he had ‘lovers’ from time to time but were they ever considered someone he loved? No. None of them even came close to that. How could they when the one that had claimed his heart, the one that taught him the true meaning of the word love, was you.

Although it had been so many years, the memories he had with you were still so clear and sharp that they could have rivalled any blade. Your paths had crossed at the very beginning of his travels across the world in the hopes of training and claiming the title of the world’s greatest swordsman as his own. He had been pointed to your home by the locals after asking who the best sword fighter was, eager to add another victory to his steadily growing list. However when he appeared at your home he was a little thrown to find you tending to a small plot of farmland. Mihawk knew you were the only one living here as the locals had told him that much, so there was no confusing you were the one he was looking for. He wasn’t expecting someone who looked as young as him to be his supposed opponent. Still he was proof that age had no bearing on talent. So he challenged you.

Quickly he was thrown once more when you lifted your head from your work to fix him with a look he’d never forgotten. Your eyes were bright and silently assessing and whatever it was you saw in him made your lips quirk into an amused smirk that in his youth had made Mihawk skin prickle with an unfamiliar warmth. He could only watch as you rose with the basket of freshly pulled vegetables in your arms and firmly refused his challenge and walked towards your house. He’d never been refused before and demanded to know why, following you inside. “I don’t need to give you a reason.” Had been your cool reply before you looked over your shoulder at him. “I just don’t want to.”

“I’m not leaving until you fight me.” Mihawk had boldly declared, the intense sincerity of his words causing you to laugh. At the sound, he had originally bristled but it wouldn’t be long before he found that it was his among his favourite things in the world. True to his word, Mihawk had stayed on the island far longer than he had intended. Every day he came to your home and challenged you. Every day you refused and watched him storm away. Eventually though after your refusal you would invite him to stay; sometimes to share something to eat, or even to go on a walk, or to help you with your chores. At first he hadn’t understood why he so readily spent the time with you but then he did. He wanted to be with you more than he wanted to fight you. When he realised that, his time with you each day grew more and more until he didn’t go and stopped challenging you completely.

You loved him completely and never wanted to be apart from him, because even though you were both young you knew what you felt was real and unshakable. However you knew that it wasn’t right. He couldn’t remain on a tiny island when his ambition lay out in the large and unseen world. As much as it pained you to do so, you insisted it was time to stop things. Mihawk had to go and become the greatest swordsman and you had to stay on the island because as it stood, you were the only one that could protect the others living there. Your reputation kept many away but as Mihawk had proved, some would come looking for a fight or to cause harm to the innocent. Begrudgingly Mihawk saw the sense in your words and he left but you were never forgotten.

Now here he stood in some nowhere town on some random island, watching you talk to an elderly woman tending to a flower stand in the middle of the market square. It was you, he knew it was you. Time had aged you like the finest of wines, your beauty matured for all to see. Then you laughed and it proved what he’d already known. After all this time without you and even though any free moment he had he thought of you, to see you now and know that you were just a few feet away from his touch he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder about you beyond his fondest memories. What if you’d married? What if you didn’t remember him? What if you didn’t want to see him?

When you said goodbye to the woman and started to walk away, Mihawk found that his previous worries disappeared instantly, not wanting to risk losing this chance. Immediately he set off through the crowd in the direction you went in. Thankfully you hadn’t gotten too far and when he was close, his hand lightly touched your shoulder and took a step back when you turned suddenly to face him.

Your expression flickered from confusion to shock and then joy at the unexpected sight of your first love standing in front of you. It gave Mihawk a feeling of relief to see the smile light your face before your expression became playful. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” Mihawk blinked in confusion but quickly he realised you meant a challenge and let out a small breath of amusement. Slowly he shook his head.

“No, I just don’t want to.” He answered simply, smirking when you finally stepped closer and slid your hand around his arm.

“In that case, I’m not leaving you until you do.” Mihawk chuckled and started walking down the street with you. Finally reunited with the only person he ever loved? There was no way he was going to let you go again.

SHANKS

When Shanks was young he never fully understood why Roger, Rayleigh and the other older members of the crew got so distracted and frankly stupid in his opinion when they were around ‘attractive’ people when they were visiting an island. It always went beyond just enjoying being off of the ship for a while and making friends. Curious one day as they sailed on a calm stretch of water, he turned the question to the vice-captain who laughed at the question. So Shanks pressed more. “It just doesn’t make sense. What’s so special about them that makes you all so goofy and red faced? The Marines would lower your bounty if they saw you like that, the Captain too.”

“Oh, you’ll understand when you’re older Shanks.” Rayleigh told him with another laugh and light clap on his shoulder. Still that answer wasn’t good enough for him and he stared at the older man. If he was old enough to ask the question, surely he’d be considered old enough now for an actual answer. Seeing that the issue wasn’t going to drop, Rayleigh relented just a little more and sighed. “Look Shanks, it’s a little hard to explain but it’s another way of enjoying life and our adventures. We don’t know how much time we have at sea before finding a new island so it’s best to enjoy all it has to offer. Company with attractive people who feel the same about you is another aspect of that.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad though? You never see them again. Don’t you miss them?”

“Not really. It’s not love and they know that.”

“Huh…” Shanks felt even more confused then. The older crew always had a sickly loved up expression during the encounters he’d witnessed before they disappeared with their new ‘friends’ for the evening. So if it wasn’t love what was it? More to the point a new question came out of his mouth. “So what does love feel like?”

“Love? What’s with the hard questions today, lad?” The vice-captain muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean it’s different for everyone. Sometimes it’s slow, other times it’s fast and comes out of nowhere. Still I suppose at the same time, love feels similar. It’s like lightning hitting you mind, body, and soul. It’s powerful. When you’re in love and know it, it’s like nothing else matters but them. It’s like their very presence can calm and excite you all at once.” Shanks slowly nodded. He could understand that in theory but one person being the only thing he could think about seemed dangerous to him. Satisfied with the answer given, he finally let Rayleigh continue with his day.

Looking back on that conversation now that he was older, Shanks would laugh at his own naivety as lust was certainly something he knew when he hit puberty just as Rayleigh had predicted and know it a lot. Love however, he only ever experienced once. Only a year after the conversation about love, the crew had docked on an island and headed straight for a restaurant in desperate need of plenty of good food and drink. Taking a seat, Shanks sat back and waited for the usual fun to start. Given the sudden increased size of customers, the owner called for you to help out the family business and take the orders.

You made your way to Shanks’ table and took the orders. Shanks was distractedly looking at the menu and had zoned out, only snapping out of it when your hand lightly pushed the rim of his straw hat up and leant in to smile at him. “Anything catching your eye or do you need more time?”

Shanks’ lips parted as he stared blankly at you, feeling like something shot right through his body. He was frozen in place and yet he felt warm, lost completely in your eyes. It felt like an age before his mind began to work again but really it had been only a few seconds. Quickly he managed to clear his throat and picked the first thing he saw when he forced his eyes back onto the menu. At the sound of you moving onto the next table, Shanks let out a breath only to wince when Buggy’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “Jeez, what came over you?” He’d asked, finding his friend and rival’s reaction to you funny but at the same time it was concerning to see Shanks so out of sorts. However the others at the table smirked, knowing the signs immediately.

It seemed like luck was truly on Shanks’ side when he was told they would be staying on the island for a few months to ensure they had enough supplies and preparation done before continuing on the next stretch of the journey. That meant he got to spend more time with you which was all he wanted. Luckier still, you seemed to be as equally taken with him. It had been just as Rayleigh had described love, you were all that mattered in his waking and sleeping moments and you brought him a sense of calm he’d never felt before but at the same time just being near you made his entire being feel restless and excited.

While he fell in love first you fell in love with him just as fast. Sadly it never got to last because in what felt like a blink, he and the rest of Roger’s crew were saying goodbye to those they’d gotten to know in their time on land. You’d done your best to keep a brave face and seem cheerful for Shanks’ sake. “You can always come back and visit some day, right?” You told him with a tight smile. “You’ll have plenty of stories of your adventures to tell me when we see each other again.”

“I promise each one will be more impressive than the last. The next time you see me, I’ll be Captain of my own ship.” Shanks promised with a proud puff of his chest that made you smile through the hurt of having to say goodbye.

True to his word, Shanks did become captain of his own ship and his great adventures took him over the world, some distracting him from the promise he had every intention of keeping. However as the years passed, he’d idly considered had time only made his feelings for you seem stronger than they had been through mere nostalgia. When he did finally manage to return to your island, he had been shocked to hear that you’d left many years ago. The disappointment he’d felt at the news told him that no, it wasn’t nostalgia; his feelings for you had been real.

Another handful of years passed and one evening in a tavern, Shanks and his crew talked and laughed as drink and food flowed freely. As Shanks drained the drink in his hand he faintly heard the sound of the chair beside him being taken. At first he thought it was Benn or Yasopp but when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw you there, his entire body locked. Choking on his drink, Shanks felt the painful burn in his throat as he forced his drink down instead of coughing it up. Wheezing he slammed his hand against his chest and could feel his heart beating rapidly and he knew it wasn’t because he nearly drowned on his drink. “Y-you!” He managed out, finally able to look at you, the same feeling he’d had in his youth crashing into him hard. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself.” You grinned, taking in the sight of how much the boy you’d fallen in love with had changed yet still felt the same. “So, got any stories for me, Captain?” Shanks laughed and turned properly in his seat to fix you with his full attention, his eyes set firmly on your face.

“I’ve got a lifetime of stories for you, just as promised.”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fic #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #shanks x you #shanks one piece #red hair shanks #red haired shanks

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mrsrdlw · 23 days

Text

“Will you forgive me, please?”

Warnings: angst; eddie and reader are in a one year relationship; reader almost burst from stress; verbal fight; happy ending (the only right way, cuz i can’t stand when it ends sadly:)), no use of y/n (she is referred as sweetie/sweetheart), let me know if i’m missing something something

wc: 1.9k

summary: Reader is going crazy with how much is going on on her life. Studying for the final exams, work with terrible people. But on a weekend, when Eddie comes without warning you, you both fought for the first time in your relationship.

Being Eddie's girlfriend was the best part of your life. You loved him and the way he treated you. You've been together for a year now and, between this time, you got to know all sides of him. Goofy, funny, kind, sexy. But you've never seen him get mad. Pissed? Of course! All the time, he would be complaining about things or cursing other people who were assholes with him. But he was never mad, at least not with you.

But there was one specific time when you were having a terrible week. With the final exams, not to mention you mentoring other students, you were one step away from losing it. And there was your boss giving you the same speech all week because one of your co-workers snitched you for kissing your boyfriend at work. It was just a smooch!

"This girl's a bitch. Probably never touched a dick in her life!" That's what Eddie said to you.

But, by the end of the week, you were on edge. And being busy all the time, you never got the chance to spend a single minute with your boyfriend. But he would have to wait, the finals were more important now. Eddie didn't seem to agree. He showed up at your door with movies in his hands.

"Hey sweetie, i'm sorry i'm a little late. Had to kick some ass to get out of Family Video" You just hummed, trying to understand what was wrong with your calculus. "I'm great, thanks for asking!"

On his way he, unfortunately, met Jason at the same place. He didn't actually fought him, just some heated exchange of words. It got him a little pissed, but he was going to spend the night with you, so he pretended that he was fine. He was hoping that you would make him feel better.

"Eddie you can put the movie, i don't mind, but i'll not pay attention. I really need to review this"

"Yeah sweetheart, whatever you say" Of course. He was not listening, looking for some candies in your cabinet.

He sat by your side and kept talking to you. You were trying so hard not to cut him off, you really missed him, but you couldn't allow yourself that privilege of five minutes making out with him. So by the end of the first movie he brought, he started to say some curious facts about it but you let out a groan. "Fuck. Why physics were so hard?” You thought to yourself.

"Alright, stop. What the fuck? I've be trying to talk to you for the whole week, but you were too busy. Now that is your time to relax you're going to keep studying?" He said with a serious tone. At first you were quiet, waiting for him to calm down so you would not fight. But he said, louder this time "Say something, damn it!"

"What do you want me to say Eddie? I need to-" you were cut out

"Please, don't you think you studied enough? The whole week, is all you've been doing. You’re gonna burst into flames from thinking too much."He was now facing you, your book long forgotten as the both of you started to lose it.

"Well, for some of us, the constancy is required! I am not doing very good in this subject. I'm just trying to do my best and you should be doing the same." He shifted his body and giggled in a sarcastic way.

"Oh yes, let's remember that i was held back. So original. That's very dirty bellow the belt of you sweetheart." His facial expression was full of disappointment and anger.

