#of course she would stomp me to smithereens if she wanted to

[oingoz]

i’m deeply touched to have had this moment with them

[burnedbyshoto]

i wonder

i wonder (if you remember the way we looked at each other)

— Living as roommates with your best friend is easy until someone fucks up and catches feelings.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut fem!reader, and they were roommates, childhood friends!au, university!au, quirkless!au, modern!au, americanized university experience, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, the plot is for the sex AHA, womanizer!shouto, shouto and reader are bad roommates but seiji is worse, shouto has sex at 16 for the first time, vouyerism-ish, iffy shouto tendencies, jealous!shouto, jealous!reader, drunk sex so dubcon depending on you, nipplegasms, reader has nipple piercings, blowjob, switching, marking, biting, scratching, praise kink, missing tag ;)

word count: 20,141

a/n: this is for the roommates bnharem collab! please check out all the other amazing fics and art! note to self, dont get drunk the night before this is due and I hope you guys enjoy this!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! also,,, sorry if mobile doesn’t correctly format!

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You cracked your eyes open.

The gentle white stream of light permeated through soft cotton curtains, lighting the room in pale stripes and careful touches. Dust particles danced within the shining light, bending and twirling with the flowing air and moving winds. You breathed in deeply, your body still tired, your head still foggy from a night of distractions and too many drinks. 

Your eyes are closed once again, your still hazy mind trying to ignore the bitter, rank taste of the alcohol and cum on your tongue and your hands scratching as your naked cleavage. There was still enough time in the day; it was Sunday after—

Wait.

CUM?!

Your eyes flew open, your lips smacking each other as you confirm the awful, salty taste of cum on your tongue. Your hands swiping up and down your front to confirm your state of undress. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, your palms immediately sweating as you try to think about just who the fuck you ended up back in bed with.

Think, y/n, think!

A small grunt came from behind you, and you felt your entire body go rigid immediately. The soft expel of air fanning against your sticky neck is both welcomed and untrusted. With what can only be described as you, as stiff as a stick, peering behind your shoulder similar to a mother who definitely heard her child throw up on her bed but is somehow praying that she was hearing shit, you turned around.

A messy bedhead of red and white greeted you: unfocused, sleepy grey, and brilliant blue eyes staring back at you with fond familiarity and welcome.

“‘Morning, y/n,” Todoroki Shouto grumbles, voice husky, scratchy, deeply warm from his slumber. His next words are damning, though, the slight pride and knowing implications in the small breathe he uttered next. “Had fun last night?”

There was silence, a stroke of hesitancy, then crushing all-consuming fear.

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

O N E  W E E K  A N D  A  D A Y  E A R L I E R

“Who the fuck touched my fucking Angry Orchard Rosés?!” a voice snapped from the kitchen; the tone was fed up, seconds from blasting to smithereens.

You were in the living room, a pair of sweats on, your hair not put together, your face still bare. The music you played as part of your pregame ritual was practically vibrating the wooden floor as you sang along to your music. The telling glass bottle of deliciously pink alcohol swinging inconspicuously between your fingers as you drank it between verses. Despite your other roommate (who you repeatedly told your friends to be ‘like Bakugou but a gazillion times worse because you don’t and can’t like him,’) being seconds from trying to start another feud or possibly a lawsuit against you, your mouth dropped in mock shock before guzzling down the rest of the drink.

“I saw that you fucking skank!” Shishikura Seiji screeched from the kitchen; his stomps were long and heavy as he made his way from the kitchen to the living room where you were. “There were two bottles left in there! Don’t tell me your alcoholic ass drank them both! So help me, I’ll press on your damn chest until you’re puking out my drink.”

“Shishikura, stop,” Shouto spoke up, his own arm raising as he took a long, slow drink from the other missing rosé bottle. “These are 2% alcohol, you’ve had them in the fridge for months now, and you never drink them anyways.”

You grinned as you pulled the glass bottle from your lip, your face failing at the fake look of surprise, guilt, and sorrow for your unwanted and unneeded roommate.

“Sorry, they’re such girly drinks. I figured I’d take them off your hands,” you speak with distractingly bright amusement. “Alcoholics like me, we don’t care. Watch out; I might go for your mouth wash if you’re not too careful.”

“You do that, and I’ll poison you like a damn bitch,” Shishikura threatened, his voice in a menacing growl.

“Ooooo, you want me to bark for you, Shishikura? Want me on my hands and knees?” you taunt back, walking backward until you’re collapsing onto the couch besides Shouto. Your arm quickly sneaks between his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. Shishikura’s face is flushed red, his pupils beady as he trembles with concealed rage.

“She’s quite good at it,” Shouto chimes in, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as he takes another drink of the weak liquor. He shifts on the couch, allowing you to curl more comfortably at his side; the both of you know just how much your incredibly prude roommate hates any sort of PDA. “Want to hear her bark? She’s also quite good with her tongue.”

