#I don’t think my fragile little heart can survive this much sexiness I am so sorry

[oooohno]

ANDIE I AM OVER THE MOON!!!!! This is incredible!!!

𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike. All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother, steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, 18+; mdni! 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 5.7k | chapter 1 of 4

Then

It was a freezing day in spring the first time you set foot in the Todoroki house.

You had shared a class with Touya for years now, and in that time you’d become something of his best friend. You’d bonded early over a mutual hatred of fish and your status as the two best tree climbers on the playground—two integral friendship quality bars if ever you’d met them—and your entente had strengthened over the following months.

After enough time together Touya had even seemed to like you, seeking out your opinion, deploying you like a shield between himself and the other kids. He wanted to be paired with you for group projects constantly, as he seemed to disdain the ability of the other kids in your class.

He eventually acquiesced to two other friends—Rumi and Keigo—as Keigo was a really fast runner, and Rumi could kick a kid almost clear across a playground. But the two of you remained particularly close, and a few years in, Touya had seemed to want to check the final box of your friendship.

That was the day he’d haughtily informed you that you were coming home with him.

You’d phoned your mother from the school office to obtain permission, and then pulled your jacket on to follow Touya out into the cold, his skinny legs beating a quick path through the streets.

You’d half-expected that Touya lived in a box behind a shop, with the way he descended ravenously on his lunches (as well as yours, and Rumi’s, when he could occasionally get them—though notably not Keigo’s, something that had only retroactively made sense to you as an adult). But the house Touya steered you to was enormous—easily the biggest house you’d ever seen—a stately pile at the end of a fancy neighborhood.

You’d later learn this was because his father was the mayor, and the Todorokis were neck-deep in generational wealth. At the time you’d been mildly annoyed, because what had you let him eat part of your lunches for if he lived in a house like this?

“I’m home,” Touya had called into the echoey foyer, grand but strangely barren. He’d kicked off his coat and shoes, discarding them carelessly—perhaps purposefully—on the floor, then gestured for you to follow him into the kitchen as a warm voice called out to him. “Welcome home, Touya.”

“I brought Y/N,” he announced grandly as he prowled into the room. To you he said, “This is my mother, Rei.”

The voice you’d heard resolved itself into a woman, tall, with beautiful long white hair and a small, but unmistakably fond smile on her mouth. You startled, immediately floored by her beauty. She looked just like Touya, the same delicate prettiness to her mouth, the shape of her eyes—but even lovelier. She looked simultaneously like she belonged on the cover of a magazine, and would be embarrassed by one saying so.

She also smelled like an omega—sweet, but a little wilder than you were used to. Like spring flowers blooming on a cold day.

“Hello Y/N,” she said warmly, turning to you. You gave a shy wave back, suddenly nervous in front of her.

As she turned you finally noticed the child on her hip—a small, round, pudgy little thing with half red and half white hair, and two mismatched grey and blue eyes that pinned on you immediately. It was wearing a horrendous polkadot onesie, and you felt your eyebrows raise without your permission.

“That’s Shouto,” Touya informed you, and the pieces slotted together in your brain. Ah, so that was the face to the name.

Shouto was the little brother Touya complained about incessantly—the one that was his father’s favorite, the one that stared too much and wanted to play with all of Touya’s toys even though he was too little for them, the one Touya was saddled with babysitting constantly. He’d made Shouto out to be this sort of tiny harbinger of evil—but Shouto did not look very evil, perched there on his mother’s hip.

He blinked at you, a flutter of surprisingly long eyelashes, for a baby. You had the thought that actually he was kind of cute. Most probably not a harbinger of evil, and actually very sweet-looking, if weirdly round.

“I need to be excused from Shouto duty,” Touya said, the question posed more like a statement.

Rei shook her head, a somber little smile playing about her mouth. “I have to make dinner before Fuyumi and Natsuo get back from their playdates and your father gets home. Why don’t you take Shouto to play with you and Y/N?”

Touya rolled his eyes in the long-suffering manner of a man who’d endured it all. Shouto didn’t seem to notice, however, his mismatched gaze barely detaching from your face. You noticed Shouto’s left eye was the exact vivid blue of Touya’s, and his other eye the same silver as his mother’s.

“He’s staring like a weirdo,” Touya complained, but collected Shouto from Rei anyway. Shouto let himself be passed over as placidly as a bag of potatoes, still watching you.

“Y/N is a new face for him, he’s just curious, Touya,” Rei said, smoothing Shouto’s hair down as Touya hefted him in his arms. Shouto reached out a hand towards you, fat fingers flexing.

“What, you think I’m some taxi service who’s gonna bring you wherever you want to go?” Touya demanded. Shouto ignored him, his little chubby arm wavering.

Strangely, something compelled you to step closer, reaching out a hand in return. Shouto seized it in his pudgy little fist, staring up at you with solemn eyes. His other hand reached out to you, too, twisting in Touya’s grip, and Touya let out an annoyed scoff.

“Y/N didn’t come here to hang out with you,” he said. But Shouto ignored him, his little hand fisting in your tee shirt. He seemed to be trying to lever himself up out of Touya’s arms and into yours.

You were startled, never having held a baby before, and Shouto was kind of a big one. But Touya showed you how to hold him under his butt and across his back, and you heard the rustle of his diaper as he was handed off to you.

“Hi Shouto,” you said, watching him watch you.

His eyebrows raised, some small happiness lighting up his expression, and he gave a little kick that wiggled his whole body in your arms.

“He likes you,” Rei said over the counter top, as she settled a cutting board and a pile of vegetables across it.

You looked back at Shouto, feeling weirdly pleased. Maybe babies weren’t that bad.

Touya made an annoyed sort of grunt, stomping past you. “We’re going to play in the living room,” he announced imperiously. You glanced at Rei to make sure that was okay, then followed Touya, Shouto heavy in your arms.

By the time you arrived, Shouto had settled a hand on either of your cheeks and seemed to be trying to stare directly into your soul, and Touya patted him firmly on the back, clucking. “Stop being such a little freak.”

“He’s fine,” you said, bemused. No one had told you really little kids were this intense and weird. But Shouto’s little round face was kind of sweet, and it was hard to be annoyed at a baby staring up at you, that clearly enamored.

“Actually he’s being way nicer to me than you,” you told Touya.

Touya rolled his eyes and busied himself pulling out a horde of action figures, legos, puzzles, and games, as well as a turtle with multi-colored blocks set into it that appeared to be for Shouto.

“Oi, it’s turtle time, weirdo,” he told Shouto.

That seemed to break the baby’s singular focus on you, and he peered around, lighting up nearly the same way when he saw his blocks as he had when he’d seen you. You laughed, and helped him settle on the floor next to you, watching his clumsy, chubby grip fumble on the blocks as he carefully removed them one-by-one from the plastic turtle.

Touya set up the legos around you, an older parallel of his brother, though you thought he would kill you for saying so.

A block appeared in your lap, carefully and deliberately placed by a fat-fingered hand. You smiled down at Shouto, picking it up and gesturing grandly. “For me?”

A grey-and-blue gaze attached itself solemnly to your face, as if awaiting your judgment, and an instant fondness swept over you. Who knew babies could be this cute—when they weren’t screaming and crying and generally being small and annoying near you. Touya had massively undersold his little brother, who was the sweetest baby you’d ever encountered.

You bowed your head, clutching your gifted block close to you. “Thank you, Shouto. It’s very nice.”

Shouto stared up at you, smiling a shy little almost-smile, clearly pleased. You couldn’t help but reach up and ruffle that distinct tuft of hair, taken with him already. Yep, definitely a good little kid.

And you decided then and there that you liked Todoroki Shouto—though for now he was a child—you both were children—and he could only mean so much to you.

You wouldn’t realize how much he’d actually come to mean to you, until many, many years later.

Now

Touya’s white mess of hair was the first thing you spotted as you stumbled into the restaurant.

Outside it was unseasonably cold, an icy wind tearing through you as you’d rushed all the way from your mother’s house. The inside of the restaurant was blessedly warm, and slightly smoky from the meat and vegetables grilling away on each table top. Touya was on the far side, and you could see Rumi’s white hair beyond him, Keigo’s blonde riot of waves peeking over the top of the booth next to him.

Rumi faced the door so she spotted you first, a mouth-splitting grin overtaking her face as she waved you down.

You hurried your way over, letting out a surprised hrrk! when Rumi drew you down into a rib-crushing hug, her alpha strength barely contained. You fell into the seat at an awkward angle, your joints screaming.

“Well look what the cat dragged in! You don’t look a bit changed, you little beta cuck,” she crowed, making you choke on a laugh as you almost inhaled a mouthful of her hair.

“Rumi—!” you sputtered, half-pleased and half-scandalized that she clearly hadn’t changed in the years since you’d seen her last. She crushed you to her harder, and you could feel your eyeballs all but bulging like a rubber doll.