"Can you not contort my words? I said as you should be doing your best too so you don't get held back again!" You regretted the time you said it. It was dirty of you and his eyes were not looking into yours anymore. "I know i was not very present this week, but can't you just wait 'till the goddamn exams to end. I don't know what happened for you be so rude but you shouldn't be taking it out on me!"

He was not looking at you, fidgeting with his rings, thinking of the right thing to say so you could stop fighting.

"All i wanted was to spend time with you, what the fuck is wrong with that?"

"There's nothing wrong, is just that i told you that i needed to get good at this."

"That's the fucking point, there's nothing to get better at, you've been working on it for so long, there is nothing new to see! Fuck, you’re not even answering when i talked to you."

"Stop being fucking dramatic Eddie! Do you think i like this, the way that i'm on the edge right now? Fighting with my boyfriend and friends, not having a fucking second to breathe because it feels like everything i do is wrong?"

"And i am the one dramatic. Let me give you a heads up. It's not the end of the fucking world if you fail a test. Besides, you couldn't do it even if you tried. You had to have sucked in the other tests to be held back, like me."

"Oh my god! Why don't you grow up a little and see how this is important to me? Look, we both are angry for some reason and are not in conditions to talk. I think is the best for the both of you for you to leave. So we don't hurt ourselves anymore."

"You always have to be so good and solve every damn problem, right? Only so in the end i can be the bad guy. Honestly, why are you the one to say what we should or shouldn't do?"

"Because it's my fucking house and i want you to leave!"

At this point, after wrestling and yelling at each other, you were with tears in your eyes panting without knowing what to do. Eddie gulped, stepped back and, not saying a word, he left.

The tears were rolling down your cheeks. Now there was no way you would focus on physics. You regretted so much. All the words said in the heat of the moment. You didn't mean any of them. And he probably didn't. You both said things to hurt each other in order to be right. Eddie was definitely upset about something, not just the lack of your attention. But now was not the time to find out.

——————

After a week, you finish every school exam and were finally free from school. And back in work, your co-worker was fired. She was caught fucking a random guy that you didn’t know on the boss’s office . “Guess Eddie was wrong” you thought giggling but getting upset the second after. You both have been avoiding each other. Eddie didn’t want to bother you and you didn’t want to hurt him. But it was time. You were tired of tearing up every time you remembered your fight.

So, at the end of your shift, you drove to the trailer park. It was the first time you fought and you hated. The feeling was that, at any second, you would lose him.

Knocking at his door, you stood there, waiting for him.

“Coming.” You heard his muffled voice. When he opened the door, he had an annoyed expression that shifted to a concerned one once he saw it was you. He was shirtless, wet hair and sweatpants that hung low on his hips. You didn’t know if it was because of the long week not seeing him, but he looked incredibly handsome. “Hey” It was the only thing he could say, surprised by your appearance.

“Hi… Can we talk.” You said hesitant, not knowing where to start.

“Sure. Please” He opened the door wider letting you in. Guiding you on the couch, where you both sat in awkward silence. It didn’t even look like you two were together for a long time. “I assume you’re here to talk about last weekend.” You nodded trying your best not to cry already which was really hard because of the way he looked at you.

“Look Eddie, i don’t even know where to start. We both lost our senses and said terrible things we shouldn’t. I honestly feel like-“ A feeling you grew accustomed in the past week grew in your throat. You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “I felt like i was losing my mind and that everything i was doing was wrong. You were right. I was taking too much at once and i couldn’t take it.”

“No no no. Sweetheart, i was the wrong one. I was worried about you and my own shit and i put that on your shoulders.” He said whipping your cheeks. “And as i usually do, to run away from my problems, i pretended that none of that was happening and didn’t realize how important studying was for you. I am truly sorry for that and for the fight.”

You hugged him tightly. His hands surrounded your waist and his nose nestled on your neck, sniffing your sent. He’d missed you deeply. “I’m sorry too” you said softly and moving away just enough to see his face. “I just want you to know that i don’t meant shit from what i’ve said. That was awful of me. I felt awful. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course i forgive you, sweetie. I was supposed to be the one apologizing. I also didn’t mean any of that crap. You forgive me too?” He said giving you a smirk that made you giggle.

“Yes. But only if you tell me why you were so worked up that night.”

“Oh shit, you’re right. My week was not great either. You know how much i hate finals. Before going to yours, i stopped at Family Video and i met with Jason Carver. And well, you know the story, he calls me a freak and i pretend that he hurt my feelings. But that night, he started to talk shit about us, like you were way out of my league. And until then i was like, tell me something i don’t know. But then the son of a bitch called you a whore and that you probably sold yourself for one fuck in exchange for a review of any subject. And i was like “what the fuck dude?”. I just lost my mind. Thank the metal gods that Steve stopped me from beating his face.”

“Oh my god! You could have told me” You don’t even know why you said that. You literally fought because you were too into your studies.

“It’s alright. He normally doesn’t piss me off. But I just can’t accept him talking shit about you. As if he knew you enough to call you a whore.”

The good thing is that you got back to normal and cuddled for the rest of the day. Eddie wanted to stay close to you as much as he could, so he asked begged for you to stay over. So here you were, before going to sleep telling how much you loved each other.

“Good night baby” Even in the dark room, you could see his beautiful eyes looking at you with so much love

“Good night Eds” Closing your eyes ready to sleep, felling your man’s hand caressing you, you were sure that you were in heaven. Out of the sudden you remembered.

“Eds!” You turned fast to him scaring him a little “You won’t believe what happened.”

“What?” Poor man, he was half asleep. You giggled at his confused face.

“Apparently, that girl from work did a lot more than touching dick…”

“I told you she was a bitch. A man knows”

“Shut up”

*if you have any ideas/request/sugestions; please sent it to me, my inbox is open. :)

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie x you #angst with a happy ending #light angst #angst

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felikatze · 2 months

Text

THE ISLANDER EUPHRASIE THEORY: THE CRACK HEADCANON THAT RUINED ME FOREVER

HI. you might know me as the kingphie divorce guy. or as the guy who wrote the 6k ludonarrative essay. Today i am going to introduce to YOU @the-bitter-ocean's fantabulous ISLANDER EUPHRASIE THEORY!!!

DISCLAIMER

This post contains SPOILERS for ALL of In Stars and Time. INCLUDING THE ACT 6 SECRET!!

You have been warned.

ALSO!!!!

The original headcanon/theory is VERY MUCH Ocean's fantastic work! I am merely rehashing all the arguments for it that have been laid out across various chats into one cohesive thing people can look at. Also citations! Who doesn't love those.

WHAT IS IT?

Well, it's quite simple. It's the theory that Euphrasie, love of my life and Head Housemaiden of Dormont, is from the forgotten island, same as Siffrin and the King.

(Yes, this is why divorce AU exists.)

WHY DO YOU EVEN BELIEVE THIS?

Quite a lot of reasons, actually.

It's really funny

Let us begin with: the basics.

SUPERFLOUS AESTHETIC DETAIL

HAIR COLOR

This is Euphrasie. She's very pretty. I love her.

You might notice several things about her, like her fantabulous white hair.

Well. What other characters have white hair?

You have guessed correctly. The ONLY OTHER white haired characters with actual artwork are Siffrin and the King, both from The Island The World Forgot. Thus we can assume that it's a typical hair color for islanders. Makes it stand out very much that Euphie also has it.

(What about the beautiful one- sh sh sh he's blonde. He's blonde.) (Well, actually, considering that they are the only one who acknowledges that Vaugardians are also weird, what if he's from the island as well? Checkmate atheists.)

EYELASHES

Correct. Eyelashes.

Going back to our portrait of Euphie, she is drawn with precisely three eyelashes. Why is this notable? Because Siffrin and Loop are.

So much so, that being drawn with three eyelashes, is specifically an element of foreshadowing to Loop's true identity.

(squints at character portraits) literally no characters besides Siffrin, Loop, and Euphrasie have eyelashes? Oh my god. What? Nobody has eyelashes? What the fuck? (okay, some moments later: Mirabelle has eyelashes in some battle artwork, but these three are the only ones specifically with eyelashes in dialogue portraits, which is still incredibly odd.)

SPEAKING HABITS

Hey, so, you know when you talk to people in Dormont, a lot of the NPCS will have a nametag that just says "[something] One" right? Daydreaming One, Castle-Loving One, Beautiful One?

And I've seen people wonder, are these titles? Nicknames?

And I bring you this: Siffrin addresses these people with these epithets in his head, because they have no fucking clue what anyone's name is.

So Siffrin just naturally lapses into this style of nicknaming strangers.

Which two other people also do.

Bright one... ...... Do you remember? Traveling one! Are you done talking with your companions? Yes, wonderful, wonderful!

Funny little tidbit that these three characters all speak alike isn't it :)

Okay. With aesthetics out of the way, let's move onto the next tier of this iceberg:

THE MECHANICS OF FORGETTING AND BEING FORGOTTEN

I realize in the process of writing that we must outline the nature of the curse. What gets forgotten and what gets to stay?

The particularity that's important to us right now is: what people get forgotten?

All evidence points toward this: an entire person is only forgotten if they were physically present on the island when it vanished.

I'm pulling up two example cases to prove it: Siffrin and the Daydreaming One.

The thing with Siffrin is: we know he witnessed the exact moment the island vanished. And, very notably, Siffrin was in a boat.

You can get the dialogue that proves this only in ACT 2 in a secret room most people don't find on their first playthroughs, which is both very funny and very evil. Here's the dialogue.

Siffrin: "I ran away from home once!" [...] Siffrin: "And so I took our boat! Got to the beach, rowed away from the shore a bit. I was going to come back right away, I just wanted to scare my parents a bit!" [...]

Siffrin: "I started to row back towards the shore... And then, I... I... ..." Isabeau: ... Sif? Siffrin: (Woah! What?) "Um, yes?" Isabeau: Um... You were telling us how you ran away from home? Siffrin: "I... was?" Odile: You... Were. Bonnie: DID YOU FORGET WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT WHILE TALKING ABOUT IT?!?

Siffrin is from the island, but was not physically present when it disappeared. This resulted in Siffrin forgetting their entire identity, including given name and spoken/written language.

Additionally, this is confirmed via Word of God to be the exact moment the island disappeared, so here's proof I'm not reading into it:

Shoutout to bibliomaniac's insane google spreadsheet for the easily searchable screenshot. god bless. Brinny, ily.

On the other hand, with the Daydreaming One, we have proof of a person who is not originally from the island, but was physically on it at the time of disappearance.

Siffrin: "Don't you have a sister?" Daydreaming One: I... I don't? I just said I'm an only child, silly!

(For her to forget someone like her sister, so easily... Her sister must've traveled to...)

Secondly, we know that remnants of the island were not completely forgotten immediately.

Memory faded gradually, starting with the ability to still speak and think about it with accompanying headaches, until it ramped up in intensity and everything is simply gone.

The Sparkling Diary in the library is more or less proof. Memory of the island was gone, but... people still remembered that they forgot something. People still knew what they were talking about, (an island north of Vaugarde), just without the specifics.

"Urgh. Also, Dad noticed no one can say the name of the island north of here anymore?" "I tried to say it yesterday and I got like the WEIRDEST headache for HOURS."

And Odile also remarks the following

Odile: We also know that people could remember that country clearly, before.

This will be relevant later. Moving on.

CONTRIVANCES

THE HOUSE'S OBSERVATORY

SO. The House of Change of Dormont has this funny little room on the third floor. It's an observatory. To look at stars with. When entering this room for the first time, Mirabelle says this:

Mirabelle: What...? Was there a room like this in the House? Y-yeah, I remember! Someone was working here... Studying... They looked like... ... Um... Sorry, I can't remember.

This reveals to us several things:

This room is innate to the House, and not brought here by the King's weird redecorating

Someone from the House was using it for study

All memory of who or what was studying and being studied was erased alongside the island's existence

Of course we can say, "yo, what if Euphrasie was using this room and just forgot?" but that is. a headcanon. I ADMIT! It is a stipulation

However, I find the general presence of the Island written all over the House incredibly interesting.

Inside the Observatory, there's a pile of papers with messy handwriting. You can't read these in until ACT 4. Even in ACT 4, you can't read them. But you do learn what's written on them.

(A pile of papers.) (It looks like someone was trying to write your country's name.)

Inside the observatory is also a globe. Upon repeated interaction in... act 4, i think, you get this:

(You see a spot on the globe where the paint has started wearing out, like someone kept dragging their finger on it.) (You drag your finger there too.) (Erased. You almost want to look for lightless paint.)

BOOKS

During the various quests to discover the truth of the loops, you run into a lot of books, written in the forgotten language. Now, Dormont is not close to the island. Dormont is not close to the coast.

Bambouche is. That's why Bonnie has heard about the island before and knows it was a big deal - they lived really close to it.