As if to emphasize Shouto’s point, you stuck out your tongue, refusing to break eye contact with Shishikura as the tip of your tongue breached the opening of the bottle.

“The actual fuck is wrong with the both of you?!” Shishikura spluttered, his face somehow turning purple and green and red. A truly incredible sight to be had. “‘Childhood friends are great roommates to have’ my fucking ass, you both are monstrosities!”

Shishikura stormed out of the living room, his ears neon red as his purple hair fell to cover his face. As soon as he was out of sight, you turned to Shouto, your tongue removing itself from the bottle and back into your mouth as you began to laugh loudly.

Childhood friends to roommates, ah, what a remarkable story you had with Todoroki Shouto.

It was accurate to relay that you had known Shouto for more than seventeen years now at your current age of twenty-one. Seventeen years of being what is easily seen as the best of friends, the closest companions, and indeed a bond that would withstand time and situation. 

The two of you met during the first week of what was preschool. Although both of you could not remember a single instance of events during this time, your mothers had always been excited to relay this story to you for many years that you could remember. It was odd to try to remember it, but even as they painted a picture of your first interaction, you could do nothing but admit that it sounded exactly like how it could have gone. 

You couldn’t remember being four years old; you don’t recall what it was like to strain your neck to look up at your parents or how it felt to be so utterly dependent but to scream brazenly about your childish independence. Your mother smiles when she retells the story of your first interaction, of how you were holding her hand as she walked you to the building where your preschool was to be had. 

Your hand was so small in hers. Tightly clutching onto her fingers as you looked around at the other children who were also arriving or had already arrived. Some children were bawling by their parents, others aimlessly playing with toys, and some were attempting to talk to one another, but by the apparent looks of curiosity surrounding the babbling and rambling tangents that could only be understood by a firing toddler brain, everyone was getting along. 

A teacher greeted you kindly, squatting down to reach your eye level as they excitedly introduced themselves and asked for your name. You, of course, with your hands clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress, responded with hesitant confidence.

“You’re such a brave girl!” the teacher awed happily, stretching out a hand for you. “Is it okay if I take you from your mom and show you which cubby is yours?”

There was a moment of confusion, then clear understanding hovering over your little head. Your mom looked down with an encouraging smile and pushed you forward.

“Do I get a middle cubby? I don’t want a top one,” you admit, your hand stretching out to grab the teacher’s stretched-out hand. 

Your mother watched on happily as you removed your schoolbag and lunchpail and placed them neatly within the somehow middle cubby marked with your name. The teacher also helped you put on your white school slippers before gesturing towards the bright, colorful room, their mouth moving as if explaining every little detail before pointing at the corner. Your mother tilted her head, curious as she followed the teachers point to the corner of the room where a boy with exceptional red and white hair — split perfectly in the middle — sat quietly, with fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

(Shouto, although he can not remember this day himself, will argue with you and only you that he was, in fact, NOT crying.)

Trying to not allow the shock of the unnatural hair color affect her, your mother watched as you nodded to your new teacher and walked over with clenched fist confidence to the small boy.

She watched as you approached him, your jaw moving as you so obviously spoke, hopefully introducing yourself. The boy looked up at you with bright, wet eyes but seemed to speak right back to you. 

“Alright, parents! Thank you all for dropping off your children! Do not worry. We will take great care of them all, and they are in competent hands! First days are hard for everyone, so if you can exit quietly, I, and the rest of us teachers, would appreciate that greatly!”

Or at least that’s what Rei claimed the teacher said.  However, your mother was watching on with increasing exponential horror as she watched you throw a punch at the air before twisting around and pointing right at her and saying with a voice that was much too loud.

“Punch whoever made you cry, Shouto-chan! My mama says that it is okay to punch bullies!”

Thankfully no one but your mother heard you, and even though she scolded you on the way out, whisper yelling that you “better not punch anyone!” her relief was for naught.

When she would return in the afternoon, a bit late because there had been a hold up on the train, you were pouting sitting on the floor with a scuffled uniform, your arms crossed definitely. Next to you was the boy with red and white hair, equally scuffed next to a white-haired woman and an older white-haired boy.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she shrieked, racing over to you.

“Y/l/n-san,” the teacher spoke with a tone that indicated disappointment with the subtle undertone of amusement. “Y/n-chan has something to tell you.”

Your mother had taught you many things, she will admit, in your very short life. But sass and annoyment was something not often seen in your household or in you, and to see it so blatantly on your chubby-cheeked face was quickly giving your mother greys.

“Shouto-chan told me that his stupid bully brother Touya was being a meanie, and so I helped him punch him back!” you said with tears in your eyes because you didn’t want to back down from your actions, but you also did not like being scolded. “I don’t regret it!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

“I don’t either,” Shouto-chan grumbled as your mother collapsed to her knees and began to profusely apologize for you to the woman who was undoubtedly Shouto’s mother. “Touya-nii was making fun of my hair again… y/n-chan helped me, though. Please don’t scold her!”