“If you plan to crush her to death you could at least wait until I clear the scene,” came Touya’s disaffected drawl from the other side of the table. “The last thing I need is police on my case again.”

That was so typical of him, too, after all this time.

“Good to see you too, Touya,” you said, even though you couldn’t get a look at him through Rumi’s hair. She ground her knuckles into the top of your head for good measure before releasing you, and you came up for air gratefully, watching the two men on the other side of the table grin at you.

Keigo looked exactly as you’d left him, a little bit more filled out than the skinny teen he’d been, the same wiry facial scruff growing in, those golden eyes alight with typical playfulness. Touya looked like he’d aged the most, his scars—fresher when you’d graduated—now deepened to the color of dark bruises. His features were still achingly familiar under them, however, the fine-boned prettiness of his mother shining through, his father’s blazing cerulean eyes the only nod to the other half of his parentage.

“So you really obeyed mommy dearest huh,” Touya said, pinning you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him. As your closest childhood friend, he still knew all your weak spots, your mother the biggest of them. Growing up she’d been lonely and overworked, and you’d tried to care for her and please her the best you could. You still called her several times a week and sent back your wages to help pay for the house, and pay down the pile of debt your father had left her in when he’d died.

The concession of returning home for a few days to attend the annual mating run, as pointless as it was going to be, was the least you could do for her.

“You know as well as I do that no one is going to run down a beta,” you said, settling yourself in next to Rumi and shedding your coat and hat. “Especially not now that I’m well past newly-presented. It’ll be like a vacation.”

“You never know,” Keigo said, raising his fluffy eyebrows at you, his grin wicked. You flung the pile of your things across the table at him, but he intercepted easily, all alpha reflex. He stuffed your jacket down next to him, laughing at you.

“I do know,” you said emphatically. “And I’m not fussed about it. I don’t know who she thinks is going to pay her bills if I’m off getting dicked down by some knothead idiot.”

Touya made a dismissive noise and you looked around the table for something to fling at him too. He’d never had to worry about money, his future shored up with the Todoroki family fortune, built over generations and then basically quadrupled by his father. Since coming out of the correctional facility for a string of petty crimes, Touya had been skating by on family generosity, and you knew he wasn’t about to stop.

“Just burn her house down like mine,” he said, an unholy grin overtaking his face as he leaned forward. There was a light behind his eyes like he wasn’t entirely kidding. No one had ever been able to determine if the Todoroki family fire had been an accident or not, although Touya claimed it had been.

But you’d known Touya your whole life and you had your suspicions. Touya had hated his father for nearly all of your living memory—and the Todoroki men had an almost disturbing single-mindedness about them. You had long wondered if Touya’s fixation on his break with Enji had ever played into the fire that ravaged their house during your middle school years.

The one exception to the Todoroki single-mindedness was sweet little Shouto, who you’d last seen at your high school graduation. He was several years younger than you and had still been round-faced and chubby-cheeked then, all wide solemn eyes and pouty little mouth, just like when he was a baby.

You hadn’t seen him since, but couldn’t imagine Shouto turning out anything like Touya.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” you said to Touya, not liking how his grin widened.

Purportedly he’d come out of the correctional facility for good behavior, his record squeaky clean.

Purportedly.

“So why even agree to the run?” Rumi asked. “If you’re not looking to actually take anyone home?”

You helped yourself to the water that had been laid out before answering. “It’s just easier to appease my mother. She gets what she wants—some indication I’m open to my life mate-–and I get what I want, which is to be able to use this as an excuse next year.”

“Aww you won’t come back to see little old us?” Keigo asked. His tone was wheedling but his eyes tracked your expression carefully, always observing.

You smiled at him. You did miss your old friends, and you liked how easy it felt to sink right back into them after so many years away. You wanted to see them outside of the confines of a group chat or the rare facetime.

And you missed a lot about the town you’d grown up in. You liked the tiny storefronts of the downtown shops and the easy access to the coast and miles of hiking trails. You’d had a dream of opening up a little bookstore in one of the lovely brick buildings downtown when you were younger—but that was back before the staggering number of dollar signs on your mother’s bills had made themselves known to you and the romance of your daydream had begun to seem more like foolishness.

The bigger cities offered the bigger jobs, the bigger wages to send home. Even if it meant you could only see your friends every few years and mostly kept in touch via group chat.

“How about you guys come to me?” you asked. “There’s a chicken place I think Keigo will want to make the trip for.”

Keigo’s grin widened and he leaned in, interested. “Say no more,” he drawled.

On the table top, Touya’s phone vibrated. He peered at it, dismissing the notification with a swipe. “Rei wants to see you,” he reported, the usual blend of disrespect and unwilling fondness for his own mother layered in his voice. “She says you should come by the house.”

You smiled, pleased to be remembered. “I’d love that. Who’s living there now?”

Touya stretched, his back brushing the booth. “I do. And she does. Enji visits sometimes—” his tone was pointedly colorless “—and Fuyumi and Natsuo come by a couple times a week. Shouto is there almost daily for dinner when he’s not on shift, because his own cooking is absolute shit.”

You blinked, struggling to reconcile the idea of sweet-faced little Shouto with an adult who lived on his own now. “On shift?” you asked.

“He’s a fireman,” Touya rolled his eyes. “Little fucking do gooder. Ever since the house fire he’s wanted to.”

Your eyelashes fluttered again, your brain floating with the images of skinny, round-faced Shouto struggling to haul people out of a burning building. You struggled not to voice this disbelief.

“Wow, good for him,” you said.

“Not for me,” Touya complained. “Ever since he’s presented he’s been eating us out of house and home. Can’t find a fucking thing in the cabinets after he’s been through—”

And that shocked you, too, the idea that Shouto was already grown enough to have presented.

Objectively you knew he had to be into his early twenties at this point, but hearing the changes life had wrought on him was almost too much to contemplate. You wondered what he had presented as, and whether he’d be subject to the run this week as well. You’d always sort of suspected he’d be an omega, with that wide-eyed, beautiful face—almost a carbon copy of his mother’s, the same delicate prettiness in it as Touya.

And he’d been so sweet, too. When you’d been much, much younger—before Touya had become too cool and too emo for it—you remembered playing house together, remembered how often you’d dragged Shouto in to play the part of your son. He’d always sat there, a chubby-faced toddler, smashing blocks together and staring up at you with big eyes as you and Touya made plastic food and Touya unrolled a days-old newspaper collected from his father, bossing you around from his armchair.

Even when Shouto had gotten older and started to get as fresh with Touya as Touya was with him, he’d always been nice to you, always watched you with those same wide, mismatched eyes.

Yeah. He was most probably an omega.

“Well I’d love to see Rei, and Natsuo and Fuyumi and Shouto,” you said.

Touya stretched in the booth, not minding Keigo and thumping him right across the chest. Keigo squawked in annoyance.

“I’ll tell Rei you’re coming for dinner,” Touya said.

You smiled, pleased. You knew what a huge deal it was for both Touya and Rei to be in the same house again—both in recovery, both sharing the same space again.

When you’d left, Rei had been hospitalized and Touya had already been knee deep in petty crimes and utterly disinterested in any sort of overtures of help. For them to both be together again, getting regular help, with Enji out of the house and a rotating string of their family members checking in on them—you were happy to see them healing.

The buoyant feeling lasted all the way through lunch and too many drinks, until Touya shepherded you out of the restaurant, blazing a familiar path towards his family home. You followed, gratified when you saw that the Todoroki house was just as you remembered it, even the rebuilt pieces nostalgic.

Its grandness had been a shock to you as a child—not only in comparison to the tiny, squashed little two bed you’d grown up in—but that Touya had grown up there, in so vast and elegant a space. Touya who you dug in the dirt with. Touya who picked bugs out of the mud and put them on you. Touya who turned his nose up at dolls and ate things right out of your lunch box without asking, like he was a starving child without any access to food.

The house said otherwise.

Touya treated the Todoroki mansion with the same pointed lack of care he had as a teenager, kicking in the door as he led you inside, throwing his things in a pile in the entry. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fondly nostalgic over his shithead behavior.

“You missed a spot—I think there’s a bare patch of floor over there,” you said.

Touya gave you a narrow-eyed gaze over his shoulder as he uttered a string of objects you might suck.

You raised your eyebrows at him, smiling and unbothered. He’d always said it was your beta nature that left you unfussed with his various attitudes, taking everything in stride. You didn’t know if that was true—you’d always sort of suspected it was the strange, inherent connection you felt to him, and to the Todoroki family at large that kept you fond of him, even as he descended into teenage fury.

You didn’t know what it was, as you’d not ever felt it with your other friends’ families who you’d spent nearly as much time with. But if it netted you a lifelong friend, you weren’t about to question it.

Rei was in the kitchen like she had been that first day Touya brought you home, an enormous expanse of marble counter and vaulted ceiling that made her look unfathomably small. Her snow white hair had been cropped short into a page boy cut and made her look younger than her years, especially when she glanced up at you with the very same smile she had when you were a child.