Bonnie (and then1): I think, I think my village was really close to it!!! My sister said it was all everyone could talk about for weeks!!! Mirabelle (anxious1): That's so frightening... I'm glad that whatever happened, she didn't get caught up in it!

As we can see in this map, Dormont is in the southern half of the country, and very centrally at that, meaning it has basically maximum distance from all waters and ports. So why does this landlocked small town have so many books in this language?

These aren't just dry books, either. In Dormont's library, there's actually a translated version of volume 2 of The Cursing of Chateau Castle.

(You take the book out again.) (You can read its title, now...) (Your heart is beating, badump, badump, badump.) (It's...) (... A translated copy of "The Cursing of Château Castle", issue #2.) (You start laughing.)

CONCLUSION OF THIS SECTION

Islanders lived in Dormont. Maybe even multiple! We've established that whoever is in Dormont when it vanished would not simply disapper, instead

they forgot where they're from.

One day, the islanders in Dormont could no longer remember being anywhere but Dormont. Being anything but Vaugardian. The observatory fell into disuse, as the person studying there gradually forgot what they used it for, even as they desparately tried to hold onto it, boring holes into the globe, and scribbling its name over and over until its unintelligible.

And, in all likelihood, eventually that knowledge was just gone forever. They simply became part of Dormont, none the wiser to their own history.

Books slipped into cracks. Rooms fell into disuse. Nobody remembered to clean out the remnants.

Now. The real cinch of this.

Why, in particular, do I think Euphrasie is one of them?

Answer me this, then.

How does Euphie know what Wish Craft is?

1. How could she read it?

Euphrasie knew specifically that Wish Craft exists, when all books on it are written in a language nobody can read.

The book in the storage room? The diary in the room behind the star door? The book in the secret library? None of them are legible.

There are no legible records of Wish Craft.

2. What about the Favor Tree?

Euphrasie knew specifically that Wish Craft is related to the Favor Tree. It's also a Vaugardian practice to make requests of the Favor Tree, but they're just that - requests. Nobody thinks they actually have power.

Only Euphrasie does. She thinks it's the key to defeating the King.

(This is... A list of people who wished to save Vaugarde!!!) (You look around her desk, trying to find out more.) (Why would she record the people who wished to save Vaugarde?) (... There!!!) (It's a little notebook, jammed between random boring paperwork...) (In it, the Head Housemaiden talks about Wish Craft... How in the days before the King attacked, she noticed everyone was wishing to the Favor Tree for the same thing:) (To save Vaugarde.) (And she started wondering if this wish could be the key to the King's defeat, somehow...) (So the Head Housemaiden knew about Wish Craft!!!)

Except, when Isabeau talks about it...

Isabeau: Well, it's just a random big tree. But when you're a believer of the House of Change, the biggest tree in a certain place is called a Favor Tree! It's like, it’s the tree with the most power, so you can ask it things? As a favor?

He struggles a little to explain it. Almost, as though the tradition came from some other culture, imported into Vaugarde, and no one can definetely remember where it came from.

To note, here, is that the Favor Tree is hugely associated with Loop, and wishes in general. Wishing on a Favor Tree is such a hugely powerful ritual when executed correctly, that it caused the entire timeloops.

And I'm not even gonna break out citations to prove that Wish Craft is associated with the island. Come on. You know that. You played the game. It's required to beat the game.

If you haven't beaten the game, what the fuck are you doing here. Go back and play it, baka.

3. Something's breaking, failing, rotting

At the end of ACT 4, when Siffrin confronts Euphrasie about her knowledge of Wish Craft, Euphrasie is distinctly aware of this: the people of Vaugarde are wishing wrong.

It's true. All of Vaugarde wished to the Favor Tree, wished for us to be saved. We wished for a savior. A way for us to win against the King. And Wish Craft gave us the means to do it, didn't it? Made sure it'd work? [...] But... But something went wrong, didn't it? Something goes wrong, every time!!! [...] The only answer I can find... Is it's because we did it wrong. I don't know what happened But we must've done it wrong!!! None of us in Vaugarde knew the exact ritual, but-- But we must have done it so wrong, it broke, and it doesn't answer to us at all anymore!!! [...] I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!!!

There's only one person who knew how to make a Wish correctly. And he made it by sheer instinct. Something they could not place even if they tried. Just... a forgotten ritual, dredged back up by muscle memory. Something he's probably been doing since he's a little kid, something that's so backed into their habits they use Wish Craft to carve figurines out of wood.

To end, I leave you with this. Dialogue you get when you try to talk to Euphrasie again, before you talked to everybody else.

If you talk to me... REALLY talk to me... It's all over. What "it" is, I have no idea... I know... I can feel that... I couldn't change whatever comes next, even if I wanted to. But I know it is the will of the Change God. Or, no, perhaps... The will of something even bigger... ... Something will end, once you talk to me.

There is a way for Euphrasie to know all of this. To know Wish Craft exists, to be aware she's doing it wrong, but not knowing, remembering quite enough to get it right.

If she knew it all beforehand already.

#Feli speaks #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat #euphrasie isat #head housemaiden #ALL THE TAGS. I NEED PEOPLE TO LOOK AT THIS. PLEASE. IT'S 1:30 IN THE MORNING.#i spent two hours on this i think

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wingedjellyfishflight · 5 months

Text

A Forgotten Birthday

"How old is y/n then?" The new recruit is always trying to flirt with Soap by asking him gossip and facts about the team.

"Twenty-six." He answers her so easily. It feels like a stab to your heart all over again.

"Twenty-seven." You correct, voice conspicuously devoid of emotion.

"No, your birthday isn't until May, and it's..." His face pales. He whips around to look at you. "We missed it. How did we miss it?" You shrug, not meeting his eyes.

"Some things just aren't important." Your food tastes like sawdust. You give up trying to eat and toss it in the trash on the way out. Maybe hitting the gym will help. No, you know he's going to tell everyone, and you don't want to deal with their pity-filled stares and questions about making it up to you now that they've finally remembered.

Running the trail system near the base is a favorite of yours normally. Today, it isn't relaxing, but anger-inducing. You were on a mission in a forest just like this across the world for your birthday. It was almost two weeks after the day that you got back, and you eagerly waited for the surprise party that Soap, Gaz, and Price always set up for each person's birthday, but... nothing. After three weeks, you gave up all hope for one and steeled yourself to give nothing away. Can't let them see you hurt over a stupid birthday. Can't make the team lose focus or lose your own. You're an adult, after all.

Zoned out, you don't realize how far you have run until it's nearly too dark to see the path. Sitting on a stump, you give in and have a cry about the whole thing. Self-pity taking you over for just a few minutes. Wiping your eyes, you startle when a hand touches your back. You leap up and move to a defensive crouch only to see Ghost's balaclava looming out of the darkness at you.

"Luv, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing. Just, I don't know. Needed a cry, I guess. Didn't think anyone would see me."

"You certainly didn't see anyone. I've been running behind you for nearly five minutes. I could have been anyone. You need to be more aware of things." Your hurt and confusion turns to anger at the lecture he is spouting off.

"Ya, I guess I do need to be more aware. Clearly, I am the problem." You stomp away from him, starting back to base, muttering to yourself about transfers to other teams who might care more. Ghost wraps his hand around your arm and pulls you to a stop.

"What, I make one comment, and you're just going to quit on us? What is actually going on, pet? Someone piss you off or something? Do I need to knock teeth out?"

"I... everyone forgot," you mumble. Ghost glances around to ensure you're alone and tugs you against his chest, rubbing your back. "I was in the shit and when I got back, nobody remembered my birthday." He freezes, hands cradling you.

"They forgot? How could they forget? Your birthday is always at the beginning of the mission season. I thought you guys had it when I was down range. I was gutted to have missed it. Sent you flowers as a sorry." His grip tightens to an almost painful level, and you grip back, remembering the beautiful bouquet that had been left for you without a note. "We will just have to make Soap and Captain pay for forgetting then." You glance up and see his eyes glimmering at you in the moonlight.

"We should probably find our way home first."

"Home, that sounds good." His phone suddenly goes off, making you jump. "Group text. 'SOS emergency meeting. Do not tell y/n.' They ain't even tryin' to be subtle at this point." He guides the two of you down the path, walking quick and assured. Within minutes, he is getting an avalanche of phone calls and texts to the point that he is tempted to throw it into the woods around you, but you turn it off and slip it into his pocket for him.

"Last time you threw one and broke it, Captain said he would glue the new one to your hand, and I'm pretty sure he was serious." Ghost ruffles your hair.

"That was a private meeting, Luv. How did you hear him say that?"

You scoff. "You'd be lucky if the entire fuckin' base didn't hear him tell you that with how loud he was shouting." He just chuckles and guides you both home. He drops you off at the women's barracks and storms into the team meeting, slamming the door into the wall.

"Finally you show up! We forgot y/n's birthday and we are planning a party to make up for it."

"No. You are not."

"What?! We can't just ignore it. We forgot! It's been months!"

"You're not going to force her to accept a pity party to make you feel better about what you did."

"Ghost, I know you hate parties, but she still deserves to know we care."

"So, show her. Before she makes good on transferring out. But no party. I will handle her party from now on since you fucks can't be trusted to remember." He walks out without another word, the room behind him in chaos.

"Why is he acting like he didn't forget, too?" Gaz asks incredulously.

"Because the bawbag didn't. He sent the mystery flowers that made her cry. It was right after he got back from down range. Can't believe I didn't catch it earlier."

Price stubs out his cigar. "So, no party. And she is thinking about leaving. We really cocked this one up, boys." He stands and walks to the door, pausing on the threshold. "No flowers, no gifts. Make it up to her. And Soap," he turns to look the Scottish man in the eye, "sleep with one eye open. Ghost is absolutely going to make us pay for making her cry." He walks away, no pep in his step, now.

"Cry? How does he know she cried?" Gaz seems baffled by the Captain's surety.

"Course she cried. Everyone does when they are forgotten or abandoned."

"Ghost doesn't, though. We never celebrate his birthday."

"We being the key there, mate. Remember last month when she shoved a new set of gloves and a mask at him? Told him the ones he was wearing were manky as fuck. That was his birthday gift." He runs a hand through his hair. "Anyway, I'm off. Need t'think about how I'm gonna beg forgiveness from both of 'em."

#ghost cod #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

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jen-with-a-pen · 3 months

Text

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold.

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed.

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius.

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius.

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you.

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–”

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop.

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.”

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for.

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family.

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked.

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him.

It was then, everything came crashing down.

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip.

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home.

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?”

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone.

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake.

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind.

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him.

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve.

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able.

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him.

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him.

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin.

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners.

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs.

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend.

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room.

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it.

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee.

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards.

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve.

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach.

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind.

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs.

“Fuck.”

You opened the door.

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you.

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.”

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed.

He was what you needed.

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock.

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down.

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?”

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety.

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–”

You felt tears again.

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!”

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat.

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you.

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there.

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years.

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn.

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over.

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision.

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.”

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating.

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you.

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding.

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed.

You crashed together.

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?”

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild.

280 notes · View notes

hitoshiyoshi · 2 years

Text

devotion | todoroki shouto

synopsis ↬ shouto will do anything for you to join the todoroki bloodline

warnings ↬ BARELY EDITED, arranged marriage, yandere, implied virginity loss, noncon/dubcon? (consent is implied but not said), cheating? (the reader isn't dating but is talking to someone), manipulation, quirk use, dr*gging (aphrodisiac), the reader has a quirk (dual or half-water half-fire), mention of past child abuse, bribery, bride-price (?), you have an ill parent, slow burn with important details in the buildup, mild bakugou slander, orgasm denial, choking, creampie, let me know if I've forgotten something

pairings ↬ yandere!pro-hero!todoroki shouto x f!reader (she/her pronouns used)

word count ↬ 13.4k

Anxious footsteps pace throughout your family's home for the entirety of the day. Nearly every room had been refurbished and decorated with new exquisite objects; vastly different from the usually peaceful and simplistic setting that you were used to. Expensive paintings and unique ornaments are strung along the walls, refining your home while, in the process, making you feel out of place. Various cleaners were brought to help tidy the house while other drastic measures were taken for one 'special' day. Your mother meticulously scrutinized every detail, checking to make sure each nook and cranny was spotless. It took days of countless trial and error for her to feel a sense of security in the newly renovated home. However, while your mother was satisfied with the results, you strongly hated them.

The home you first entered as a newborn and took your first steps into adulthood had been uplifted and changed before your eyes. Of course, your mother wouldn't listen to any of your whining or complaints. Always shutting down your questions or ignoring you when you try to inquire about her strange decisions. By now, you were used to her being dismissive about each of her design choices. When she asked you to assist her in the final preparations, you weren't fazed by her skittish demeanor; she'd been acting like this since the beginning. The whole day was spent cooking and finalizing the decor of your home until your mother could breathe a sigh of relief.