To say the most in the shortest amount of time, you were, in fact, scolded despite Shouto’s begging. Touya stopped making fun of Shouto’s natural hair. Rei accepted your mother’s apology. The teachers were given two bottles of sake.

And, of course, the most important, the most paramount thing to arise from this first day of school was that your and Todoroki Shouto’s friendship was now bound by blood, sweat, and tears.

Preschool became elementary school, which became middle school, and fading into highschool.

It was without saying that your relationship, your friendship with Todoroki Shouto, was probably one of the biggest, most defining parts of your entire life. He was there when your first tooth fell out, when he dropped ice cubes down people’s shirts, you two had bathed together when you were young, had sleepovers well past the age where him being a boy and you being a girl should have made things weird. You laughed when his voice cracked and dropped, he elbowed your chest plenty when you began growing boobs, you taunted his lack of body hair, he bought you your favorite ice cream and heating packs on your first period. You attended cram school together, went to the park and beaches on days off from school. You were partners in every school activity except under specific circumstances. He had listened to you when you told him excitedly about your first kiss when you turned fourteen, and you laughed when he said at the age of fifteen that he had still yet to kiss anyone.

Everyone always claimed, always asked, wondered, and whispered if the two of you were dating. Childhood friends still this close and not dating? Unheard of; practically illegal! Nevertheless, you ignored the disappointed frowns or the hopeful grins as you and Shouto both denied any sort of romantic connection.

Soon the both of you were in high school, and Shouto was mere days from turning sixteen. Much like when the both of you were when you were four years old, you seemed to be the one spouting many words — sometimes unnecessary words that wound you both up in trouble — of wisdom. You were loud when you needed, talking most of the time only to him and your surprisingly large group of friends. (You weren’t that surprised. Everyone wanted to be friends with the handsome, could easily be royalty or a model, Todoroki Shouto.) Shouto remained, for better or worse, quiet, reserved, and a bit awkward. He was a sweet boy, don’t get it wrong, and you would protect him until the end of your days, but the boy was a complete airhead and relied on you for interpreting social interactions.

“Camie-senpai wants me to go over to her house after my birthday,” Shouto explains, his hands exchanging his school shoes for his outdoor ones. “Something about wanting to do that one second-year first-year student project thing for the third years right away.”

“You have Camie?” you ask, slumping against the metal lockers with a slight thud. “Lucky, she’s so nice… I have stupid Agoyamato. Have you had a conversation with him? It’s actually the worst! He thinks he’s all that!”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay; you’re nice enough that he won’t be like… that,” Shouto smiles, slinging his bag on his shoulders before nudging his head towards the exit. “Ready?”

“Am I ever ready?” you ask with a whine but nevertheless proceed onward.

Time passed, and between cram school, actual school, some clubs, eventually January 11th passed and you held an ice cream cake that Shouto loved. You ate the cake together, relaxing as you sat in the warmth of his kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Shoucchan, never change!” you chirp, shoving his arm that rose to place the piece of cake in his mouth with your shoulder and watched as the sweet pastry splattered on top of the table. “...um?”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

“Only ten?! What about the happy birthday boy.”

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

An hour later, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and the sickly sweet weight of too much ice cream cake, you lay snuggled into Shouto’s side as the both of you watched some old movie.

“Thanks for always being here for me,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy as the heat of Shouto’s body began to lull you to sleep.

“I’m always here for you,” Shouto softly responded, hand gliding up and down the curve of your spine. “We should get you home. Your mom yelled and nearly skinned us both the last time you fell asleep here.”

“Only cuz she’s scared that we’ll have some sudden revelation we like each other and fuck each other’s brains out,” you groaned, absolutely not content with having to move. With your face buried in your hands now, you missed the weird pattern in Shouto’s chest over that.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“...fine, just because it’s your birthday.”

The next day, when Shouto followed Camie home instead of you, there was something that made you feel off as you waved at them goodbye. It wasn’t jealousy, that much you knew, but something worse when you watched the way your never-been-kissed-before best friend was ignorant to the dark eyes Camie sent his way.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure if you should be as surprised as you are when you get a phone call at ten p.m. to the sound of a confused, suppressed, overwhelmed voice of your best friend asking if you could confirm if Camie had fucked him. You then stayed on the phone for Shouto until well past two a.m., your heart hurting as he recounted the memory over and over again. You weren’t sure as to why your heart was breaking. By the sounds of it, Shouto had actually enjoyed it, but with every stammer to his voice, you felt lightyears away.

Most shockingly, however, was the effects this had on Shouto and his overall persona.