“Welcome back, Y/N,” she said. You bowed respectfully, Touya scoffing and grabbing the back of the collar to haul you up.

“She’s not the fucking prime minister,” he grunted.

“And you’re not the boss of me,” you sniped, the drinks you’d both shared at lunch making you a little looser tongued in front of Rei than you’d have liked.

“Shouto will be by in just a few minutes as well, and he’ll be so happy to see you,” Rei said, smiling gently.

“Shouto lives on his own?” you asked, curious. Aside from picturing him as the skinny preteen you’d last seen him as, you also had trouble imagining kind, sweet little Shouto leaving his mother on her own—and with Touya definitely counted as on her own, for all the help he was. Shouto seemed devoted, familial.

“He’s wanted his own space since he presented,” Rei said lightly, clearly unbothered.

It was rare for omegas to peel off from their family units before finding a mate, and the strangeness of striking out on his own struck you even further. Maybe he wanted a nest to bring someone back to, after finding the right person?

You wondered if he was going to be participating in this year’s mating run, and made a mental note to try and find out if he wanted help avoiding any undesirable alphas. If he was an omega, your beta scent would help disguise some of his tracks, you’d just have to follow in his footsteps far enough away from the main track that a ranging alpha wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon it.

That thought was cut short, however, by the sound of the door creaking open in the foyer you’d just come in from. There was the sound of rustling fabric, like someone shedding their coat, and then footsteps padded through the hall. A hint of a scent met your nose, slightly sweet and smoky, with an undercurrent of something fresh—like a campfire burning on a cold, clear day. Your brow furrowed, the frostiness an almost-familiar dimension, like Rei's cold widlflower scent. Who was—?

Then a tall, unfamiliar alpha poked his head through the door, fluffy red and white strands of hair tangling across his forehead. He was an arresting sight—easily the most beautiful person you had ever seen, every single one of his features so perfectly and evenly placed, like he'd been put together deliberately. He looked startlingly like Rei, if Rei were a man, except for the fiery blue of his left eye, the shock of scarlet hair above it.

You stared at this new interloper, confused, until you were seized with a sudden memory of that scar, that same mop of hair bent over a turtle-shaped block puzzle.

No. No fucking way.

Rei smiled, opening her arms, and you gaped after him as Todoroki Shouto prowled across the kitchen to her, enveloping her in a hug. Where Touya was taller than his mother, his baby brother almost dwarfed her, easily clearing six feet, his shoulders broad and his frame packed with dense muscle. He'd always had the same elegant, sweetly beautiful set to his features that his mother and Touya did, but there was something sharper about them now, a slightly more alpha edge to him.

An enormous bicep shifted against the sleeve of his t-shirt as Shouto held Rei, and suddenly it was very clear how Shouto had managed to become a firefighter.

Something pinched your arm, hard, and you whipped around to stare at Touya accusingly. “Ouch!”

He smirked. “Don’t fucking stare like he does.”

You scowled at him, and opened your mouth to say something unsavory, until two mismatched eyes turned on you, pinning you in place.

“Y/N,” Shouto said. His voice was deep as midnight—so much lower than you had remembered—careful and smooth. The sound of it slithered up your spine like a shiver.

“Shouto?” you answered, stepping closer. “You’re Shouto? Are you sure?”

Shouto released his mother, only the tiniest corner of his mouth twitching. And that was confirmation enough. Shouto had always been a little serious, watching you carefully and intently. He was most like his mother that way—withdrawn, a little bit solemn.

“As far as I am aware,” he said. His tone was flat but you heard the tease in it, regardless. And that was so like him too, couching his inner little shit under the most serious tone, under those earnest heterochromatic eyes.

“Wish he wasn’t,” Touya muttered.

“Oh my god, Shouto. You’ve grown up so much,” you said, a strange thrill zinging up your spine as he stepped closer. That scent like campfire on a cold day washed over you, making you a little dizzy.

Shouto’s eyes got a little bit round at the edges, and something pulled at the corner of his mouth again, an expression you didn’t recognize. His tone was soft as he observed, “You are exactly the same as I remember.”

You could tell he meant it kindly, so you chose not to be offended with his obvious tact. You were well aware you were not a fresh-faced high school graduate anymore.

“I’m definitely older than you remember,” you said, resisting the urge to poke him in the chest. Your hand felt magnetized toward it for some reason. “Don’t be surprised if you hear my bones creaking all the way from the preserve during the run.”

Something sudden and strange passed over Shouto’s face, those mismatched eyes narrowing in on you.

“You’re running,” he said, his tone suddenly flat. “This year.”

“Yeah I’m back in town for it,” you said, ignoring Touya’s scoff at your side. “Gotta appease my mother. She doesn’t get that betas aren’t the target crowd for this, nevermind ancient ones. That, and I plan to disappear up a tree if someone so much as sniffs in my direction.”

“Up a tree,” Shouto repeated, sounding contemplative.

You wondered if he was internalizing how weird you were. He probably wouldn’t have remembered you being weird, considering how younger kids never thought to question their older peers. Maybe he’d even thought you cool when you were growing up together—you’d quickly disabuse him of that notion.

You nodded. “I’ve only been followed by alphas twice and both times I lost them up that big willow overlooking the bay, if you take the seaside path out two miles?”

Shouto’s eyes tracked you closely, like he was committing every word to memory. “I know it.”

You smiled. “The sea breeze is just enough to hide a beta’s scent, once you’re out of sight up there. I hope the city life hasn’t gotten me too out of shape to get up the trunk. Though to be frank I’m not too worried about it this year. Are you running?”

“Yes,” Shouto said, so quickly that it looked like he’d startled himself.

Touya’s head whipped around to stare at him, and Rei’s eyelashes fluttered momentarily, a weird stillness overcoming her—until a sort of look of understanding came over her features. You thought you caught a hint of a smile as she ducked her head to return to her dinner preparations.

“Thought you said you weren’t interested,” Touya said, his tone accusing. “You’ve never run before.”

Shouto looked deeply unfussed by his older brother’s sudden consternation. “Perhaps I have changed my mind.”

“The hell you did,” Touya said snottily. “You said you knew you wouldn’t find your life mate there.”

“Perhaps that has changed too,” Shouto said, his tone so dry that you could tell he was purposefully needling Touya. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Brothers.

Touya’s scoff overlaid the thump of Rei’s knife as she returned to chopping, and you realized how rude it looked for the three of you to be standing there arguing while she was working.

You hurriedly stepped around Touya and Shouto, peering over Rei’s shoulder. For some reason you were hyperaware of Shouto as you passed him, a thought you shoved right back out of your mind as you approached Rei. “Is there anything I can help with? I feel like I have years of free dinners to pay you back for.”

“I am almost done, but thank you, Y/N,” Rei said, as Touya said something in a haughty tone of voice, and Shouto’s low baritone answered. Rei’s mouth quirked softly at this—and you realized it was the same way Shouto smiled, small and private.

“—Not bringing home some weird fucking omega,” Touya was saying when you turned back to the boys. You startled when you realized Shouto had shifted to face you instead of his brother, and his body language looked like he was mostly ignoring him.

You channeled your sudden laugh into a fake cough. Touya eyed you sourly, long used to your tricks.

“Well if you want any help on the run, let me know,” you told Shouto, cutting into their argument with the practice of a beta used to diffusing things, especially between Touya and others. Shouto’s mouth twitched again like he knew what you were doing, and you watched his eyes pick over you speculatively.

You marveled at how far back you had to tilt your head if you wanted to look him directly in the eye now. He was so big, and so unexpectedly handsome—he really had grown up well. Some omega was going to be very, very pleased at the end of this week, provided he really did go after someone.

“If it’s your first you probably won’t know all the best hiding spots,” you told him.

Not that they were really hiding spots, considering most omegas wanted to be found. And there was no one on this earth who wouldn’t want to be found by an alpha who looked like Shouto did now. But he’d probably want to make sure he got to his intended first, before any other alpha found them.

Shouto nodded, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I will take you up on that,” his tone was low, intimate.

You smiled up at him, though something weird twinged in your chest. “Lunch sometime this week then? I’ll walk you through everything.”

Touya made a noise of disgust, and you shushed him. Shouto’s smile pulled into a quarter-moon sliver, sweet and beautiful. “I would like that.”

A strange little thrill zinged down your spine. You very pointedly did not think about it, instead shooting Shouto a thumbs up. And then, seized by a sudden need to get away, you marched forward to grab Touya by his collar, dragging him out into the dining room.

“Do you have to make your mother do everything? Let’s set the table,” you ordered him, shoving him at the cabinets. Touya swore at you, trying to twist his lanky body out of your hands, spitting like a wet cat.