When asking your mother why the preparations were so intricate and time-consuming, as she sliced some vegetables for a stew, she replied:

"The Todoroki Family will be coming over tonight for dinner." She explained her desire to make your home welcoming for them. It had been some years since you had seen the entire family together, specifically the patriarch, Todoroki Enji.

Natsuo and Fuyumi became familiar faces in your family home over the past few months. It was a kind gesture; they would always make sure to stop over and greet your parents after making a brief stop in your town. The eldest brother, Touya, would write you letters despite being detained in Tartarus. After all these years, you had forgotten his face. It wasn't until you saw his arrest on the news a few years ago that you realized how deeply you missed him. Seeing his reappearance made you emotional but after receiving some of his handwritten letters, you felt more at ease although haunted by his actions. Finally, he paid the unfortunate price for his villainous crimes.

The only member of their family you were excited to see was Shoto.

Years have passed since he graduated from U.A. High School and was now working as a pro-hero and sidekick for his father, Endeavor. Patrolling and training seemed to take a toll on his ability to see you. Being an understanding best friend, you decided not to bother him about his busy schedule since it was something he did not have control over. The time he couldn't spend in person was made up with your late-night calls that would continue until the early hours of the morning. Often, you would fall asleep while still on the phone with him and the dulcet sounds of your snoring lulled his tired body to sleep.

He always gave you updates about every detail of his life. From the villains he captured, to some shenanigans with his buddies from high school. Rei, his mother, seemed to adore you the most out of all the family members — besides Shoto, of course. On one of the last moments you spent with him, he invited you to visit his mother at her new apartment after being released from the hospital. Upon seeing you, her whole face brightened as she beamed a smile and embraced you in her arms. Pinching your cheeks and commenting about how much you've grown since she'd last seen you, Rei was ecstatic. It had been many years since you witnessed her smile, and your heart warmed at the loving woman.

Lately, Rei has been scheduling friendly dates with you in an attempt to get to know you better. You felt a bit guilty for not contacting her while she was hospitalized, but she didn't seem to mind. She would always drop subtle hints about Shoto's affections for you; how his eyes would light up whenever she mentioned your name, how he loves to boast about you to others, or when he becomes saddened when thinking about the little time you two have spent together. To anyone, it seemed like she wanted you two to eventually date but you always brushed it off. Thinking it was her being overly friendly or sharing some light banter, you quickly ignored her ideas. The son of the number one hero could have anyone he wanted, why would he settle for you?

After finishing the preparations, your mother waited patiently by the front door. Occasionally checking her wristwatch while fidgeting anxiously, sometimes pacing back and forth throughout the room. There were only a couple minutes left before the time was nine o'clock. As you watched her, you decided to ask her how she was feeling.

"Is everything alright, Mom?" You asked as you sat only a few feet away from her in a nearby chair.

"Yes. I'm just happy to see an old friend again." Yet, as you examined her demeanor, it was quite clear that she was not 'happy'. In fact, she seemed to emit a sense of dread with her strained facial expression. You decided it was best not to question her too much. After wiping her sweaty palms and checking her watch, she ushers you to stand next to her by the door.

Soon, the ringing doorbell brings you out of your thoughts. Your mother exhales a tense sigh before unlocking the door. Your parents' former employer and close friend Endeavor, along with three of his children, greet your mother. She shyly bows and welcomes the family before stepping back to allow them inside. You can't hear some of the words exchanged between her and Enji, a bubbling excitement of seeing Shoto overpowers your senses. You courtly bow to their father who only responds with a few words of acknowledgment. He's dressed surprisingly formal for a friendly meeting, donning a navy blue suit and tie.

Looking back at the preparations, this had to be more than a light-hearted reunion of old friends. As you moved toward his children, your mother announces something to their father.

"Enji, I'd like to discuss something in a separate room." Your mother says, again fidgeting with her sweaty palms.

"Of course." Leading Enji to another room, your mother soon disappears and leaves you with the task of interacting with the siblings.

You try to give Natsuo and Fuyumi casual hugs after they've removed their coats and shoes. Fuyumi peppers your cheeks with sisterly kisses before handing you to Natsuo who eagerly wraps his arms around you and engulfs you in a strong hug. Lifting you off the ground and spinning before placing you on your feet. They soon maneuver to your living room, since they've both practically memorized the layout of your home; knowing the routine of your family like clockwork.

Next, you move to Shoto, failing to see his twitching brows and deadpan expression as he watches his overly affectionate siblings. You give him a big embrace which he eagerly returns. He chuckles to himself as you have to stand on the tips of your toes to hold him properly; he's grown so much since your last visit. "I've missed you so much..." you whisper into his chest. Pulling you tighter and nuzzling his face into the crook of your shoulder, he could feel his warm heart swell with happiness once having you in his arms again — he's missed your hugs.

He pats your head before letting his hand trail down your lower back, "I've missed you too." After whispering in your ear, he pulls you away, wanting to get a look of your beauty after all these years.

Shoto has been your best friend since you two were children. Always training together and even attending the same school for a brief period of time; you two were inseparable. Shortly after Enji became a hero, your parents began working under his agency. In fact, it was his father who proposed the idea of having you two practice with each other, to which your parents happily agreed. Although you're grateful for Enji's suggestion, the pain he caused Shoto was something you could never forgive him.

Vivid memories replay of Shoto being forced to endure brutal training until his poor body couldn't handle the pain anymore. He soon collapsed on the ground, vomiting up whatever bile was left in his stomach. Enji couldn't spare an ounce of compassion for the son he forcibly groomed into a hero, he left the room as if nothing happened. You rushed towards Shoto, cradling the boy in your arms and trying to keep him from going unconscious until aid arrived. Shoto doesn't remember too much from that day, only waking up in your arms after you nursed him back to health; the angel who saved him, what he thinks of you.

Making his cursed life tolerable with your presence. Your existence brought him peace of mind from that day forward. Drunk on a strange blossoming feeling that made his heart ache whenever you were gone. The years had been cruel to him and the sound of your voice could only do so much. Shoto has been thinking about this day, picturing it in his head before he dozes off to sleep.

Your father, one of the first of many sidekicks under his agency, had a fire quirk. One that easily surpassed Endeavor and could compete with Touya's. While your mother had a strong water quirk, although she was not a pro-hero under his agency and instead dealt with the paperwork. After they married, you weren't aware of this, but Enji was strongly encouraged to find someone with a similar quirk to your mother. Inevitably, he settled with Rei, ice that could compliment his fire.

Perhaps it was a competition to him, your father could've exceeded Enji. Having an ice quirk was no match for a water quirk. He must've known that his place as the number two hero could've been taken by your father — or anyone for that matter — and needed to have strong offspring to compete. Although he was overly excited with Shoto's quirk, once learning that you also had a very similar dual quirk, his joy soon dissipated; half-fire and half-water. Enji needed his legacy to live on and he could sense imminent failure for Shoto. Training together allowed him to observe you and mold his son to defeat you in the future, he thought.

Enji's dominant ways became a nuisance and within a few years of training with Shoto, you decided to abandon your hopes of becoming a hero. If it meant witnessing never-ending abuse and torment, you did not want to call yourself a hero. Although you were young, you were aware that no person could think of themselves as a 'hero' while inflicting pain on their family. You couldn't associate yourself with such a bad influence. That was something Shoto admired about you; never tolerating his father and uplifting him when he was weak.

You knew that Enji was trying to rekindle things with his broken family. Yet seeing the two of them act content with each other was shocking to you. Especially after hearing Shoto continuously demean his father on the phone, even on the night before this meeting.

"How is your father doing?" He asks once his arms are completely off of your body.

"Oh, he's been well. His health is improving, he's doing a lot better than before." Although you tried not to show your emotions, it was quite painful for you to talk about your father.

One year ago, your father was left bedridden after a fight with a villain. Ultimately leaving him unable to move and with some injuries that weakened his ability to use his quirk, forcing him into early retirement. Your mother quit her job as a secretary for Enji, claiming that she needed to spend more time at home with your father and take care of him. While you dealt with college, you weren’t able to dedicate time to help him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you often since your father became ill.” Shoto apologizes while hanging his head low in pitiful shame. “I promise I’ll make it up in the future.” You gently caress his arm to reassure him.

“Don’t worry about that too much. Let’s focus on tonight, okay?”

“I suppose…"

Reaching for his hand, you usher him to your living room where Natsuo and Fuyumi have already made themselves comfortable. Walking in the stiff clothes your mother forced you to wear is proven to be quite difficult. The white garment flows past your thighs and stops at your ankles. You nearly trip in the tight shoes, making Shoto reach out and hold you before you embarrassingly fall. Although you've grown accustomed to joining your parents in certain arrangements, you've never worn clothing like this before as they are usually reserved for more special occasions. Pins and accessories poke your scalp uncomfortably. Your hairstyle makes you nauseous; an old-fashioned style that no one your age is still wearing. Of course, you weren't allowed to complain.

After meeting his siblings in the living room, you sit on the end of the sofa with them. Shoto eyes Natsuo, who is relaxing in a seat dangerously close and adjacent to you. His older brother seems to read his scowl perfectly, moving away to allow Shoto to forcibly sit next to you. Time seems to flow fast as the four of you chat about nonsense and random memories. During the whole conversation, Shoto's firm hand mysteriously finds its way to your lower back again — wrapping tighter once he felt Natsuo coming too close.

Before you could question him, your mother appears with Enji. Puffy, bloodshot eyes and a wet face ruin her perfectly done makeup. As you are about to inquire about her appearance, she begins to speak.

"Sorry for the delay. We've prepared some food for you all to enjoy, follow me." She turns towards the direction of the dining room with Enji trailing behind her. The siblings all raise to their feet and soon accompany your mother to the room.

"May I hold your hand?" Shoto, who is still close to you, inquires while peering down at you with a sharp gaze.

"Sure," Nodding before intertwining your figures with Shoto, you watch as he smirks brightly. Soon stepping in front of you and leading you towards the rest of the group.

The large dining room table is covered with different Japanese dishes, most you've never seen your mother make before. You could recall helping her cook some of them and the endless hours it took before you completed everything. While the family took their seat, with Enji sitting in your father's position at the head of the table, you try to choose a seat next to Fuyumi. Until Shoto courteously pulls out a chair beside him and stares at you with full expectation. Not wanting to deny his chivalrous acts, you thank him and sit.

During dinner, his older siblings gleefully engaged in another conversation about old times. Reminiscing over every detail and their plans for the future. Natsuo landed a job as a nurse practitioner only a few weeks ago while Fuyumi shared stories about her students. Enji and your mother were quiet, only interjecting when necessary. Your mother's plate seemed to stay full as time passed, only picking at the food. This was unlike her usual behavior at dinnertime. Shoto was the same, except happily eating and staying content with your presence beside him. Only a couple times would he speak, and his replies were short. You weren't fazed much, he was the type to only speak when spoken to or if he had a lingering thought in his head.

Before your time comes to an end, your mother excuses herself and travels to the kitchen. Lost in laughter, you and Fuyumi giggle as Natsuo recounts a particularly embarrassing moment from Shoto's childhood; you eagerly listened to the story as it was a rare moment that all the siblings spent time together. Only after you begin to relax do you notice a frown spread across Shoto's lips. You were dismissive. It was only playful teasing between brothers, right?

"I'm sorry for being busy." Shoto suddenly says after he's finished his last bite of food.

"It's fine, you don't have to keep apologizing. Look at the bright side, we're making memories now. We can always make more in the future." The future, he thinks. The only future he can think of is the one that always replays in his lovestruck mind. Smiling to himself, you assume he's already beginning to feel better.

Your mother emerges from the kitchen, placing a large plate of cold soba noodles in the center of the table — right in front of Shoto. Despite being full, he eagerly tries the noodles while the rest of his family waits for him to taste them first. After all, how could he reject his favorite dish? You helped your mother prepare the noodles after Fuyumi insisted on teaching you Shoto's favorite dish. She claimed it would be a nice welcome present for him after he was away for so long.

With every bite, his face lights up the more he consumes it. Soon, his siblings gladly take bites of the noodles as well while Enji and your mother watch.

"What do you think, Shoto? (Y/N) made it all by herself." Your mother announces loud enough to catch his attention and makes sure to enunciate her last sentence.

"W- Well, I was only following Fuyumi's instructions. She deserves all the credit." Trying to act humble didn't seem to work on his persistent sister. You could notice your mother making a face at your words.

"Nonsense!" Fuyumi chirps, catching you off-guard. "You're such a wonderful cook and Shoto loves it too. Right, Shoto?" Her head turns to her younger brother who has finished his plate of your noodles already.