From ages four until fifteen, Todoroki Shouto was someone who was quiet, observant, took things a bit too literally, at all times was entirely precious in the way he interacted with people, and most importantly, unaware of the female population who lusted after him. It worked well for you because it was fun to tease him about things, nag him about how he was sixteen, and hadn’t been kissed even though if he asked any girl at school to kiss him, they definitely would. 

But sixteen-year-old Todoroki Shouto was a new shift, a new paradigm for you to learn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident before, but now he emitted a sense of confidence that he was aware of, that everyone was aware of. He became mature, sophisticated, styled even. He was still at times quiet, always completely observant. He rarely took things literally and understood rhetoric and sarcasm and hyperboles. Long gone were the days of preciousness, and instead, there was a sense of a predator on the hunt that bled in the way that he talked to people. Most importantly, however, he was fully aware of the female population and precisely who was lusting after him.

He flirted with women and girls. You would find him leaning against the lockers talking with them, somehow trapping them despite not actually trapping them. A new girl was sitting at your table with him practically every week in high school, each girl asking for the hundredth millionth time that the both of you were not dating. Some girls were even bold enough to apologize to you for stealing your best friend — as if you wanted Shouto.

You had already seen his dick, thank you very much (although the last time you saw it was well before you were nine years old), you weren’t missing out on how it probably looked now! Honestly, you had no idea how Shouto never managed to run out of female students to fuck, the school wasn’t that large, and he seemed to go through a few a week sometimes.

But he was your best friend, your childhood friend, and no matter how many girls came crawling back to your lunch table, bawling to Shouto to take him back, soaking the fabric of your skirt to help convince him to take her back, you stayed. You stayed, accepting the fact that your best friend had become an awkward teenage boy and turned into some high school sex freak.

You stayed when his shaggy hairstyle was clipped and became short.

Overnight, just as he went from being a complete virgin to not one, he went from a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy to a leanly built eighteen-year-old hot-ass heartthrob womanizer.

High school wasn’t forever. Even though it took you about a year to accept and integrate Shouto’s new sex life and behavior into your daily lifestyle with him (he always left four of the three days open for you as all his relationships were casual only). Soon enough, the both of you relaxed and found your own relationship to be entirely the same, and when university exams and applications came about, it was decided that yet again, the both of you would follow each other anywhere.

Which is where you were now.

Tokyo University,  a third-year student, living in an upscale three-person apartment with your best friend, of course. Shouto plus someone who practically begged in the most unbegging way to live with you.

Todoroki Shouto and Shishikura Seiji in the same apartment as you made for an interesting combination.

You hadn’t wanted Shishikura Seiji as a roommate at all. Period. 

There were about eleven other people you only considered asking, but they all said no for their own reasons. Bakugou and Midoriya had found their own apartment closer to the University, and for much cheaper, Kirishima and Mina were RA’s and could not move in. Kaminari said he liked Sero’s couch too much to leave, and Sero couldn’t live in an apartment without a balcony. Momo said the room was too small, Jirou said she’d rather continue living with Momo, Uraraka said it was a tad bit too much for her to afford (to be fair, you didn’t have to pay because the Todoroki’s were paying for your housing, but you understood), Tsuyu and Hagakure said they were living at home. Iida said he would be too uncomfortable living with a couple.

Everyone you found on the street wouldn’t accept your offer. Hence, Shouto invited the meatball and rosé obsessed Shishikura Seiji to live with the two of you simply because he was Shouto’s lab partner in one of his advanced physics classes. Stupid chemical engineering nerd.

At twenty-one years, you can now say that you’ve entirely adjusted to Shouto’s womanizer ways. Too often do you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea in your hand as you drink it in slowly, watching with much amusement as either a no-name girl leaves or a walk of shame Shouto enters. It happens at most five times a week; you were used to it. While the unease had finally left, you had to admit you were impressed your best friend could easily sleep around as he did and maintain his outstanding grades.

However, just because you were finally used to Shouto’s womanizer tendencies didn’t mean the world was. Even in University, your fellow students would ask with wide eyes and behind flat palms if the two of you were dating — specifically if Shouto was cheating on you or if it was an open relationship. You would each and every time, smile cheekily, shake your head and say with a roll of your eyes: “No, we’re not dating. He’s not cheating, and no, this is nothing more than us being best friends. Sho is too much of a jealous person to allow for an open relationship.”

Somehow, the constant begging of approval and the erasure of any romantic connection between you and Shouto from the plethora of female students at Tokyo University wasn’t even the most annoying part of it all. No, not at all.

What really ground your nerves was a pattern you noticed when you were eighteen.

Unlike Shouto, you hadn’t had the chance to lose your virginity until you were eighteen. Most of the boys who liked you always assumed you and Shouto were dating, the ones who gathered the courage to ask you out anyways were boys you were less than impressed with. By some act of some higher god, your crush — the school's third-year baseball team's captain when you were a first-year — reappeared in your life and asked you out. It wasn’t your best decision, you can fully admit it, but he was friendly and sweet as he fucked you in his small bed.