But your mind was already elsewhere, occupied by this strange new turn of events. It really had been a long time away from your hometown, and much more had changed than you realized. You’d missed seeing Touya start to recover his life, you’d missed Rei returning to herself, you’d missed Shouto growing up into a man—and an alpha. You were suddenly overcome by the feeling that you did not want to miss any more, did not want to leave again—though of course that was foolishness.

The run was less than a week away, and you had train tickets back into the city just after.

And you had your mom to provide for, much as she wanted you to settle down with the first rando who got handsy with you in the woods. An alpha would have to bring more than an interest in you to your coupling in order to win you—and that was not going to happen, especially not to a beta, and especially not to you.

You laid the dishes out, resolving yourself. You’d enjoy this week, but never lose sight of the fact that you’d still have to leave at the end of it.

After all, it wasn’t like some miraculous twist of fate was lurking just around the corner of the Todoroki kitchen, ready to change your life.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 9

<- Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 ->

@sexy-opium-ravioli​ asked me to write a comfort Frankenstein fic so instead I did this [stares at the camera] 

cw: suicidal ideation 

Heavy raindrops pound on the wood-shingle roof, each impact combining into a chorus that roars in your ears in the pitch-black darkness. It’s like you’re being swallowed by a great beast. The entire building creaks, straining against the wind, making your heart race with the fear that it might all come crashing down on top of you as you lay clutching the covers in bed.

A deafening crack and blinding surge of light is followed shortly by a second, earthier crack and a dull thud on grass. Lightning hit one of the trees in the pasture.

In the middle of this raging tempest through which no living being could survive, there comes a scratch at your shutter. The curtains flutter as wind suddenly swirls inside, and the roar of rain grows louder. Something is coming into your bedroom.

Another flash of lightning reveals the silhouette of a massive figure, drenched and dripping, standing in front of the window. The blast of thunder that shortly follows makes the enormous figure jump, and rush, trembling like a kitten, to your bedside.

You take his deformed and scarred hand in yours, and squeeze it.

“I do not like thunder,” his grave voice whispers through gasping, timid breaths. Your beautiful, sweet creature. You never want anything to hurt him. An aching sadness washes over you anew, quivering your lower lip.

He notices you are shaking, frantic, frazzled, and puffy-eyed. He doesn’t look much better.

“When you did not come, I feared for you.” He licks his lips nervously. “I ascertained that you were within the house, but were under guard, and I could not reach you. Please tell me you are unharmed—if anything has happened to you, I shall not forgive my cowardice.”

Without warning, a sob chokes you, and hot tears roll down your face. The monster, filling up half your small cottage bedroom, doffs his wet cloak and pulls your crying form against his warm, broad chest like an extension of the furniture and holds you, rubbing your back and cooing soft words of comfort. You hide your face against him, trying to disappear as muffled sobs wrack your shoulders.

“What is wrong?” he asks with a voice so fragile from your silence that the answer might break him.

“Just let me hold you for awhile. Please.”

You feel him shudder against you, and surround you in his warm arms like a cocoon. It’s a long time before you can collect yourself enough to tell him what happened.

*****

“Like hell we are!” you snapped impulsively as soon as Ferdinand announced your “engagement.” Your fists clenched into tight balls of righteous fury. He was delusional. You were leaving.

Then your father stared at you—that dark, severe stare that threatened violence if you did not behave. “Mind your tongue, child!” he snapped, and your tongue stopped moving, and all of the smart words that had been on the tip of it just disappeared. It was so strange. You had been frightened to run, terrified, but you were ready. Just like that, all the oxygen seemed to drain from the room as Ferdinand, your father, and your mother surrounded you, reminding you of your place in the world and how helpless you were in it.

Your fiery ember dropped into a bucket of water.

You sat in the living room, trapped like a rabbit in a snare, crawling inside your own skin as reality washed over you. They laid out the situation. There were rumors around town—serious ones—that you’ve been consorting with the devil. Half the village thought you were a witch. It wouldn’t be long before something terrible came of it, but Ferdinand had graciously offered to make you his wife, and in doing so, put the rumors to bed. So you would marry him. He was well-liked among the superstitious factions, and could get them to leave you alone if he made you an honest woman. (You growled at the implications of that particular phrase.)

Ferdinand sneered with self-satisfaction, his voice dripping with honey as he said how much he worried for you.

They were pressing you into the marriage and would hear no arguments, no back-talk. They suspected you might run, and wouldn’t let you out of their sight—your mother, your father, and Ferdinand.

You were prey. There was nothing you could do to fight.

The sky grew ever darker and more ominous with each passing minute you spent ensnared, until you knew you had missed the rendezvous time. Your heart twisted—if your daemon were wise, he had left already without you. Thinking of the alternative—that he had stayed, and would be discovered—your chest twisted even tighter. Marrying Ferdinand was a get-out-of-jail-free card for you, but the creature’s life was in irrevocable mortal jeopardy.

“You can’t force me to marry him!” you whimpered to your mother, praying for a sympathetic ear when you were left alone with her for a moment. She was horrible, but she was a woman. She must understand, at least a little, what they were doing to you.

She patted you softly on the shoulder, but her eyes stayed hard. “Your grandmother remembered when they burned a witch right in the center of town. Believe me, this gossip is not something to take lightly. Making you a proper wife is the only way to make people see that you are a normal girl. If you do not, then you shall no longer be our daughter, and we cannot protect you from whatever shall happen next.”

You tried to speak, but your tongue was dry. You kept trying to swallow the dryness away, but it stuck in your throat. You wanted to rage, to scream against them, to be on fire, but your blood had all turned to ice.

This was happening, and there was nothing you could do but accept it.

*****

The creature strokes your cheek gently, his sympathetic and sorrowful yellow eyes glistening in the erratic flashes of light from the storm. “I am sorry I could not protect you. I am here now; let us depart under the cloak of night.”

Your head shakes in tense arcs before you decide to make them, your throat closing up. “You don’t understand—I can’t.”

The dark shadow shaped like his body becomes a tense, rigid statue. “What do you mean?” he says, cautiously.

“I can’t!” you repeat, as if he’s the one not making sense and your feelings should need no explanation, but you explain anyway, the words gushing out like a flooded river. “Maybe I wanted to, I thought I could, but it isn’t realistic. Look at the storm outside! I can’t run away in the middle of this—it frightens even you, doesn’t it? You couldn’t protect me should a thunderbolt strike me on the head! What will we do during weather such as this without any shelter? With my family monitoring me like a prisoner, I could not even finish packing—I haven’t the food and water to survive a week away from home! Where could we go, anyway? You cannot guarantee Victor Frankenstein will take us in! He may just as likely kill us! They think me a witch here, where everyone has known me since I was a baby. I will be a witch in the next town. We will be pariahs wherever we go.”

You wished he would yell, that he would argue, or be consumed in a fit of emotion—that would be better somehow—instead, he listens to your fearful list of excuses silently, with no reaction but his shoulders slowly falling and a soft, pained growl deep in his throat.

“D-don’t you see?” you explain frantically as if he had been arguing back. “We don’t need to run. They never spoke of you as more than rumor—those hunters, and Bess, they must not have been believed as any more than superstition. Every town has its ghost stories. There is no bloodthirsty mob, so long as I marry him. We can stay here and keep you hidden. We’ll be safe.”

“Safe?” he growls, but only softly and without malice. He can no longer bear to listen quietly. “You wish to marry him?” You hoped he would be angry, but his voice is a wavering medley of betrayal and confusion, and the pang it leaves in your heart is almost too much to bear.

“Of course not, but I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. Run away with me tonight.” An angry bolt of lightning splintered another tree out in the pasture, making you both jump, and providing the counterpoint to his argument for you. “Tell me you want to marry him,” he reaches out with a large hand that could cover your entire head, and delicately strokes your cheek. His eyes glisten with longing. “Tell me you want this and I will go. I shall live the rest of my life a miserable wretch, but I shall bear it, knowing you are happy.”

“Y-you once told me you wouldn’t care if I was with other men, so long as I came back to you. Maybe we could…”

That finally gets a rise out of him. “We could what?” he snaps, cutting you off. “You desire to marry another, and keep me hidden away in a barn—a filthy secret for you to visit at your leisure—to make love to when you are not sharing a bed with your husband? Is that… what you want?” The energy and indignation he had begun with fades away to a lame sort of helplessness by the end.

You know how pathetic you sound. How weak. It was the last thing you expected of yourself, too. You had always walked to your own beat, never fit in, and never cared what anyone thought of you—at least not enough to change for their benefit. You always dreamed of running away one day.

But you hadn’t.

No matter how much you had dreamed it—and even one exhilarating day had packed a bag and chased an eight-foot monster into the forest, convinced that you might run away with him—you never actually did. So many years waiting in misery, and all of that time you could have run.

But you wouldn’t. The moment the fantasy began to crystallize into reality, you froze with terror. You never would.

You only wish you had realized this before hurting him. Your precious daemon stares back at you expectantly, fiercely blinking his watery yellow eyes to fight off tears he won’t let fall in front of you. He’s waiting for you to assure him that this is a mistake—that he’s more to you than a sexual pet—and your heart twists with shame.