"I do. You did a great job, (Y/N)." He nods along with his sister before softly grinning at you. "It tastes perfect,"

"See? He loves it! You made it the way he likes. Just for Shoto..." Behind her glasses, you could see her eyes darken as she finished speaking. Only for her to innocently smile at you before tasting your noodles and exclaiming more praises. "It's so delicious. Try some more, Natsuo!"

"O- Oh... Thank you, Fuyumi," You turn your head towards her younger brother. "And Shoto..."

As the two siblings initiate a conversation with your mother and Enji, you could notice Shoto begin to shift toward you. He reaches for your chopsticks before collecting some of the noodles between them. He calls your name and raises the food to your lips. As you take a bite, you smile up at Shoto who returns your gesture while watching you eat. Once you've finished chewing, he takes a napkin and dabs the corners of your mouth while gazing down lovingly.

The longer your night continued, the more heads grew tired. After dinner ended, Natsuo helped your mother clean and tidy the kitchen while Enji excused himself. Fuyumi followed him to the front door and urged Shoto to come with her; although, he seemed more agitated that he wouldn't have any alone time with you. The time is nearly eleven o'clock, and soon you start to wonder when they would return home. Enji announces that he is leaving for the night after his chauffeur hands Fuyumi, Shoto, and Natsuo small suitcases bags.

As the siblings talk, you grow more and more confused. They didn't seem too bothered by the ticking clock and stayed still as if they had no intention of leaving. Shoto's hand moves from your palm to your lower back; you've grown accustomed to his touchy gesture and you decide to ignore it.

"U- Um... Is your father coming back to take you guys home?" You ask but all the siblings, besides Shoto, stare up at you in a confused manner.

"No, we're staying over tonight. Didn't your mother tell you? It was her idea, she kept insisting." Before Natsuo could reveal too much, Shoto interrupts him.

"Natsuo, you-" He glares up at his older brother while you feel his fingers clench around your skin. The clicking of your mother's heels makes him pause his sentence.

"My apologies for the wait. The rooms are ready, right this way." Your mother motions for them to come with her. As she walks up the staircase, she begins to speak again. "There are two extra rooms. Fuyumi, you will take (Y/N)'s room for the night. Natsuo and Shoto can have the other two rooms."

You tried to fathom her directions, but they didn't make any sense. If there are two extra rooms, why would Fuyumi need yours? Couldn't Natsuo and Shoto share while Fuyumi has the other? Perhaps the brothers want their own space, you didn't mind being with Fuyumi anyways. But as your mother reaches the top of the staircase and opens the door to your room, you realize that you are mistaken.

Although your room maintains the same orientation, all of your personal items are missing. The essential products that you use almost every day are nowhere to be found. Most of your decorations have been removed, leaving the walls bare and empty. Any of your medication, skincare, and some other sentimental belongings are gone. Either changed or disappeared. but they were here when you woke up this morning. Almost as if your room was ransacked while you were busy.

Before you could ask, your mother leads Fuyumi into the room. She sets down her suitcase on the ground before making herself comfortable on your bed. Soon, your mother closes your bedroom door before taking Natsuo to his simple guest room next door. The older brother thanks your mother and locks his door as well.

She ushers Shoto to another spare guest room next to Natsuo. When opening the door to Shoto's room, you notice one unmistakable detail — there's only one bed. Logically, this meant you had to share a room with Fuyumi, right? Your mother wouldn't dare allow you to sleep in one bed with any of the brothers... right?

The room is decorated with a few potted plants, dim lamps, and a small desk area. You're reminded of his dorm room when he attended U.A a few years ago. Except, his futon is replaced with a king-size canopy bed. White and gold sheets cover the mattress while a see-through curtain drapes over the frames. Fluffy silk pillows entice your heavy eyelids.

"Shoto, this will be your room. Wait here and get comfortable, alright?" Shoto seems pleased with the scenery. He nods at your mother before entering and closing the door.

Turning away from your mother, you walk towards your room — or Fuyumi's room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Snapping your head around, you see your mother clenching her fists with an unreadable facial expression, but you could tell that she is angry.

"I'm sharing a room with Fuyumi... aren't I?"

"No." Harshly grabbing your wrists, she leads you to your walk-in wardrobe before shutting the door. You're too dazed to process everything, barely noticing where she has taken you until it's too late.

So, you're not sharing a room with Fuyumi. There was no way you were sharing one with Natsuo or Shoto. Perhaps you would sleep on the couch? Or in your parents' room? Although your father always hated letting you see him in such a weakened state. She forcibly removes your clothing and shoes off of your body and hastily throws them in a pile of clothes that covers the whole room. Your mother isn't usually this disorganized, and her disheveled state warns you that something is wrong. The pestering feeling that you've tried to ignore can no longer remain quiet.

"Where will I be sleeping?" You meekly ask as she finally finds the piece of clothing that she has spent the whole time searching for.

"In Shoto's room." She holds up a long cream-colored, sheer négligée to your body and imagines how the clothing would fit before slipping the thin fabric over your head.

As you stare in the mirror, you can't help but gasp. Thanks to your brassier and panties, most of your 'sensitive' areas are covered but your arms and legs are exposed to the unusually cold air. A state of panic ran through your veins. You were expected to sleep in Shoto's room wearing this. A room with only one bed. The worst possible outcomes began to fill your head, it sounded sick and nonsensical. Although he was your dear friend, you knew that your mother would never agree to do something like this.

"Isn't this a bit too revealing to wear around him?" You were met with an unwavering silence that caused your heart to beat faster in your chest. "Mom... you've been acting strange all day. Please just talk to me. This- This doesn't make any sense... Why are you doing this?"

"Why can't you just cooperate for once and stop asking questions?" A scowl forms across her face, slowly getting annoyed. Your lips press together, you want to trust your mother... but you can't.

As you scan her face through the mirror, you realize that she is hiding more than anger behind her emotions. Tears swell in your eyelids but you aren't sure why. Her actions couldn't soothe your never-ending anxiety. She begins working on your hair, removing the pins stuck between your strands before giving you a simplistic style. After finishing, she lightly sprays some sweet-smelling luxury perfume. Your mother seems nearly done with her odd preparations, you unclench your jaw and start to speak.

"I know you're stressed about something, you can tell me. You're not acting like yourself..." You begin to think she will ignore you again when she checks your attire once more. Until she responds.

"I'm fine. We will be fine. Go spend the night with Shoto, please... Just one night." A brief glance at her and she seems to be pleading with you as you hear the strange tone of her voice. "I will talk to you in the morning."

After looking over your clothes one last time, she forces you out of your underwear and into a lace fabric that leaves you even more anxious. Brewing with embarrassment, you realized that your mother wouldn't offer any comforting words to soothe you. Instead, she checks her wristwatch before furrowing her brows and releases a stressed sigh.

"It's time. Now, go to Shoto's room. Don't run off." She turns her back away from you before motioning you towards the exit. You grab a velvety thick robe and throw it over your shoulders before she could see and leave.

Her hands clasp over her mouth as she holds back pained cries. However, she couldn't stop tears from cascading down her cheeks. Praying to whichever God could hear her for forgiveness. Your mother is deeply sorry, she didn't want this to happen. She hopes you'll be more understanding and forgive her in the morning.

As your feet touch the mahogany flooring, you can’t stop the impending feeling of doom that courses through your veins. Sighing heavily, you contemplate dashing to your room to share it with Fuyumi despite your mother’s warning. Yet, you couldn’t dismiss the idea of his sister knowing why your mother seemed tense. The look Fuyumi gives you during dinner replays in your mind. Perhaps the whole family knew and you were the only one left in the dark. Your hand lingers on the doorknob of Shoto’s room, and you quickly suppress the idea of running away.

Unlocking the door, you tiptoe into the bedroom quietly. At first, you don’t notice him — the bed seemed tidy as if it hadn’t been touched. Gazing around the space, you see Shoto sitting at the small desk while scrolling through his phone. He stops and watches your frame enter the door, eyes widening once he takes in the sight of your attire. His clothes are changed now, a loose white t-shirt and long navy pajama pants.

“Please don’t stare… It’s a bit embarrassing,” Once you finally enter the room, you wrap the robe tighter around your clothes.

“Sorry, my apologies.” Shyly looking elsewhere, he refocuses on his phone again.

You quickly move to the end of the canopy bed, drawing back the sheer curtains before sitting on the plush sheets. Shoto is barely visible through the drapes but his phone light illuminates brightly in the dimly lit room. You were thankful for the fleece robe covering your shoulders and arms, the harsh cold air made goosebumps arise on your skin.

"So... How will we sleep?" Breaking the silence in the room, you ask him after a few minutes pass. Shoto shifts in his chair and the white light from his phone suddenly disappears but is replaced by a lamp.

"Are you nervous about sleeping in the same bed? We've been friends for so long, it won't be a problem for me." He says, you can see his head turn towards you through the curtain.

Normally, you wouldn't care too much about staying in the same room together. He was right, you two were close friends. Yet, as you glance down at your clothing and remember the words of your mother, the tension of the meeting is hard to dismiss.

"I guess I don't mind either but I still feel weird about it," Pausing for a few brief seconds, you release a sigh before continuing. "My mother has been acting strange today. Well, not just today... for the past week." As you speak, Shoto rises from the desk. He moves the curtain out of his path before sitting next to you on the bed. You don't notice his movements until a sharp coldness reaches your skin. "I just feel a bit uneasy, sorry..."

"Don't be," His fingers softly caress your arm, an act you always did to comfort him. "She's probably stressed about seeing my father again."

"I hope..." Your mother did mention being 'happy' about The Todoroki Family visiting. You want to believe his reassurance, but your gut feeling tells you otherwise.

The night seems to fly fast as the two of you talk for a while. Shoto seems more eager to initiate a conversation without worrying about the stress of his nosy siblings. He shares some details about his life after graduating from U.A., most of which you already knew. Immediately after becoming a Pro-Hero, he joined his father's agency and accompanies him on patrol. Most of his free time is spent resting at home during the night, usually when you two would call. On the days he didn't have any work, he would typically visit his mother with Fuyumi and Natsuo.

Various topics are brought up and soon the clock reaches midnight. Shoto seems to have some energy in him, and you decide to continue despite your drowsy eyes. He mentions that he's been feeling lonely because of the mountain of work that has been pushed upon him. Your smile and promises to share your time with him are meaningless to him. He knows, one way or another, you will live up to your words.

"Don't you have someone special in your life?" Your ears perk up as you await his response to the question. Shoto's eyes trail off in the distance as he searches for an answer.

"I do..." He mumbles quietly, initially thinking that you haven't heard him until you happily congratulate him.

"Really? Who is it? Is it someone I know?" Throwing questions at him only made Shoto's smile widen across his lips.

"Don't worry. I'll tell you in the morning," Before you could protest, he speaks again. "And you?"

"Oh... I'm not in a relationship right now." Feeling his heart skip a beat at your response, a weight lifts off of his shoulders... briefly. "But, there is someone that I'm talking to." His amiable demeanor seems to shift as he listens, eyes piercing your frame. "What's wrong..?"

"Nothing... Who is it?"

"You know him, it's Bakugou." Of course Shoto knows who he is. They were once classmates and soon began working at his father's agency together.

"I do, we work together on occasion." His fingers nervously tap against his thigh, trying to release whatever pent-up stress is building in his system. "How long have you been talking to him?"

"Only for a couple weeks. He works at Endeavor's agency, right?" Shoto gives you a small nod to answer your question. "Actually, the first time I met him, I stopped by Musutafu to look for you but he said you were on patrol with your father. We talked for a bit... and got to know each other." A warm heat spread across your face as you felt the temperature of the room begin to rise.

"I see..." Shoto uttered yet a sharp pain in his chest made it difficult for him to speak. He made sure to ask your mother beforehand if you had any other suitors, to which she strongly denied. "Have you two..?

"Have we..?" He peers up at you, hoping that you understood his implication. "Oh, we haven't kissed... or done anything else. I mean I've been too busy with college to be in a relationship." You tried to excuse yourself past the embarrassing situation, but Shoto seemed at ease with your responses.

"I understand. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He apologizes as you move to rest your back against a pillow on the bed's headboard.

"It's fine. I don't usually visit too often, just when I'm passing through..." You go on to tell him about the small dates you would arrange with Bakugou during his breaks.

Making him and the other sidekicks bento boxes for lunch, on the same days when Shoto was away. Practically boasting about the trinkets and presents he gifts you, saying that he was reminded of you when buying them. On days when he was free, Bakugou would invite you over to his apartment to cook with him and show some new recipes he was currently trying to perfect.