You hadn’t expected sex to be like that, and if you had enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but wonder just how Shouto was in bed to have girls behaving like that.

However, the spell was broken when he helped you change back into your clothes, and he begged you not to tell Shouto he was the person you cheated on him with.

It was on this day that it clicked.

What went for him, unfortunately, went for you too.

Except where girls rose to the challenge to dethrone you from Shouto’s side (a shame because they were vying for a seat that you had no claim over), the boys lowered their head like some damn omega to Shouto’s alpha.

Disgusting.

Even with the plentiful, plethora, consistent denial of your relationship with Shouto, even with the tally of girls, Shouto’s bedded (and more excitedly, deflowered — ugh!) rose consistently, no one ever really believed you weren’t dating him! Too many a time, you had been centimeters from making out with a guy for them to pull away, screeching that they couldn’t allow you to betray Shouto. The men who didn’t care were sleezebags, and thus, with a growl and a snarl, you found that you were only able to fuck men who thought jackhammering their fingers into your labia — yes, your labia — would make you cum.

You didn’t want to say you hated your childhood best friend for such duplicitous, selfish reasons… but you did.

But today was Saturday, a few months into the new second semester of the school year, and with school spirit once again high and workload low. The entire campus was brimming with parties, celebrations, alcohol drinking competition, sleazy dancing, and enough sexual tension to kill all celibate people.

So, we look back to where we started.

Shishikura Seiji running away as you nestled back against Shouto’s chest.

“I didn’t think he was actually going to drink these things,” Shouto sighed, spinning the last few remaining drinks of his rosé in his hand. “It’s been in the fridge for almost five months.”

“He probably made his meatballs again and needed something terrible to blame the flavor on,” you half joke half say in complete seriousness. You were not fond of Shishikura at all, and he was not fond of you either. He had a tendency to mansplain everything, which continuously ground on your nerves, especially when he had no jurisdiction to act so confidently.

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

“I feel sorta bad,” Shouto sighs, his hand low and warm on your waist. “But I will admit, these drinks are practically like carbonated water.”

“2% alcohol,” you stress, your grin widening as you pull away from his chest to stare at him. Your gaze is bright, and his eyes are filled with amusement. “You’re either the world's lightest lightweight or a child with no tolerance to actually expect to get drunk off this shit.”

“I think you’re slurring your words already though, you sure you’re okay, lightweight?” Shouto teases, his soft smirk teasing.

“Who was the one who took three shots and passed out?” you wonder innocently, finger to your chin as if you were trying to remember.

“At least I don’t throw up when I crossfade.”

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT. MY BIOLOGY JUST HAPPENS TO WORKS THAT WAY!”

“Alright, bitch,” Shouto snorts, completely unattractively, “hurry up and get ready, yeah? We have a party we’re already late to, and we have no drinks for an actual pregame.”

You squeal excitedly, having forgotten the massive party that was being held a few blocks away. “I’ll be ready in ten!”

Typically, when you went out partying, you went with the group of eleven people you would have rather replaced Shishikura as a roommate. To get ready for said parties, you would always find yourself at Momo’s place with an outfit change, makeup bag, and hair styling items. You had made it a tradition with the other girls to get ready together. The only exceptions to which this wouldn’t happen was when someone had a work event or some family thing come up.

In your case, you had been stuck at a professor's office, diligently helping to put together their research journal as they were in their final steps of publishing their findings. Due to your friendly relationship with your professor, the time had been lost, and your ten p.m. call time to arrive at Momo’s had been missed with a quick:

↳ held up at work! go on without me, sorry! see you at the party!!!!

When you crashed through the front door of your apartment, you froze, seeing Shouto in the hallway by the mirror. Sometime between getting his haircut to be shorter and from this day, he had begun to style his hair by threading it back by his fingers, and boy, it looked fucking good. He was already dressed up for the party. Black joggers, a white t-shirt that was a bit too small if the tight, seductive way it clung to his muscles spoke of anything, and a hoodie he had no care about in case he lost it after taking it off once getting there. Shouto was practically immune to all weather types, he could be in both snow or fire without a single worry, but he knew that a large sweatshirt that smelled like him was enough to hook and line any truly desperate female.

Shouto had chuckled, taking in your frazzled state with years of practice and nudged toward the fridge, already knowing that you had missed your pregaming with the girls.

“Shishikura has two rosés left. Grab ‘em, and we can pregame together.”

But that was all unimportant and already said.

In the end, it took you thirty minutes to get ready.

You had practically smeared on your makeup, hoping the warm, crazy miscoloring would be hidden within the crazy light show the party would definitely be displaying. Your outfit consisted of a tank top that exposed your cleavage and a skirt that hugged your legs and ass just right.