“Here is bad, but here is safe. It’s that kind of bad that’s all I’ve ever known. That sharp, snow-covered peak you can see from the barn has stood there, unchanging since I was born. It was there watching over our valley before my parents were born. The alpine winds have shaped it for thousands of years, since before the great pyramids of Egypt. Maybe I am like that mountain. Maybe I can never change, no matter how much I want to.”

It’s not the answer he hoped for. His jaw clenches. He had come here thinking you were running away together at last, and finally, finally, the weight of what is happening sinks in. You watch as the hope goes out of his eyes. Lightning flashes behind him, a little more distantly now. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“Please don’t look away,” you sob, begging. Something inside you is breaking with him.

Footsteps creak on the stairs and the faint orange glow of a candle filters under the door. “Are you talking to someone in there?” demands your mother’s shrill voice just as the door to your bedroom swings open. Your mother gasps in horror.

“You’ve left the window open, you fool child!” She clucks disapprovingly and rushes to shut it, closing the drenched curtains over it once it is latched tight. The shadow of the creature is gone. “What were you thinking? Of running away?” she snaps.

Yes, you want to scream. You hate her. Pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, and you wish you had disappeared into the night, too, for a vengeful bolt of lightning to release you from your misery.

Then she does something that surprises you. She sighs, and sits at the edge of your bed, her weight making a sinkhole on the straw-filled mattress. “My baby girl, you’re crying. They say it isn’t right for a bride to cry on her wedding night, but we know better.” She smiles sadly and wipes a tear from your cheek. “I wanted to run away, too,” she says quietly. Her gaze drifts over the window thoughtfully, like she was imagining a different life. In the flickering candlelight, you wonder if she could almost see it, that other life. You wonder what it was. “But if I had, where would you be?!” Her voice is back to an accusing, judgment-laden shrill. “I’ve tried so hard with you, to get you to grow up. You finally came to your senses—you’re not a child anymore, you can’t just do whatever you want. Life isn't a fairy tale. Life isn’t about being happy… it’s about doing what you have to do. Don’t disappoint me.”

When she leaves and returns downstairs, you give a cursory but hopeful search under the bed and in the corners and shadows for the creature, but he is gone. You had seen him disappear into the loft at the slightest sound of footsteps dozens of times, and you know he had fled out the window and is miles away by now. You wonder if he had returned to the barn, but you know in your heart that he’s gone. It’s already too late. You saw the way he had looked at you before your mother interrupted. Betrayed. Wounded. Finished.

He must hate you.

You throw open the shutters again and look out on the dark, windswept landscape. Heavy, cold rain pummels your face, soaking your night dress instantly and making your squint and shiver against it. There is no sign of him, though above the howling of the wind, you imagine that you hear him howling, desperate and anguished. You could jump from here, you think. You could lash together your bed sheets and climb down undetected, and—

A bolt of lightning strikes a tree in front of the house and it explodes to splinters as a cataclysm of thunder bursts open your ears. The blinding-white flash fills your room and your senses, sets all your hairs standing on end, and for several moments after you can’t see or hear a thing. Am I alive? you wonder first. Is he scared? you worry a second later. When your eyes finally adjust to the dark again, you can see the smoldering embers of the destroyed trunk, its crown lying in pieces on the ground. One branch had scarcely missed the roof, and had you jumped from your window a moment before, you certainly would have been hit.

If only you had been, a part of you screams against your skull. It’s the only way out, now. Jump from the window! it insisted, its voice weaving harsh fingers of smoke through your mind. Run, slipping in the wet grass with your ankle broken into the night and find him, or be eaten by a bear. Let a branch fall and crush your pathetic body. Let the lightning take you to Hell.

You close the shutter, and latch it.

Shaking, you return to your bed and lay on top of the covers. The depression in the mattress from your mother is still flattening out. Wet spots on the blanket are the only memento of the creature’s visit. You remember what it felt like to be held, warm and safe in his arms just moments ago, and try to tuck the memory away somewhere it will never be lost. Somewhere you can look back at it in the years to come. You’ll never feel that way again.

It would be a mistake to run.

You're making the right choice.

You don’t want to die. Surviving means doing what you have to do.

You're making the right choice.

You're making the right choice.

You repeat it to yourself over and over, shivering alone on top of your bed until the black sky turns to grey, and the birds start to sing a summer chorus—first one melodic song, then a jarring metallic buzz, a repetitive whistle, and more and more add their voices until it swells into a cacophony in the purple dawn. The storm must have passed some time in the night without your noticing. It doesn’t matter. You made your choice and broke your own wings.

You made the right choice.

[firefield]

David Bowie - Reality (2003)

“The thing, probably, that keeps me writing is this awful feeling that there are no absolutes. That there is no truth. That we are, as I’ve been thinking for so many years now, fully in the swirl of chaos theory.” DB, 2003

I always learn new things about David Bowie whenever I listen through his complete discography chronologically, and this run through is no different. As I get close to the end here, I’m reminded how much less I know about these later works, due simply to the fact that they have existed for a much shorter time, and my experience with them is more limited. “Reality” rocks more than I realized on release day, especially coming off the heels of “Heathen” with all its layers and mystery and subtleties. An empty house afforded the opportunity to really crank this one up, a vinyl pass, and CD pass, and finally the 5.1 surround sound edition - and yeah - DB said he wanted a simpler sound, and wanted a record that could be translated into a live show easily and effectively and he got that in spades.

As with all his post-80’s work, and especially his post-heart attack material, “Reality” embraces the darker and more cynical side of DB’s many characters - from the irony of the album title with album art portraying a very cartoony space-man Bowie looking about as unreal and non-Reality as possible and still be recognizable - to DB’s insistence that he made a “positive!” record despite themes of aging and death, loneliness and anonymity, geopolitical strife, day-in-day-out mundanity and the creeping threat of urbanization to nature. Regarding the subject matter of Reality he told Interview Magazine, “This is probably a period when, more than any other time, the idea that our absolutes are disintegrating is manifest in real terms. Truths that we always thought we could stand by are crumbling before our eyes. It really is quite traumatic.”

I read quotes like that and I think, for a guy that is largely known for (and criticized for) his ability to synthesize the past and his surroundings into something entirely David-Bowieingly unique, he certainly shows skill at synthesizing the future as well. Beyond things like financial chicanery like Bowie Bonds and the impact of the internet on the creation and distribution of music, Bowie often hit at the very essence of what unites as well as divides.

The seeds of this malleablity of truth that DB describes had been planted in my country during the civil rights movement and the tragedy of the Vietnam War, but began to flower and bloom after the 9/11 event - affecting Bowie’s home turf and his family profoundly. Heathen is prescient, Reality is a little angry about things. DB took time to specifically say what Reality was not: it was not an angry album, it was not a response to 9/11, it was not his “New York Album” - but then he’d spend just as much time gently walking back those claims, almost wondering aloud if it was, in fact, all of those things and more. He speaks around this time about how naturally writing music came to him. Unforced, calmly. I think this “flow” is why you can glean so many little contradictions about Reality and it’s intentions and meaning. He’s letting it happen, not dictating the plot; the tensions of that city and that moment in time allowed to mold and shape the work. Polar opposite to the Heathen recording environment at Allaire Studios in the Catskill Mountains, Reality was recorded in the cramped Studio B of Philip Glass’s Looking Glass Studios in NYC and both those disparate studio choices impact their respective products acutely.

Reality is Bowie’s most “hands-on” record since Diamond Dogs, employing all his multi-instrumentalist abilities, and it’s also one of his most thoroughly demoed. Most all of Reality was demoed out in Studio B by DB and Tony Visconti playing all the instruments, with Mario McNulty (the same engineer DB would later trust with the posthumous reimagining/re-recording of Never Let Me Down) as studio assistant. According to Tony, he had a feeling that many of these “demo tracks” would not ever actually be re-recorded, so they were laid down at a useable fidelity. Consequently, much of the demo material survived on the final album. The band brought in for final overdubs was chosen with the live show in mind specifically. This was a smaller, tighter unit of BowieLive veterans and by all accounts recording was smooth and productive.

New Killer Star opens the record, and is also Reality’s debut single (that contained one of his more surprising B-sides, Sigue Sigue Sputnik’s ‘Love Missle F1-11’) and is a spectacular Earl Slick led hazy, woozy guitar statement.

This is followed by The Modern Lovers - Pablo Picasso - recorded in 1972 but delayed until their 1976 debut. This track mimics the space occupied by the Pixies cover Cactus - the second track on Heathen - DB pulling tracks from his past that he enjoys and placing them where they give the record momentum. Quite a different interpretation if you have heard the original - DB took liberties with both the lyric and the arrangement and it’s a cool little track.