As Shoto listens to you gushing over his coworker, a spark of anger consumes his entire spirit. Neither Bakugou nor any of the sidekicks he was acquaintances with mentioned you; listening to you ramble about the time you spent with them had shocked him. How did you even manage to befriend Bakugou?

Although his poor temper gradually improved over the years, he wasn't the easiest to approach. This wasn't right, it didn't make any sense. Shoto thought he had done everything to keep a watchful eye over you despite being so far away, only for you to be right under his nose. His temperamental 'friend' wasn't worthy of you, he should be the one in Bakugou's place.

The slow approach he decided to take wasn't successful, someone captured your heart — the place he comfortably resided for many years — and he wouldn't allow himself to be dethroned.

A flicker of flames in the dim room makes your rambling end, you watch as Shoto stares off in the room with his head looking away.

"Are you okay..?" You inquire while watching some of the flames nearly burn through his clothing.

"No, I'm not." His fists clench together before releasing as his body seems to relax briefly.

"What's wrong?"

"Bakugou isn't the type of person you should be dating." Suddenly, his gaze shifts to you with a serious, deadpan expression.

"What do you mean? If you're talking about his anger, it's not an issue. He's been really kind to me."

"No, no... That's not what I mean." Shoto inhales sharply and closes his eyes for a brief moment. "I'm telling you this because you are my closest friend and I deeply care about you," You watch him intently and prepare for his response. "But I've seen other girls at the office with him. Some old classmates, a few sidekicks. He's always flirting with them. Trust me, he brings a new girl over every week."

His entire statement is nothing but lies. The gullible expression on your face tells him that you believed his dishonesty. There was no reason for him to make up stories, you thought. Bakugou isn't 'close' to any of the other sidekicks, at least to his knowledge, Shoto has been the only one he considered a friend. His classmates have visited their agency, but only for work-related business.

Bakugou never mentioned seeing someone, never said your name, or showed you off. So when Shoto heard his name leave your lips, he was obviously shocked. He didn't care too much, Bakugou would never be considered his 'friend' or 'colleague' anymore — it was time for him to be disposed of.

"But... But if that's true, why didn't Moe or the others say anything?" Your features changed from a look of disbelief to pain and denial in a matter of seconds. Shoto truly felt bad, he really did. Yet, he knows you'll feel better in the morning. Call him sadistic, but watching your heartbreak turned him on. He would replace your sadness and bring never-ending joy.

"Knowing the type of person my father is, it's inevitable that his employees would be the same." Perhaps that wasn't valid for the other sidekicks, excluding Shoto.

He was truly elated seeing you become more and more distraught. This was his intention; play with your emotions, leave you fragile and ready to accept him. He didn't mind having to exploit the evil of his father knowing that you disliked Enji as much as he did. Your lips and eyes began to droop, forming a visible frown. Maybe because it was your first petty heartbreak, that's why it felt so bad. You always told yourself that you could overcome meaningless relationships, but the smiles you shared with everyone seemed to hurt the most. It was nothing but a facade and a waste of your time.

"I feel like an idiot..." A few teardrops escaped your eyes and trickled past your cheeks. God, why are you such a crybaby?

His warm side of his body pulls you in closer and embraces you in a smoldering hug. Shoto wasn't exceptionally affectionate, but he hated seeing you cry — especially over other people. He tried to hush your soft sniffles, you were quite pathetic to become emotional over Bakugou since you two weren't even dating. Unless there was something else you didn't share.

"It's okay... It's okay. You don't need someone like him. He wouldn't have treated you right." Your head nuzzles in the crock of your shoulder as the heat from his body washes over you.

As you begin to stop, he peels away from you before gently placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. The salty liquid coats his tongue as you melt into his touch, assuming it was only platonic affection. Of course, it wasn't. The feeling of your skin against his lips sparked something inside of him that he had been waiting patiently for so long. Wanting to be bold and explore further, Shoto trails his light pecks down to the tip of your nose and hovers over your lips. Once you feel him trying to steal a kiss, you push yourself away.

"Sorry, you must be overwhelmed." He removes his arms from your sides, watching as you nod and accept his apology.

The room soon quiets down and the air begins to fill with warmth. Yet, you begin to miss the feeling of his body against yours. Shoto lifts himself off of the bed and disappears to the desk he was originally seated in. You can hear the tapping of plates and metal and soon Shoto appears by your side of the bed. Pushing the curtain away, he reveals a tray of light food in his hands.

"What are these for?" You ask, but he only offers a vague answer.

"In case you become hungry or thirsty. I'll sit by the desk to give you some privacy." He places the tray on your lap before moving back to the desk.

"Oh, thank you."

Shoto takes his phone out of his pocket and begins scrolling aimlessly again. You can see the white light through the sheer drapes, and for a brief second, you wonder what Shoto is busy doing. His fingers dance across the screen, frantically texting his father that he wants Bakugou to be fired by the morning. Speaking of the hothead, your mind runs across him once more. It's still hard to believe Shoto since Bakugou seemed so genuine. Alas, you've only known him for a short time and it is hard to trust someone fully.

You'll talk to Bakugou when you wake up.

While you think about what tomorrow has to offer, you start to feel a strange need to drink. The room starts to fill with immense heat; although half of your body can handle it, thanks to your fire quirk, the other half becomes unbearable. When did it get so hot? The robe on your shoulders starts to feel uncomfortable on your now sticky skin. You remove the clothing from your body, not caring that Shoto would see your lingerie if he was close. For now, you need to cool down. If only he was beside you...

Your eyes peer down at the tray: one glass of water, a cluster of grapes, one pomegranate sliced in half, and a whole apple.

Reaching for the glass, you bring it to your lips and sip all of the liquid. The cup gives you relief from the heat; inside are a few jagged ice cubes. Taking one in your mouth, you finally begin to relax again. When you finish, you place the glass on the tray and scan the contents again. A wave of hunger urges you to eat something, anything, on the plate. You choose the pomegranate, plucking some seeds from the inside before eating them.

Unbeknownst to you, Shoto's eyes have been on your frame since the moment he heard your body shift on the mattress. Smiling to himself once he sees you consume the food he's gifted you. He places his phone down on the desk and rises from his chair.

Before you could finish the fruit, you sense Shoto's presence near the bed. You look up but it's too late, an icy cold grip on your wrist halts your movements. As you stare up at him visibly confused and dazed, he says in a low hushed tone:

"You stole from me, so it's only fair if I take something from you."

"Take something from me? What do you mean..?" You ask, yet he only responds by leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours.

This time, his hand restrains your neck and coaxes you closer to his body — making it difficult to reject him. The familiar flavor of pomegranate coats your taste buds as you feel his tongue slip inside your parted lips. His teeth nip at your flesh until it becomes swollen and a strange metallic sensation mixes on your tongue.

You feel the tray moving on your lap until it's placed elsewhere in the room. Your hands instinctively move to his shoulders as if trying to keep a predator at bay. Shoto's arms envelop your torso, further deepening the kiss until he feels your nerves relax under him. Grazing his tongue across your lips, he soon kneels on an open space in the mattress.

Submitting to his touches, your hands soon trail down to his chest until a hard, rhythmic pulsing of his heartbeat throbs in your palm. The overjoyed hero's body became restless as he felt your contact with his skin; he'd been waiting for this moment for as long as he could remember. To share a kiss with you, his first and he hoped yours as well.

Separating his body with yours, his arms untangled from your body as he placed light kisses along the underside of your jaw to your neck. Ignoring the light hums and soft noises you made from his actions, Shoto's fingers clawed at your flimsy sleepwear that would surely tear off if he wasn't careful. His head nestled atop your shoulder, breathing in your scent and silently cursing your mother for dousing you in nauseating perfume.

"Shoto..." You mewled out weakly as his face presses further against your skin.

"Sorry," He mumbles in a quiet whisper. "I just couldn't hold back anymore..." Sitting in an empty space beside you on the bed, Shoto is reluctant to remove you from his hold as if he is afraid you will flee.

His fingernails stab sharply into the fabric of your clothing and nearly scrape into your flesh. Then, his breathing becomes rigged as he murmurs a few incoherent words. It takes a few minutes for you to understand; the words slipping out of his mouth are endless apologies. Before you could inquire about what was wrong — you weren't angry with his overly affectionate demeanor, only confused — he raises his head, now quiet as his lips tremble as he tries to form some words in his head.

"This isn't the way I wanted it to happen, I was hoping to court you first." You feel a burning sensation on your cheeks, as you peer up at him you notice some flames blazing from the red burn on his eye. Shoto faces you now, however his stare is cast down to your hands which he soon intertwines with his own. "But... I was too late. Now, you're thinking about him, not me... Is there something wrong with me?"

"W- What..? No, Shoto, I think you should calm down." His grip on your hands doesn't falter, instead tightening. A hot tingle from one of his hands engulfs yours, so painful that you're sure it will leave a scar if he doesn't move. "Y- You're hurting me..."

Upon seeing the flash of heat on your hand, he flinches away and begs for your forgiveness. He soothes your pain with his ice and pulls away once you're calm.

"Am I not worthy?" As you try to remind him of his value and deny his acts of low confidence, he stays unfazed. "Then, why haven't you noticed? Do you not think of me the same way?"

"Noticed... what?"

"My love for you, but I suppose you've never felt the same way." It would be a lie for you to claim that you haven't experienced a romantic attraction to him... somehow, you've forgotten after the years passed. "It's my fault, I should've been more direct." He brings your wounded hand to his lips before kissing at the marks. "I've always felt this way since you saved me. We were made for each other, don't you see? I've been gone for too long, perhaps you've just forgotten, right? Let's make up for all our lost time..."

Before you could fully comprehend his words, Shoto's hands move to your shoulders and knead into your muscles; soothing your strained body in order to get you to relax. As some time passes, you begin to slip away into his touch as your head becomes heavy and fills with fog. He releases a pleasing hum, thinking to himself that the profession of his undying love finally swayed your heart — that was not the case. The more you calmed, the further his hands would dip into untouched territory on your body as you succumbed to his caresses.

His knees cage either side of your body as he hovers above you, pressing firmly into cushioning. His warm breath tickles the hairs of your neck, sprouting goosebumps throughout your skin. He stops his hands over your chest to feel your rapidly beating heart; the rhythm nearly matches his own. Whatever ounce of cowardice or fear leaves his tainted spirit. Shoto is certain that now is a perfect time; everything he'd ever wanted was coming true, and the option to retreat is gone. Unfortunately, you are forced to comply with the same sentiments.

Swiftly maneuvering his hands to the hem of your nightwear, Shoto easily peels the fabric off of your body. Coaxing you upwards, he lifts the garment over your arms and head before neatly discarding it elsewhere in the room. His palms tenderly squish the flesh covered by your bra while you instinctively hold onto his wrists. His eyes lovingly glimmer with a look of pure adoration; Shoto takes his time, slowly basking in the feeling of your body in his hands. Your hold on him loosens with every timid touch he gives you.

He leans forward, pressing another breathtaking kiss to silence any protests, which are now nonexistent. The thought of pushing him away is buried by the sense of desperation that emits from his hold and his kiss. His fingers travel behind your back and play with your brassier before unclasping it. Hooking his fingers over your lace panties, both undergarments soon disappear to an unknown location in the room. As you lay bare and exposed to the fluctuating temperatures of the room, he raises himself off the mattress and positions himself behind you with your back resting on his chest.

Stroking your plush thighs, he chuckles after he hears you gasp when his hands graze too close to your opening. His thumb circles around your clit as his other hand travels to your bust and fits perfectly around one, caressing your pebbled skin and teasing your bud. Shoto rests his head perfectly on your shoulder until your cheeks are pressing closely together. You can't see him — too focused on the movement of his arms — but he intently watches your body writhe. Your legs threaten to close once you feel him stroke your hood.

"You know... I've never done something like this before," He barely breathes out as his voice makes a chill run down your spine. There's something in the tone of his voice that sounds abnormal. "You're doing so well..."

Your fingers dig sharply into Shoto's hands, leaving indents in his skin as his thumb meets your sex at an agonizingly slow pace. He seemed to take pleasure in it as you could hear the echo of his soft laughter directly in one of your ears when you became too frustrated.

"Sho... Sho- Can you... faster, please?" Your slurred speech and submissive behavior would have been embarrassing if you were in the right state of mind, but alas that was not the case.

"Hmm? You want me to move faster..?" Upon hearing your hum of approval, he deepens his press against your clit. Partially lifting your hood and exposing your swollen nub to the air. Smiling against your skin, he says, "You're so perfect, just for me... mine."

His middle finger ghosts around your folds, and your core trembles practically begging for him to enter and offer some relief. An immense heat erupts from your body despite none of your quirks being in use. Although Shoto's body is warm, it provides you comfort. There's a need for you to be next to him, to touch him. Your fire quirk is not active, but you feel like you're burning. A small glance around the room and you see no flames erupting from his left side. Your hands raise from his wrists and slide up his arms to push your body closer against him.