You came stumbling out of your room, fingers trying to shove on your earrings, the rings on your fingers clicking loudly against each other. You smiled breathily, gratefully accepting Shouto’s sweater as you slipped on your comfortable heels at the doorway before hurrying out.

Shouto kept an arm around your shoulder the entire way out, the immense heat of his body keeping you warm as his sweater rested lazily, awkwardly, around your shoulders and arms. You didn’t want to put it entirely on to save your makeup, and in case anyone had any fucking thing to say about the show you and Shouto were putting on. Eventually, the bright and comical conversation between you and Shouto began to grow louder as the pounding of dance music began to ring in your ears. Soon enough, you passed a few drunk people, more and more, until you reached the house where the party was.

Shoving the sweatshirt into Shouto’s chest, you grinned as the smell of alcohol, weed, over-cologne men and women, the faint smell of puke, and the gross crawl of BO flooded your nose.

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

Shouto laughs at your evident piqued excitement, and after he pulls on the light blue sweatshirt, he grabs your hand, and into the overcrowded home you go.

The intense heat of overcrowded bodies on a dance floor that also makes up a drinking game floor makes you grateful for your choice of clothes. Everyone around you is already drunk, sloshed, intoxicated off their ass as unknown drinks spill from their red Solo cups, sometimes even raining down on you. You grimace as Shouto continues to pull you through. You can taste the Hennesy on your upper lip and somehow know that whoever was drinking it was a freshman with a vendetta to kill his liver and love for drinking before coming of legal age.

“What do you want to drink?” Shouto yells over the nearly obnoxiously loud music. He has his sight on the drinks counter. “Mixed or the juice?”

“Fuck me up with the jungle juice!” you yell right back, pressing to his side as two dancing (see, vigorously dry-humping) nearly trample on top of you. “Parties are meant to be a non-sober event. I need to be borderline blacked out five hours ago!”

The agreeing chuckle from Shouto isn’t heard by you at all, but you can feel his chest give a familiar vibration as finally, he pulls you from the sea of bodies to where the floor is especially wet and sticky. You’ve reached the bar area.

Grabbing your own red Solo Cup, you watch as Shouto makes his own drink. Heavy on the alcohol, light on the mixer, and a good handful of ice (he’s always liked the cold better). His hand reaches for your cup and you offer your cup up as he opens up an ice chest filled with neon-colored jungle juice.

When the drink is returned to you, the both of you cheers and take a long drink.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“You’re finally here, you fucking slut! Getcha fat ass over here now!”

Your neck is twisted to see the absolutely plastered group of girls you considered to be your closest friends, and you laugh loudly.

“Seems like I’m needed,” you yell at Shouto, trying your best to act nonchalantly as he smiles knowingly at you. “Text me about what you decide to do if we don’t see each other?”

“Of course,” he simply responds before placing the curve of his cup back onto his lip as hands grabbed your arms and whisked you away.

In a matter of sixty minutes, you all had played five drinking games.

The girls felt it was imperative to get you to their level right away, so they started off with a game of King’s Cup. Not only was the deck rigged against you — you pulled all four of the four cards and thus had to chug four times — but you had drawn the last King and drank some weird concoction of jungle juice, a tequila shot, a vodka shot, and whatever the fucking hell Mina was drinking. How you managed to chug that and stay on your feet was beyond you, but it was without saying that you had utterly and inevitably caught up with the girls.

After the King's Cup came the Flip Cup game, your team won thankfully due to Mina’s one flip wonder as Kaminari struggled to down the shot in the cup.

After Flip Cup came Smoke or Fire, a game that had Tsuyu stuck on the bus for a record-breaking one round. No one could believe she did that.

Then came a round of Shot Roulette to end with what you were currently doing now, using a drinking card game Momo had made in her spare time to do embarrassing things at random.

Five games in an hour… you questioned if there was by any chance illegal substances in the jungle juice because it had felt like a whopping two minutes.

“It’s midnight!” Hagakure hollered, stumbling backward as she grinned in drunken, stupid happiness. She giggled before singing, “Midnight… memoriessss~!”

Mina groaned at the reference but completely perked up as the dance music changed suddenly from its slightly mellow, good vibe song to none other than Everytime We Touch by Cascada. By tradition, by applicable law by all and every god, when this one song played, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and immediately head to the dance floor.

With your hand slightly sticky with alcohol, and your mind absolutely clouded with alcohol, you whooped loudly as Mina dragged you to the dancefloor. 

You, seven girls, formed a closed circle, your Solo cups sloshing over with alcohol, and your faces scrunched tight as you danced and sang as loudly as you could. Each pounding beat of music vibrated in your chest, each offkey note sung by the party-goers making you feel light, happy, dizzy, and oh so perfectly drunk. For just a split moment, you lock eyes with Shouto, who’s across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around some girl you don’t recognize, eyes drinking you in. You smile for a bit before turning back around, arms rocketing up to the air with your excitement.