Never Get Old follows and addresses the common theme of time and aging in DB compositions…. (Cygnet Committee, Time, Hearts Filthy Lesson, Changes, Fantastic Voyage, and many more) and the composition itself references much of his past in Space Oddities countdown, the elongated guitar strands of Heroes, bits of melody from Crack City, the four-walls-closing-in sense of Low and some of Hunky Dory’s ominous moments. A pounding live favorite.

…and seamlessly right into The Loneliest Guy. Anyone who saw the Reality Tour knows the captivating power of this piece, and it’s honesty and fragility was one of a few reasons why I thought this would be DB’s final album.

Looking For Water. Man, I *love* this song. It’s one of my favorite vocal performances on Reality and would certainly end up on my list of “underrated DB songs” were I compelled to make one. I like repetition in music, and it’s hypnotic and mantra-esque qualities - and this is one that always gets a significant volume boost.

She’ll Drive The Big Car - a supercool stab of Bowie sash and swagger, and a killer vocal performance, masking some seriously sad lyrics. Bowie manages to sound defiant, tired, funky, deferential, sexy and soulful all in the course of a single song. He’s such an effortlessly great singer, that’s it’s easy to become so accustomed to it that you almost miss it. It’s just “him.”

The exceedingly sweet “Days” fits nicely with all of Realities reflections, and has for me become a song I pay much more attention to since we lost the man to cancer.

Fall Dog Bombs The Moon is one of DB’s most overtly political songs, and was apparently written very quickly - under a half and hour - and directly addresses the Iraq War and the profiteering involved. Relatively bleak with murky lyrics, it’s a interesting and unique DB composition.

Try Some, Buy Some is just beautiful and I think one of Bowie’s most interesting and genuinely heart-felt covers (along with Waterloo Sunset, also from these sessions.) The inspiration to do this song comes directly from the 1971 Ronnie Spector version and the impact it had on him personally. DB seems to be absolutely sincere when he claimed that he had completely forgotten that it was a George Harrison composition until he sat down to work on the album credits.

Next up is the sizzling rocker Reality that has one foot in Tin Machine and one foot in The Next Day. Love Earl’s guitar sound here. Like New Killer Star, the guitar layers in this one sound amazing on the 5.1 surround mix.

Ahh yeah. Another in an amazing number of fantastic Bowie album closers. I’ve made it a point in my life to quit ranking art into “good/better/best/sucks categories and hierarchies and see art as an experience, not a competition. My friends know this about me, and consequently tease me and attempt to prod me into breaking this creed. Under unrelenting pressure to name a “favorite David Bowie track” I named Bring Me The Disco King.

I could give many reasons why this would be the one…. The repetition I mentioned earlier, here found in Matt Chamberlain’s drum loop (interestingly snagged from ‘When The Boys Come Marching Home,’) the overwhelming sense I had when I first heard it that this was DB’s final record, the sense that the threat of jazz that had always pounded on David’s door in his chord structures and harmonies had finally broken down the door… the very tangible sense that this was a composition that had already had a long life but stayed tucked into the shadows by its unsatisfied creator, only to be given life and light on this great album after it had been stripped down to almost nothing - simplicity being the sought after key to its finally being allowed to soar. If it’s not already obvious, I think this song is magnificent. Literally. The fact that David knew it was deep inside there, he just had to mine it out over the course of a decade or so is extraordinary.

Couple of thoughts about a track that didn’t fit well on Reality but made it to bonus/B-sides…

How cool is his cover of The Kinks Waterloo Sunset? In the years after his death, when I feel that loss in my heart, it’s Waterloo Sunset I turn up to 11 and allow it to yank me back out of that murk.

“People so busy

makes me feel dizzy

but I don’t feel afraid

as long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset

I am in paradise.”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Dear Soulmate, pt. 21 (Soulmate AU)

22: True love remains the same

Summary: Ethan and Y/N finally complete their soulmate connection.

Warnings: SMUT, fluff

Word Count: 5k

Dear Soulmate - Series Masterlist (Soulmate AU)

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A/N - hope you guys didn’t forget about the series, took me a while to get back to it. But I’m back and I’m really proud of this one because it truly shows them who they used to be and as who they can be. Let me know your thoughts!

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The road to recovery, to who we are, was riddled with obstacles.

Ethan attended his therapy sessions, Grayson sometimes joining him and on occasion even I was invited.

Grant Geller was a world renowned therapist that specialized in soulmate connections, most of all, he was the only one who worked relentlessly on twins and the development of their soulmate connections. It's why I chose him after all, hoping to help both my boys at once.

While it seemed their sessions were anything but pleasant at first, the boys constantly fighting whenever they believed I wasn't there and speaking in hushed voices to each other when they saw I'm near, but eventually the change did them good.

Ethan had become more open with me, honest to a fault. He might be the only man in the world who will tell his soulmate to change the top because it doesn't go with her pants, but I loved that about him.

Sometimes.

Most times.

Not only did he talk to me more, but he also pulled out all the stops - romance, gentlemanly behavior, little surprises here and there, taking up interest in all the things I've told him about, my country as well.

Grayson took a few months, but he eventually started dating someone new. He didn't tell me why he gave up on his soulmate, only reassured me he knows what he's doing.

I hope he does. I really do.

It's safe to say I was over the moon.

"Grayson just texted me he's not coming home tonight." Ethan whispers in my ear, pressing a kiss to my temple tenderly, almost like a feather like touch of heaven as I put down a dish and sigh. I didn't quite like the sound of that, knowing he's screwing some hussy instead of being mindful of his future soulmate. Grayson seemed to not only understand what it felt like for me to know that Ethan had someone else before me. He seemed to find the bond, the act as sacred as I did. It nearly killed me to know I won't be the only girl Ethan had in his life. Literally. So, why the hell did Grayson decide to go there now, after all this time? Couldn't he have waited just a while longer until we figure out why his timer stopped?

"I was thinking we could put on some music...order some food...get a little freaky in the sheets?" Ethan suggested and I couldn't hold in the gasp that escapes me, partially because this is the first time he's mentioned being intimate since the crash and partially because he used such a term for something so sacred.

"You want to call our soulmate ritual completion that?" I frown, turning sideways to him, very much craving his body on top of mine, but worrying about his motives.

"Sorry. I just really don't want to wait any longer and you're looking so delicious tonight. We're both finally functional and on good terms. We love one another. The house is empty. It's like fate telling us to get it on!" Ethan chuckled excitedly, clearly happy about the prospect and I can't lie and say I'm not. Hell, if I had it my way, we'd have done it the night we met in that park in Paris.

After months of physical therapy, I was capable of doing a lot more than just walk now, even with the pain coming in waves from time to time. Ethan knew when it happened, dropping everything to help me through it...we truly grew stronger as a couple, much stronger than I thought we'd be after everything that's happened. For a long time I feared being broken, our connection turning sour, that we'd grow into the break. But things are finally good between us, both mentally and physically.

I'm just allowing the voices in my head get the better of me.

"You're right. Why overthink it...let's do it. Tonight." I smile, genuinely on board with his idea, trying hard to ignore the butterflies swarming my stomach and the tingling sensation a little lower.

Ethan rushed me to the bathroom, running a bath for me with a lilac scented bath bomb, ordering me to relax and let him make the night worthwhile.

I didn't fight him on it. Even with all the time that passed and the craving I had for his body on top of mine, I had long lost patience, but it didn't mean I didn't have every nerve in my body on edge with the knowledge we're finally completing our connection - becoming as one.

According to the books, last couple that had been documented with our connection were Romeo and Juliet...not quite the couple to aspire to be. But we had to have had a better future, something more to hope for. Why else would all the pain we've survived be worth it? Our story has to have a happy ending.

So, I push my anxiety and worries about us and Grayson aside and focus on the positives.

Ethan and I will finally be together. He will finally be my one and only and I his, bound in life and death, despite all the obstacles.

Unable to hold off any longer, I get out of the bath and wash of the bubbles off me, quickly drying myself off. Shaky, holding onto a small sexy piece I got a few months back and have hidden behind my back as he ushered me inside the bathroom, I manage to put it on and allow the slight burst of confidence to wash over me.

My legs are shaky, almost like they're made of glass about to break in a million pieces. But once I walk out and see the bedroom, they nerves dwindle to a bearable level, allowing me to breathe in for the first time.

Not only are there fairy lights hanging everywhere and giving the room a different, more romantic atmosphere, but there are rose petals, scented candles and most importantly, a very nervous, self-questioning Ethan with his back turned to me.

"I'm ready." I'm nearly holding my breath with the words, knowing that there's no coming back from this.

Only a few beats pass before Ethan turns around and moves forward, colliding his lips against mine, pushing me completely against the bathroom door. His hands cup my face  and mine go to his black shirt, tugging him flush against me and I can  feel the lump building in my throat, burning behind my eyes while my  heart sings. Ethan's mouth moves in sync with mine and he loves me, I know he does, and the kiss is needy and nervous, scared of making the wrong move but it just gets more heated with every passing second.