Teasing your unnaturally wet slick, Shoto thanks himself for slipping an aphrodisiac inside of the water. Parting your folds with his index and ring fingers, he sinks his middle inside your warm walls soon groaning as they clench around him. "so wet for me, only me. never for anyone else..." He wishes he could feel you tightening on his cock. Unfortunately, you haven't noticed it stiffening behind you. His finger nudges upwards into a gummy section of your walls, eagerly exploring inside.

He leaves kisses and small nips across your nape. Harshly sucking and sinking his teeth into your skin that your mother would surely question you about in the morning. His fingers pump in and out of you; the rhythm is erratic before he nestles in a region of your walls that you seem to enjoy. Stretching you out as much as his thick fingers can, he reaches deeper inside with each thrust. As he grazes across a sensitive area, your feet bury into the duvet.

Trying to swallow your moans proved to be pointless, expletives and slurred mewls of pleasure begin to echo through the walls; a symphony to Shoto's ears but a nuisance to the others inside. One of his hands trails to your exposed breasts. He sharply exhales at the flesh in his palm, tugging on your sensitive bud. Your eyes screw shut when Shoto's thumb rolls across your sensitive clit again, drawing your body nearer to a release. His hand soon moves from your chest to your throat.

Squeezing lightly against your veins until you start to feel dizzy, he pulls you even closer to him and whispers, "call me yours" "say you'll never leave me" "tell me you love me" "say it" "just say it... please". Shoto starts chanting more demands in your ear, hoping in your disoriented state you would listen — even if it was just for tonight. However, he can't perform miracles and his use of power could only take him so far. He released his hold as your lungs began to fill with air again. His fingers move to tightly gasp your chin.

"Sho- Shoto... I..." You stutter before pausing at a sudden pool of warmth rushing to your lower tummy. You want to answer him truthfully, but the new sensation of pleasure on your bottom half overtakes you — or maybe that is what you try to convince yourself.

Feeling your walls begin to spasm, Shoto senses that you're close. A pool of your wetness begins to leak into the duvet and stain the sheets. As your core pulses and contracts around his fingers, you grasp onto his arms. You try to urge him deeper, getting lost in the sensation before you feel him pull away. His finger slips out easily and his thumb disconnects from your clit, denying your climax. A wave of pleasure washes over you as you spasm in his arms even more aroused than before, but it soon fades with his fingers gone.

"Why couldn't you answer?" He surprisingly asks as if the hand locked on your throat gave you any chance to replay. "Do you dislike me that much? Am I so repulsive?" You always knew his esteem was low after he was burned, but you assumed he overcame it. When you try to deny his insecurities, your words are unintelligible with your rapid breathing. He looks away before responding, "Nevermind."

Shoto raises your body and moves from behind you. His demeanor seems agitated, but no less determined than before. He was certain that he would walk out of the room knowing that you adored him the same way he did. It wasn't in his plan to go this far, yet the restless feeling in his chest wouldn't dissipate. You rested backward on the bed, unable to support yourself after sitting up for so long. He peels his clothing from his body revealing his well-toned and sculpted frame from years of hard work.

He kneels on the bed again but this time between your legs. He leans forward until he's eye-level with your pussy after straightening your waist. The first time he's seen your body so perfect and on display for him. Internally, he congratulates himself for saving your climax until now; a taste is better instead, he thinks.

His lips attach to your inner thighs as he kisses and leaves blue and purple marks against your skin. The pads of his fingers massage your flesh, occasionally making it tremble weakly in his palms. Every sensation that touches your body makes you crave Shoto more, you're certain that it is purely from arousal and not romantic emotions. It was obvious to you what he wanted by now.

His hot breath tingles your heat, smirking when he sees your slit spasm. Disappearing between your thighs, you feel him do kitten licks on your pearl before flattening his tongue and doing a long lap at your folds. Unable to hold back his pure excitement, he collects your essence on his wet muscle, so eager for a taste. A sting of your wetness and his saliva connect before breaking as he pulls away. Swirling his tongue on your clit, Shoto darts across your bud a few times before savoring whatever oozes out of you.

Noises inside the room are nothing but pure filth, you pray that no one can hear. His head peaks up to see your expression of pure ecstasy and bliss. When you lock eyes with him, you notice his chin and lips stained with a clear mixture of your juices. Tangling your fingers in his hair, your hand nudges him deeper towards his entrance to chase after a release as heat travels down below your tummy.

He focuses on your bud; sucking at the sex and repeating once he feels your fingers tug and scratch his scalp. Another thick finger soon enters again making your walls contract. As your back arches off the bed and your toes curl around themselves, heat emits from your body; expletives and moans leave your throat. You no longer cared about his family hearing, it was surely too late now.

His hands press your hips further into the mattress, trying to keep your shifting body still. Soon, a gush of your release leaks onto his tongue as he eagerly catches every drop; unwinding and finishing on Shoto's face. His lips glisten with clear sticky liquid as he helps you ride out your orgasm. While you pant and steadily lose your grip on his hair, he presses further into your mound and licks your slick clean.

Shoto pulls away from your lower half while you watch as he raises himself proudly. Peering down at you and grinning to himself, obviously happy that he could make you orgasm. He repositions his hips between your legs, easily parting your tired and numb thighs. You haven't caught a good look at his length but when you glimpse down, you see it. It's so pretty. Perfectly trimmed half-white and half-red hair and it seemed well-groomed for the occasion. Of course, this was all a planned meeting.

When he notices you staring, a pink blush spreads across his cheeks and ears. Shoto doesn't think it's much but you believe otherwise. Unsure what to do with your hands, you rest them over your heart until they are near to your face and chin. His tip glides over your opening, prodding over your hole gently and holding your waist as he starts to sink in.

His cock buries deep inside your cunt, swallowing him whole inch by inch. Cries of pain ring in Shoto's ears as his girth stretches you apart. Your eyes clench shut for a second and when they reopen his face is only a few inches away from yours. His hands hook under both of your legs, pushing them close to your chest while whispering something about how it will feel better this way. His eyes are filled with lust, twinkling before colliding his lips with yours. A taste of your essence still remains on his tongue. Trying to soothe your cries, he muffles them with his passionate kisses.

Slowly, he finally bottoms out of your warm region; only pulling away from your lips when you tighten around him. Your eyes close once again as you try to find subtle acts to suppress the pain. Shoto doesn't seem to approve of this, though.

"Darling, couples should look in the eye when they make love to each other..." Icy fingers wrap around your chin and forcefully tilt your chin until he is the only thing in your view. His eyes glisten with pure adoration while yours are unreadable. Perhaps it was the opposite — fear or disdain.

You aren't sure. Shoto, however, convinces himself that you have the same affections. The euphoric state of pleasure he's in from being with you clouds his mind. Couples? You want to question him but his hold on your jaw is tight and unwavering. It locks your mouth in place until you can lightly mumble one word...

"Shoto..."

He shushes you and nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck as he fills you completely. A deep sensation of pressure along your walls brings you nothing but discomfort. Soon raising his hips, his cock glides out of your slick-covered core as he thrusts gently. Massaging your walls, as his tip rubs along a sensitive spot a small feeling of pleasure comes — lackluster compared to the girth of his cock. It was much bigger than most you've seen or encountered in your life; you haven't seen it, but you're sure it's one of the few things he's inherited from his father.

As you wince in pain, he says, "i'll try and go easy..." It's clear and audible but spoken behind gritted teeth and nearly slurred like he's holding his composure. You needed to be molded perfectly, fitting in his arms like a lost piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Just for him. Just for the first night, at least.

He starts at a gentle, slow pace. Each thrust brings a gradual and deeper feeling of bliss that diminishes your initial discomfort. The grunts and low moans he makes directly in your ear coaxes you into enjoying. For a moment, you forget about your lack of consent to this. You envelop him so perfectly that it's hard for Shoto to hold back as he begins to hasten and deepen his sloppy thrusts inside your pussy. His arms wrap around your body, bringing you closer to him until your chests are pressing directly on each other.

"Squeezin' me so fuckin' tight, princess..." A tone that sounds nothing like the Shoto you know. But then again, he seems so pussy-drunk, you aren't sure anymore.

As his pace becomes more frantic and desperate to release his own essence, you feel a familiar coil in your heart threaten to loosen. Your nails dig and claw at Shoto's back; you miss seeing his elated expression just out of the corner of your eye. You've finally marked him too and claimed him as yours, he thinks. His hips roll against your spot once more, making you moan and utter, "oh- fuck, sho- m' gonna..!"

"Let it out for me, don't hold back" His eyes never leave your face, waiting and watching patiently. "you wanna cum on my cock, don't you?" "jus' mine, only for me..." "you love my cock, you do...'

Nodding and responding with a muffled and pitched hum, "mm..!" You've succumbed to his wishes tonight.

"Say it, you love me..."

"I... I love you, Shoto." Staring up at you with full expectation, there wasn't any possible way for you to avoid him.

Pleased with your response, he returns with newfound vigor. Hungry lust for more is evident with his energetic thrusts; rutting deep and knocking the steel bedframe into the wall. Trailing his hand down to your clit, he massages the swollen bud until your walls flutter around and a warm gush of clear liquid covers his shaft. Panting into his skin, you suck him deeper into your entrance as Shoto savors the feeling and hopes for more.

He doesn't slow down, not even after you've calmed down from your high. Instead gripping your chin and forcing you to stare at him again. His eyes are now glowing differently than before as an eerie smile creeps across his lips. He's so happy to hear you say the words he's been waiting for since the start of the night. You were right before, this isn't the Shoto you know. The one you trained with, the one you spent your entire childhood with. The glimmer in his eyes soon turns dark and lovestruck as if you're the only being of importance.

"You... love me? You do... You do..." He chants more nonsensical words again but you're unable to pay attention with the overstimulation giving you too much pleasure after your high. "You do... Mine. My other half..." His speech nearly matches the rhythm of his thrusts, frantic and needy. Trying to speak does you no good; he can't hear you over his own voice, anyways.

Repeating his words in a sinister fashion as if he's doing some sort of ritual. His giddy voice sounds as if he's excited that you've reciprocated his love, finally. Shoto bites down on your neck until a metallic taste coats his tongue. Grunting loudly before his muscles seize up and his hot breath tickles your neck with his heavy panting. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he paints your walls white and spills his seed deep inside. He stays resting on top of your chest for a couple minutes to make sure nothing leaks out.

"You're always so good to me, (Y/N)... You've always loved me when no one else has." He says through his exhales. "I was a little rough," Finally, he sees the marks and bites scattered across your skin. "I'm sorry, I got desperate but I'm happy you can listen to me now."

As he pulls out, some cum leaks between your folds. He collects it with his finger and pushes it deep inside your heat. Shoto tries showing his finger covered in white essence to you, "look, this means we're united forever... no matter what happens, we'll always be together, won't we? you won't leave me... right?"

Your lack of response makes him brim with anxiety but when he looks at you, he sees how exhausted you are. Your head is tilted to the side as your eyes threaten to close. Soon, your breathing becomes steady and your hold on his body weakens. Shoto moves off of you until he lays to your side, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your neck as you drift off to sleep.

"I guess it's wearing off... you'll be asleep for a while." He whispers while clinging to your body. "I wanted to talk about the future, our future. But I'll have to wait until the morning..." The soft sounds of your snoring soon echo through the walls. "Good night, my love."

Chirping birds at the crack of dawn. Orange-purple hues paint the sky's blank canvas. Finally, it's morning. You would've seen each of these scenic treasures if you waked up earlier. Instead, as if you didn't have a care in the world, you slept in. Far past the times you usually wake up when dealing with college. Shifting peacefully under the bed's white duvet, your body easily nestled into the soft cushion. You didn't want to wake up, at least not right now. It wasn't until the morning sunshine bled through the curtains and brightened the entire room, you didn't have a choice now.

Your arms felt around the space next to you only to discover that there was nobody there. As you lift your heavy eyelids, you realize that Shoto was missing; only an imprint of his body remained in the sheets. Trying to move only brought severe pains throughout your body: your arms, legs, neck, head, and in between your thighs. You didn't forget the events of the previous night, how could you? Each mark on your body was a reminder of that.

Sitting up in the bed, you tried looking for your phone but it was nowhere to be found. Did you even bring it with you when you stayed in the room with Shoto? You hadn't used it the entire evening. It was left somewhere in your room, but you had not seen it when your mother brought Fuyumi into your room. Perhaps one of them knew its location. You planned on calling Bakugou to ask him about the other 'girls' Shoto said he was messing with but you soon decide to do it later.