Although the song ended, the DJ continued to play bangers, and you never once stopped in your mirthful dancing and grinding against your friends as the night continued to carry on. But when you spun out from Mina, your entire world spinning with it, a pair of warm, heavy, large hands rested on your waist, and you laughed.

“Who is this?” you ask, head slamming backward to try and look at the person who had caught you yet hadn’t tried grinding against you. “Oh, Inasa? Hi!”

Yoarashi Inasa was one of your University's well-known jocks. He was a skilled runner, one of the best Japan has ever seen despite his body type telling you he was a bodybuilder. Immediately your smile of idiotic stupor became intentful, seductive, still bordering extreme intoxication. Was Inasa your type? No, not really, but you could reasonably and accurately say that he was a handsome man, with a fantastic body, not to mention a pleasant personality.

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

“Hi, y/l/n,” Inasa said, his naturally loud voice easily picked up on despite the music being blasted in your ear. “How’s your night going?”

You lick your dry lips, eyes blinking a few times before you turn in his arms, your arms stretching so that you could wrap them around his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” you smile shyly. “How’s yours.”

“Ahem,” Inasa blushes, his eyes staring straight at your cleavage before looking back up at you. “H-Hoping to get better from here! Well, I’m sure it will be.”

“Oh?” you ask, your confidence building faster and faster as you press further against him. “Anything you have in mind?” —you press your thigh suggestively against the semi-hard spot against his jeans. — “Anyway... I can... help?”

Inasa groans deep in his chest, his head knocking backward at your implications, the pleasant vibrations passing on to you. You grin, fingers scraping against the bottom of his buzzcut and bringing him closer, praying for a kiss. But as he returns his head back down, his gaze leaves yours for a split second, and you watch in horror as a sobering look washes over him.

“Actually… you’re here with some random dude, right? I don’t want to step on his toes. I thought I saw you come in with some guy; sorry y/l/n, I can’t do this.”

And just as quickly as he was against you, he was gone.

It took everything in you not to screech bloody murder over the fact that you were once again left horny with no man to take responsibility for it.

Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party With Shouto: 78% Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party Without Shouto: 22%

Walking home alone, cold, and with extreme bitterness towards Yoarashi Inasa was a sadly sobering experience. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you were only slightly buzzed, boarding sobriety while not being sober exactly.

Fuck men.

Fuck their cowardness over a nonexistent romantic/sexual relationship between you and Shouto.

But also… you really wanted to fuck men right now.

The slicked horniness of the potential thought of bedding Inasa had made its unignorable appearance via your soaked panties. You hated yourself, hated your biological needs and lusts.

“I’ll wring Shouto’s neck in front of all of them next time,” you grumble to yourself. “Stage a fake breakup for an imaginary thing…”

Nestling further into your pillows, your eyes closed, body relaxing against the bed when a peculiar sound seemed to echo in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes slammed open, your jaw-dropping at the very obvious, entirely embarrassing sound of Shouto having sex on his desk sounded in your room! Of course it sounded in your room. His desk was pressed to your wall because that would mean whenever he was his icky womanizer self, you wouldn’t have to hear anything! Your rooms were soundproof but apparently not movement proof.

The thwack of the wood desk slammed against the wall, and with your ear so close to the wall, you began to hear the shaky, intense breathing of Shouto. The whines, keens, and screams of the girl he was fucking as she begged for more. Sobbing that his cock was too much for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your panties soaked even more, and with a brain that somehow retracted back into its state of stupor, your fingers brushed against your swollen, ready clit.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong, you thought, the sounds of pitched whining against the stupidly impressive, steady, consistent fucking.

Your mind was a drunken fever. 

Your eyes closed not all the way, yet blind to the wall before you as your finger danced and teased against your demanding clit.

You whined softly, matching the groaning of Shouto, who banged something other than the desk into the wall.

For a moment, just this once, you wanted to be the one desperately clinging to Shouto’s back, hips snapping and circling in tandem to his, allowing him to drill his cock deep within you. Your back arched, heat reaching your toes, buzzing filling your lips.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Todoroki!” the girl screamed, begged, and prayed. “Oh my god, yes, yes yes, right there, right the— mmph!”

You find your teeth sinking into your fist, trying to keep your pounding, horny induced brain from crying out. You wanted to know what he was doing to her, if he had kissed her silent, shoved his fingers in her mouth. Maybe he had fucked her so good she couldn’t possibly say more.

There is nothing from Shouto you can hear, no noises of praise, nothing except the occasional ragged breath that seems to permeate through the walls and whisper sweetly, teasingly, like a succumbs in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

It increases, in noise, the wall separating your room from his beginning to rattle, shake in his conquest.