I'm pulling apart, pushing away my fears and catching my breath but only for a second before our mouths collide again and Ethan's moving his hands to my hips, trying to somehow pull me closer to him. Our chests are heaving and my hands are snaking up just above Ethan's hips and under his shirt, feeling his warm skin and the ripples of his abs against my cold hands. Ethan lets out a soft moan with the touch. His hands move under the hem of the lacy piece I've put on, his hands grabbing my sides.

"Ethan?" I push in a breathy whisper. His brown, nearly black eyes meet mine, lips swollen and glossy. Ethan's heart starts  plummeting to the pit of his stomach as he waits for me to continue as I look like I'm on the verge of tears and I am but not because I'm sad or mad but because it's a lot to handle, his emotions and mine and he's all I've ever wanted  without ever knowing. He knew before I did, a little cheat thanks to the soulmate connection.

3rd POV

"It's..." Y/N takes a deep breath, her mouth hanging slightly ajar. "It's okay for you too, right? This isn't too overwhelming or something you need to think about a little more, right? You love me? It's okay if you're unsure." She asked, a bit afraid if he'd back down, but happy that she feels no such emotions on his behalf. However, she could easily be blocking his emotions with her own, for she's blissful in this particular moment.

Ethan's eyes are broken in a way she's never seen before but without hesitation, the words fall from his mouth. "This is perfect. I love you with every beat of my heart. Please, tell me you love me, too." And his voice cracks with the plea.

"I love you so freaking much." Y/N admits, complying without a second thought and the softest smile comes to Ethan's lips before he attaches his mouth back to hers.

Ethan's arms wrap around her torso, picking her up so easily, without a hitch and a squeal escapes her mouth as she pulls away. Y/N giggles as Ethan carries her across the room, her hands going to the back of his neck and playing with the little hairs before kissing his cheek. His arms are warm and sturdy around her and, just like every other time he's held her, it's the safest place in the world.

Ethan lays her on the bed, slowly, perfectly aware she's still fragile, hovering over her as his lips go back to hers. Y/N tugs at his tousled hair, granting her a slight moan. Ethan's hand go  to her leg and around her thigh, pulling it up to get a better  position, helping to move them both further into the middle of his...their bed.

He bites her bottom lip, pulling away and she whimpers, opening her eyes to be met with a smirk before Ethan goes to her neck. She gasps from the open-mouthed kisses on her smooth skin, her hand instinctively pulling Ethan's head closer to her neck. A soft chuckle falls from his lips as he barely bites on the excess skin, lightly sucking.

Ethan moves his hand to the hem of her lace, his hand slowly moving under the fabric. Goosebumps rise to her skin and it feels like he's setting fire with every touch. His hand moves further up her body until his fingers are just under the wire of her bra. They dance beneath the wire as if making sure it was okay, still conscious of  never overstepping her boundaries in case she wants to change her mind. But, she smiles, moving her hand from his neck and puts it over his hand.

"I, uh," She stutters, Ethan moving from her neck to look at her with soft eyes. "I sort of have no clue what to do next. I mean, I know, but..." She winced with the words and Ethan's eyes widen in surprise before he nods.

"Oh." He says. "If you want me to stop -"

"No," Her response is quick and the corner of her mouth tugs into a smirk, her eyes glancing down Ethan's body and back to his eyes. "I just want you to   know I'm not sure if biology is enough to guide me and I might need some extra help."

Ethan chuckles and nods, pressing his forehead against hers. "If you wanna stop, just tell me." He whispers and places the gentlest kiss to her lips.

"Okay." She whispers through a smile before moving her hands to the hem of his T-shirt.

Y/N pulls it over his head, exposing him to the warm air of his bedroom. His chest and abs define with every breath he takes and while she had seen him shirtless before, admired him before, this feels different. It is different because he's there, above her, his breath just a bit ragged and his eyes just a little darker and he's in love with her, she can sense it in every move of his body.

She brings her hand to the back of his neck and pushes up to attach her lips to the side of his neck, making sure to leave the same mark he left on her. Ethan's jaw falls open and his eyes close, his breath hitching as she leaves a bright red mark for the world to see. She trails kisses up his neck and under his jawline, back to his lips. His tongue slips inside her mouth and it's just heavy breathing, trying to keep up with each other. Y/N's hands go to Ethan's back, gripping at his muscle that's flexed, feeling him smile into the kiss.

He sits up and moves his hands to the hem of her lace underwear, gripping, slowly tugging it up. Once he realized that's impossible, not nearly fast enough and without hurting her, he didn't hesitate to rip it down the middle, noticing the shock on her face as she gasped and grasped his hands.

"What the hell, that's expensive!" She sits up and allows him to take the ripped pieces off her, Ethan discarding the clothing somewhere across the room as he chuckles.

"I'll buy you a new one".  But, then he freezes, watching her lay back down and all he can do is stare at her chest and abdomen, the scars from all the surgeries covering her body more than he expected. She didn't really let him help dress her wounds nor care for her back then, and he barely even tried for he was lost in his head. Grayson did. Grayson knew it was this bad and it ripped him open for not being the one to care for her and it angered him his brother didn't warn him before.

Y/N's mouth is dry and she hates feeling so exposed. She should have thought about that little detail before when Ethan said they could stop or even before he   took everything off. It's not like she doesn't see it every single day. She's had to look at the scars every day for months and these aren't even the bad ones. The bad one is on her back, along her spine like a monster had cut into her. She had taken every precaution she could, making sure Ethan didn't see it. But, in this moment of love and lust, she forgot. She forgot the broken bits of her and she can't help but fold her arms over her stomach as she tries to cover her skin.

"I look horrible." She says softly.

"Y/N..." Ethan's eyes tell more than his lips do. His heart aches and she can feel that. She knows the feeling of nauseating guilt inside his chest and she can't let him get lost in it. Not now. Not ever.

"Ethan?" She moves her hands to cup his face. His eyes lock with hers, they're glossed and scared. "It's fine."

Ethan leans into her comforting touch. "Are you?" He asks and he's pleading again, begging for the truth but begging that the truth is that she's really, truly okay.

"Yeah, I'm okay." She leans up and presses a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm okay, Ee-tee. I promise." She kissed his cheek and rubbed her thumbs along his cheeks.

He bows his neck to kiss hers, his arms wrapping around her but in a swift and quick movement, Ethan was turning them both over so she could straddle him. She yelped with the sudden movement but quickly recovered and Ethan laid under her, his hands gripping her hips firmly. He knew she liked control, allowing her this moment of having him under her spell, under her rule.

"Do you hold it against me?" He asks, still thinking about how much he could have been there for her, but he wasn't.

Her hands lay flat on his chest, the firmness of his muscles moving her hands up and down with every breath. "No. Maybe I did back then, but I don't. Not anymore."

"You're fine?" Ethan checks again and she cocks her head to left.

"Yeah," She replies quietly. "Why are you so worried? You'd feel if I wasn't." Her voice is gentle while she moves a hand to his hair, brushing it out of his face.

He's silent, just staring at her while he allows the relief of her being okay, not resenting him, to settle in his bones.

"I can't lose you. Not ever." Ethan reaches for her hand that was playing with his hair and brought it to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to the palm, so gently she felt her heart flutter.

"You're not gonna lose me."

"Promise?" Ethan whispers.

"I promise." She nods and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. "You're stuck with me, Dolan. Forever." She leans up and smirks.

"You make it sound like a bad thing." He chuckles and it rings in her ears and her heart starts to flutter as if it got wings and is trying to escape her chest.

"You're right." She scrunched her nose. "I'm stuck with you." Her eyes widen with the remark and Ethan narrows his eyes.

It's  heavy seeing her scars and talking about the wrongs they've both done, but she's   smirking above him and he's in love with her, so, he shakes his head and  pushes the heavy topic away, locking it away in a part of his head to bring up at another time.

"Damn right." He licks his lips and wraps his arms around her, sitting up and attaching his lips to her collarbone. Her hands go to his back, nails just brushing his skin as she closes her eyes. "Something tells me you really don't mind." He pulls away and there's a smirk playing at his lips.

"No." Y/N shakes her head and she's looking at him like he holds the key to every fantasy she's ever had.

"I don't." She kissed his forehead before pushing him back onto the bed.  A teasing smirk crosses her face and Ethan bites his lip, wiggling his brows as one hand comes up and undoes her bra in a split second.

"Okay." She says flatly, unimpressed, a little ticked off he's so good at that.

"That's all I get?" He quips but he has a proud smirk.

"You think you're so good, huh?"

"You're not complaining." Ethan chuckles as she finishes taking her bra off.

"Okay." She says softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Ethan pushes up and deepens the kiss. One of his hands comes up to cup her breast, kneading it while his thumb brushes over her nipple. She gasps softly into his mouth with the movement. Ethan moves his other hand to her other breast and follows the same movements causing a chill to run down her spine as she throws her head back.