A nearby digital clock atop the dresser presents the time; it is nearly eleven in the morning. It was quite unusual for you to sleep so long since you've been waking up early for college. A head-splitting migraine brings you out of your thoughts, compared to last night you finally feel normal again but with pains in your body. Next to the clock is a note and clothing. You walk to the dress and hold the piece of paper to read it closely:

'Please get dressed with these and meet us in the living room.' Written neatly in Shoto's handwriting.

Under the note is a pair of wide-legged pants and a crisply ironed blouse. You get dressed in the clothes provided, not thinking too much about why they are here. You're only grateful that you don't have to wear flimsy lingerie. Before you leave the room, you check yourself in the mirror. You try desperately to cover or conceal any of the bruises left on your body and tidy up your appearance.

When you finally exit, you see Natsuo leaving his room with his belongings, ready to depart. He looks up and sees you, smiling widely before approaching you in a friendly demeanor.

"Good morning, Natsuo." You say, finally acknowledging him. He responds with the same greeting before continuing.

"We missed you during breakfast." Ah, you were sleeping for that long. "Shoto said you were really tired last night when I asked him."

"Yeah... I guess." You try not to do anything awkward but soon your face heats up as your face makes a guilty expression. "So... How did you sleep last night?" He chuckles to himself and seems to turn red.

"I slept fine, but... You and Shoto... Made a little too much noise." As if your morning couldn't get any more embarrassing. Natsuo's eyes shift to exposed marks on your skin.

"I'm so, so sorry..! I didn't mean- We didn't mean to disturb you..!"

"It's fine, really. You two are newlyweds now and it was your first night together, right? You guys really couldn't wait, huh?" Wait... newlyweds? Maybe you misheard, or it was some old-fashioned way of saying you were dating Shoto. You didn't want to think that, but then again, friends don't do things like that and keep the same platonic feels. "It's getting late, everyone is leaving soon." He checks the time on his phone before lifting his things. "The family is waiting for you downstairs. I can walk you to them if you'd like."

You shyly nod, not wanting to seem rude. As you and Natsuo walk down the staircase, you can hear the chatter of people in the living room. You can recognize your mother's voice amongst the sound. Natsuo reveals that Fuyumi is waiting outside, but he thinks it's best if you meet Shoto first. When you reach the end of the stairs, you see your mother, Enji, and Shoto nearby in the living room.

"I have to get going, but I'll see you soon." He smiles brightly at you and waves before heading for the front door.

Turning your head, you see the three of them sitting on the couch. Various papers cover the large coffee table and Enji writes his signature on one of the papers. Shoto is given the pen from him and begins to sign on another free space, just under his father. Other signatures are written on the page. As you approach, your mother notices you and quickly stands. The two men seem alerted by her sudden movements and halt.

Shoto and his father watch as she pulls you out of the room and down the hall, away from everyone.

"Why is Enji here?" You ask your mother, hoping that she doesn't ignore your questions for once. Of course, you're wrong. But this time she reaches out to clasp your hands tightly. You try to move past her and walk back into the living room; something isn't right. She blocks your view.

"Look at me." When you do, you notice her glossy eyes and trembling hands. Her grip is tight but every few seconds it seems to loosen as her lips quiver in a frown. "I'm sorry, I wish I could've told you sooner... I wanted to but your father didn't think it would be a good idea."

"You... You spoke to him? When?" Your father always hated letting you see him in his ill state. He always avoided you, limiting himself to their bedroom and only leaving when you were away. Your mother takes a deep breath and continues.

"That's not important. From now on, you will be living with Shoto and his family..."

"I- I don't understand. Why am I staying with them? I can't... I want to stay with you and Dad." Then, as if the gears in your mind finally start working, you realize. "Is that the reason why you brought them over? You did all this work to the house just to impress them? And then make me live with them?"

You were partially correct. This wasn't to impress the patriarch or any of his older children. This was for the youngest, who demanded everything to be perfect for this day. He chose this design, it was based on the home he prepared for you two to live in. Perhaps Shoto thought it was kind to let you experience your new life for one night rather than to throw you in blind. Remove all of your sentimental value from this measly home until it was unrecognizable, the only thing to conquer next was your parents. The torture from knowing your home was now a reminder of your absence seemed painful enough.

"Yes, it is. Recently, it's been hard for us to manage his medical bills. Nobody here is working, it was getting harder each day and his condition has been worsening for the past few months." If it was money, you could've found a job somewhere. It wouldn't be much but it would have helped.

"But... What does that have to do with me moving?"

"Please, forgive me. Don't be angry, okay? This isn't punishment." She waits for your hesitant nod and speaks again. "Shoto must've heard about your father's illness from someone close. I'm not sure, I've never told anyone. He offered to convince Enji to help financially. They'll cover the hospital bills and transfer your father to a better doctor. Except, for an exchange, your hand in marriage."

The rest of your mother's words seem to fade out of your ears. No, you didn't want to believe it but it all seemed to make sense. She knew, every passing day you spent in this house. She knew, but she never said anything. Instead choosing to ignore you out of fear you would run. She knew last night and chose to keep her mouth shut. That was why she was a hollow shell during dinner last night and her face contorted in disgust and guilt whenever you were alone. You couldn't find any sympathy for her left; at the end of the day, she probably only saw a price tag attached to you.

"You feel betrayed, I know..." She could sense rage emitting off of your body with your silence. Of course, there was no need for this situation to happen. "But I didn't know what to do. I was lost and confused, I only agreed because I thought it was the best thing for our family. You can understand that, right? They aren't bad people, you get along with them well. It's for the best."

"No, I don't understand." You swiftly pull your hands out of your mother's grasp and take a few steps back from the woman. "You could've spoken to me before deciding, but you chose not to. You've already decided that I'm not a member of this family anymore."

You turn your back towards your mother and begin to walk towards the exit. She tries to frantically call your name but you continue.

"I can find the money and I know Dad still has more left from all of his hero work." Your chest tightens before erupting in severe pain, but you decide to ignore it. "I'm not leaving. I'm not signing any papers. I'm not marrying anyone. I'm going outside for some fresh air. When I get back, I need all of them out of our house."

A freezing, numb sensation travels from your feet up to your calves. Your movements are slow before stopping completely, frozen in place. When you look up, you see him. Speaking of the devil. Coming towards you with an agitated expression, nearly freezing your mother who tries to intervene. You try to melt through the ice using your fire but burn part of your clothes. It's too late, anyways.

When you finally free your legs, he stands right in front of you. Your mother flees to a space nearby, too intimidated to confront him.

"Whether you want to come is not up for debate. Your mother has signed on your behalf." He says harshly, an undeniable chill runs up your spine from his presence. "Our family has connections, you do know that. No one will question the validity of your signature. Don't be difficult."

"How do you expect me not to be when you've paid off my own mother?" You say before trying to leave again, nearly slipping on his ice. His hand wraps around your forearm, he uses all of his strength and almost breaks your bone.

"You said it yourself, this isn't your family anymore." Shoto has waited far too long, he won't give up now. "You still love your father, don't you? Of course, you do. Should your dying father suffer because of your selfishness? Or be saved? It's your decision, but this isn't about you."

You look at your mother who silently pleads for you to follow Shoto. Then your mind trails to Enji who is listening to the whole conversation with his eyes shut tight as he wonders how he raised such a brute of a son. His hold softens, allowing you some freedom but you don't move.

"Shoto, you can't force me..." You want to sound firm in your words but they are uttered weakly. "We can find another way, but not like this..."

"I'm not forcing you. As I said this is your decision but if you know what's best, you'll come with me." Shoto's hand is completely removed from your forearm and extends out in a welcoming manner.

You glance around your childhood home that has been uprooted and transformed from top to bottom. You can't recognize it anymore, but there's no need to. This will be the last day you step foot into this house.

Cautiously, your fingers intertwine with Shoto's hand. His lips slyly curl upwards at your foolish decision. In the distance, you hear your mother breathe a sigh of relief.

"That's it, like an obedient daughter..." He turns around and begins instructing your mother about organizing a ceremony in the upcoming weeks. She eagerly runs off to celebrate the news with your father and other family members.

It was sickening to watch her demeanor switch in the span of a few seconds.

"You know," Shoto speaks again, returning his full attention to you. "I was beginning to think you forgot about what you said to me last night." His thumb massages gently into the back of your hand. "About how you loved me... That wasn't a lie, or was it?"

Not knowing how to respond verbally, you shake your head. Shoto softly whispers, "good, good" and kisses your hand. Truthfully, you weren't being dishonest. It was in the heat of the moment and if you were asked now, you wouldn't know what to say.

"You did make a promise to me, to spend more time together. In the end, it worked out perfectly for us." Another tightening hold on your hand sends a shock of pain through your arm. Briefly looking into his eyes and seeing him spiral, it's not Shoto anymore. "Now, we'll spend an eternity together. Til' death do us part..."

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justporo · 8 months

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My new bestie, I honestly would love to see you write Father!Astarion 🤤🤤

How would he react to the news? Would he want a little girl or boy? How would he react when they are born, and they look just like him, but pre vamp eyes?

(Vampires can sire babies, with the highest chance after they are fully well fed)

Hello my tadpole bestie and thanks for the request! Astarion as a father really seems to be on people's minds, hm?

I get it, I like it too, but let me put this out there (yeah yeah, I know it's all fictional, but let's be real for a second): I would much rather imagine this when Astarion has done some much needed healing. This man hasn't had autonomy in two centuries and really needs to find himself again and work through trauma - with Tav on his side of course. And children are a huge responsibility - mentally, physically, emotionally, financially - I imagine (I wouldn't know, I'm not a parent...). I'd really wish for him to be ready for something like that.

But the thought is incredibly sweet, so let's go:

Headcanons about Astarion being a father

When Tav tells him she's expecting, he's truly speechless for perhaps the first time in his life; and then he can't sit still: swinging from delusionally happy to overthinking and being worried; but Tav takes his hand and reassures him that they'll be in it together

Has he thought about having kids? Yeah sure, but he'd never thought of it being possible until it happened, although when Cazador forced him and the other spawn to behave like a family he'd sometimes thought about what could've been

He's absolutely overprotective when Tav's pregnant: "Oh no, no, darling, you are not carrying that around, think of the baby!" "Astarion, it's A MUG OF WATER!"

Also he adores her body that is creating such a miracle: "You're glowing, my heart. You are truly a goddess!"

If he was handsy before there are now no moments where his hands aren't on Tav's body and on her belly

When he feels the first movements, he cries, and then Tav cries and then there's just a fountain of happy tears and lots of "I love you"s

He's taking such good care of Tav; especially when she doesn't feel well or when she's exhausted - she'll get all the herbal teas and massages

Birth though is scary - for both of them; but I'm sure he'll have some friends by his side (because think about the adventure troupe waiting with him while he's pacing the room like a panther: Karlach's biting her nails off, Gale's just blabbering to distract himself, Shadowheart is praying for everything to go well, Wyll tries to calm Astarion down (unsuccessfully), Lae'zel is unusually silent with crossed arms hoping everything will be okay, Halsin's keeping the group fed and all because "Nature will make it all right")

Boy or girl? Doesn't matter at all, all that's important is that Tav and the baby are healthy and ready to receive all his love

First time holding his child - he can't even cry because it's such a miracle; "This... this is the best thing I've ever had and created!"

The tears come later when you're alone - just the three of you

He's absolutely a very loving father, caring so much about his kid - and also equally taking on responsibilities and care with Tav

When the kid's eyes become their real colour and it sparks a memory Astarion had long forgotten, he's too stunned to acknowledge what he's seeing: the kid has his eyes - the way they were before he was turned

Later, when the child's already a little bigger he loves to show them stuff, teach them, read to them; also inciting them to go and annoy Mom - which makes Tav want to push him off a cliff but also hug him to death - because who'd have thought it would ever be possible?

Alright alright - I've gotten almost off the rails with this one. Because honestly, there's a lot to imagine there. Also maybe I wasn't prepared for the things that would make me feel (and I don't mean baby fever).

Alright, hope you enjoyed this headcanons, time for me to go to bed!

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #daddystarion #poro headcanons

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shewrites02 · 21 days

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Forgive Me if I break You | Zoro x Reader | Part II

Part I

Trigger warnings: Domestic assault, Alcohol, verbal abuse , physical abuse, graphic depictions of violence. THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT ! MINORS DNI !

*THERE IS A GRAPHIC DEPECTION OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE IN THE FIRST FLASHBACK, IF NOT COMFORTABLE PLEASE SKIP. (the last line is the most important anyway)*

A/N: Thank you for all the support I've gotten at the start of this series, I was so nervous no one would be interested lol. I hope this part lives up to your expectations.

Request: Open

Word count: 5K