Y/N's breathing gets heavier, guiding her hands to the button of his jeans, feeling him growing hard under her touch. She kneels just above him and works on the button of his jeans as their kissing grows sloppy and inconsistent, her mind more focused on her hands.

Undoing the button, the zipper followed. She tugged at his jeans and Ethan bucks his hips up to help her get his jeans down. She breaks the kiss first, sliding down his body and pulling his boxer briefs down with his jeans. Ethan watches with a heaving chest, his hands desperate to get back to her.

"I'm really not doing this in a sexy way, am I?" She deadpans, feeling under pressure with him staring at her so intently.

"Pretty sexy when you do it." Ethan licks his lips as he pulls her back to him.

Shaking her head as she locks her lips with his, she sends her dominant hand down his abs, until her fingers just graze his throbbing dick. His mouth fumbles against hers with the soft contact.  A smile forms on her face with his reaction. She takes that as a cue to wrap her hand around his length, pumping him.

"Oh, wow." Ethan grunts into the kiss, breaking it, making her giggle in response.

"Is it okay?"

"Uh-huh." Ethan breaths, trying to control his voice. He didn't want to seem like he's completely unraveling under her touch, but he really is, the feeling of it indisputably returning to her through their connection.

Ethan focuses his attention on the hem of her lacy red briefs easily getting them off with a quick rip because he already did that to the top, so why not finish his crime? He chooses that time to flip her back over, hitting his head against the headboard in the process. They both laugh in response as Ethan rests his head in the crook of her neck.

"Ow." He laugh, as she moves her hand to his bicep.

"You okay?" She asks, watching him pick his head up as he's trying to suppress an embarrassed laugh.

"Nope. I'm hurt, now." He says sarcastically, sticking out his bottom lip.

"Poor you." She mocks, knocking his forehead against his softly.

"You're mean!" Ethan sticks his tongue out, nearly collapsing onto her in a fit of laughter.

"You keep forgetting it hurt me too, because your pain is mine too!" She reminds him, making him laugh even more.

"God, I love you." He says as if it's a reflex and the second it leaves his mouth, his heart stops but then his head comes up and he remembers she's his soulmate and she loves him too. Her eyes are bright and happy and she loves him, too.

"I love you, too dum dum." Y/N grins. It's such a dangerous adrenaline rush but he's there and he's with her and it feels like fucking magic.

Ethan attaches his lips back to hers and heat rushes to her face as Ethan pauses for a few beats, taking her all in and while he feels she's self-conscious, remembering the amount of times she's been woken up with compulsive dream and thoughts of him having sex with other women. And she can't   help but to question if she's what he expected or if she's good enough   but just as quick as the thoughts enter her head, they disappear when Ethan kisses his way up her thighs, at every little scar that remained from the accident, avoiding her core, and up her  stomach.

"You're beautiful, you know?" Ethan asks, a delicate kiss pressed to her lips.

"You're not just saying that, right?" Y/N asks, her voice showing her disbelief and a bit of fear he felt grip at him.

"Of course not! You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I can't believe I'm yours and you're mine." Ethan responds, no hesitation.

"Thank you." She says softly against his lips, her fingers coming up to ghost over his shoulders, stopping at the pointy ends of his collar bone,

His eyes are half-lidded but soft and filled with absolute and utter adornment. His lips move from her mouth to her jaw and back to her neck, surely to make another mark. He slides his right hand down her side and moves to her center. His fingers tease her slit, her mouth opening in response as her hands grip his shoulders in anticipation. He doesn't let her wait too long before he's working her core, sliding a finger inside. She gasps, her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders.

"You okay?" Ethan asks, his hand slowly pumping in and out of her, kissing along her jaw.

"Uh-huh." She managed to get out, a rush forming in the pit of her stomach. "Keep going." She mumbles as she slides her hand back to his dick, pumping him in sync with his hand.

Ethan lets out a breath with the contact, dipping his head slightly, the cold metal of his necklace connecting with her chest. Her arousal builds with every movement he makes causing him to insert a second finger. Her grip on him tightens just for a split second as she lets out a soft moan, making him grin.

"Still good?" He asks between kisses.

"Mhm." She hums weakly. "Just...don't stop." You get the words out shyly and he nods, his heart jumping into his throat, happy she wants him to keep going. And he feels her pleasure, just as she feels his, building up so fast they can hardly breathe.

"Okay," He whispers huskily into her ear before moving his thumb to her clit, rubbing soft circles.

She bucks her hips up with the new wave of pleasure that flows through her whining out his name. His confidence builds with the moans and he goes back her mouth, the kissing deep at first but soon turns sloppy as she pumps him harder and faster. There's a coil building in the pit of her stomach as she grinds her hips up to meet Ethan's movements.

"Eth.." She moans softly into his mouth. The look of lust and need tell him all he needs to know as he pulls his hand away making her whimper in response.

Ethan presses a kiss to her nose, reaching toward his nightstand before he places a few kisses to her collarbones.

He opens the drawer and grabs a little square package and he tears it open with his teeth. She chuckles and shakes her head.

"What?!" Ethan's high pitched voice comes through the mist she's lost in.

"I didn't think people really opened a condom with their teeth."

Ethan shrugs one shoulder, a sheepish smile on his face, adjusting himself as he rolls the condom onto himself, Y/N watching his movements carefully, taking a mental note for future reference.

"You sure you want to? We don't have to if you don't want to." Ethan says and the smile is   gone, showing his sincerity and wanting to make sure she knows there's no pressure.

"I'm sure." Y/N's smile widens before he lines himself up with her center.

"I might be the first guy ever to know what it feels to lose his virginity as a girl." Y/N rolls her eyes at him, growing impatient.

Ethan blushes but smiles, falling harder for her with every passing moment, finally understanding the sacredness of this ritual and why she was so angry when she learned he didn't wait for her.

"If it hurts, tell me, okay?" Ethan makes sure once more, just in case he doesn't feel it because his own emotions are riding high and he can't handle harming her.

"Okay." She says, her hands holding the sides of his back to brace herself.

Ethan slowly pushes inside her, careful not to go too fast. She squeezes his side, his core trying to adjust to him. Ethan grunts when he feels himself break through, taking in a shuddered breath as he pauses, feeling a small sting himself. Slowly, he pushed deeper in, each thrust slow and a little deeper until he bottoms out and his head bows into her shoulder for a few  seconds, allowing her to get used to the feeling.

"Still good?" He asks, looking back at her.

"Good." She whispers, one hand rubbing up his back, feeling the muscles that were contracting under her palms.

"Okay." Ethan brushes his nose against hers.

He starts thrusting his hips against hers and the room is soon filled with moans and grunts from both of them. And this is unlike any sex Ethan has had before. Not only is sex is different with someone you really love but this wasn't just that. Yes, Ethan loves her and he'd do anything in the world for her but she's his soulmate and the one part of him that he never knew would be with him, complete him so he doesn't feel as lonely, as lost anymore. She's the one who loves him through the bad, the good, and the ugly. She had seen him broken, beaten, and bruised and still chose to stay. Even after all he did, she refused to leave, to give up on him. That's the sanctity of a soulmate connection. Everyone will come and go, but she won't. She's always going to be a part of him after this, no more second guessing. She's his and he is hers. Forever

They finish nearly at the same time, both of them sweaty and breathless messes with lopsided smiles but it's okay and it's perfect. Ethan waited in a bed a few minutes before cleaning himself up and taking care of her as well, but they didn't put on any clothes after. They wanted to feel one another, skin to skin, imperfection on imperfection.

"So," Ethan starts, him on his side facing her while she laid on one of his arms, facing him. "Was it okay?" There's no arrogance in his voice this time, just curiosity and hope. He just wants to know if he made her feel as good as she made him, for he couldn't tell where she starts and where he begins once they became as one, the line was erased both mentally and physically.

"Yeah, you were great." She giggled lazily, still in a haze, feeling heat come to her cheeks, as her fingers softly fiddle with the silver necklace around his neck and the safety pin pendant, the cold metal contrasting the warmth of his bare chest when her fingers brush over his skin.

"So, you feel alright? No pain? Your back is fine?" Ethan questions, his free hand rubbing the scar that peaks out on her side, uncovered for a moment longer for him to trace it before he covers her entirely, not wanting her to get sick.

"Yes." She laughed, feeling a little bit of pain, but nothing she wanted to worry him with, turning her attention to his eyes. They're consumed in softness. It's as if every soft gold speck that complimented the dark  brown of his eyes shined brighter than they had before, making his eyes hazel even in the dark which is highly unusual considering she found them hazel in the sun...and she realized...she is his sun.

Ethan lets out a sigh of relief, shaking his head into her shoulder. "Good."

"Was I okay?" She asks softly.

Ethan looks up and gently places a hand on her cheek. "Perfect." He says, kissing her nose softly.

 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

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Gif credit: @ethanhes