Your fingers are wet, entirely slippery with your conquest, your hips thrashing against your touch, clinging to a phantom memory of the last male you had managed to fuck. Then, as your stomach trembles with the orgasm that's mere seconds from blessing you with a release, you hear him—Shouto.

“Fuck.”

It’s not much. If anything, this girl should be so embarrassed she hasn’t been able to elicit a loud response from Shouto, but it’s a verbal gift from heaven above for you. His voice, tight, husky, drenched with a driving lust, whispers to you and only you, wrapping you in this blanket of solitude and need. 

With your back arching from the mattress, your hips leaving the soft surface, and your jaw growing slack, your moan is silent, unheard by no one but the heavens as you cum. Heat floods throughout your entire body, tickling and twirling in you until you can’t do anything but shudder, shaking as you fall back down on your bed, dizzy and completely satisfied. 

You don’t think about it.

Don’t try to unpack just what happened right now because the reality that you had just masturbated to the sound of your childhood best friend fucking some random girl is a bit too much. Even for you.

So you don’t think about it, and soon the thudding of the desk on the wall is nothing but a drumming lullaby, and sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, you don’t remember what you did.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, your party clothes abandoned completely so that you’re wearing nothing but a large shirt you had stolen from Shouto years ago. You scratch your belly as you walk into the bathroom, eyes caked with your sleep still as you begin brushing your teeth.

As you brush your teeth, you begin to take off last night's makeup — well, whatever remained of it.

Spitting out the last foamy remains of the paste from your mouth, you rinsed your mouth before washing your skin. You looked much more awake now. Slapping your cheeks in an encouraging, ‘im a functional human adult taking part in some random face wash commercial,’ you exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen. 

Shishikura was already in the kitchen, his face expressionless, entirely dead to the world as he scooped some rice into a bowl and topped it off with some eggs.

“Morning,” you yawn, arms stretching over your head as you near closer to your unwanted roommate.

Shishikura sneers at you, but even he was more polite in the morning, sometimes.

“I heard the both of you get back last night,” Shishikura mocked, slamming the lid to his rice cooker with an unimpressed scowl. “You were thirty minutes apart. You know, if you two still want to be partying like a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, do it respectfully.”

Your smile back at him is as fake as he is, and you refuse to move out of the way as he tries to walk back to his room. He growls — gross? — and sidesteps you, grumbling the entire way back to his room as you roll your eyes at his retreating form.

What a child.

You entered the kitchen, fixing up your own things for breakfast.

Kettle brewing hot water for tea, rice cooker on for your own rice (you make enough for Shouto too), and you begin cooking some ham and eggs, readying yourself for a Sunday for going to the library and studying. You hummed to yourself, your phone plugged into the speaker as your music filled the quiet morning air.

You bobbed your head in rhythm with the music, your eyes concentrating on slowly cooking eggs as you poured the hot water from your kettle into the teacup. As you placed your teabag in, you looked up to the sound of a creaking door and grinned wickedly as a girl with light blue hair walked out of the hall you and Shouto’s room were in.

Her dress was rumbled, a few blooming red and purple marks sitting prettily on her collarbone, and her face flushed red as she began to scurry out.

“Bye!” you call out, laughing at the scared eep from the girl and the disgruntled groan from Shouto’s room.

You set down your tea, flipping the eggs in the pan as you heard more shuffling before finally, Shouto made his appearance. He was in nothing but grey sweatpants that sat so low on his waist you could not only see the band of his boxer-briefs, but you were entirely aware of the v-lines, the abs, the pecs, and the small happy trail from his belly button down. You also noted that there was not a single mark on his body, and you wondered if he had ever taken a single mark from a one-night fuck before.

God really cursed you with an objectively attractive best friend, huh.

“Morning, slut,” you sing, noticing with happiness that your rice cooker sang a merry tune, indicating that the rice was done. “Breakfast?”

“Mm,” Shouto grumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he trudged closer to the kitchen, taking a spot on one of the stools. “Depends. Did you make it?”

“...I always make it.”

“I think I like Shishikura’s breakfast better.”

Silence.

You glare at Shouto, and in turn, his lips press to a comfortable, teasing smile.

“Fend for your damn self then.”

Shouto laughed loudly as you began to stubbornly fix yourself a bowl of both your servings. You ate far less than he did, but still enough to fill you until after three pm, so the size of your bowl was hysterical. 

“You’re such a horrible wife-roommate,” Shouto accuses, standing up from the stool and entering the kitchen to try and persuade you otherwise to give him his own food. “And here I thought that you liked cooking for me.”

“Go tell your stupid wife-roommate Shishikura instead,” you cry loudly, the faux sniffles from you stupidly fake as you begin to shovel a mouthful of rice and eggs into your mouth. “I’m shwure you’chll beh happ t’gther!”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, y/l/n,” Shouto accuses, his nose scrunching as he traps you in his arms, mouth trying to intercept the food moving from your bowl and into your mouth. 

With another desire to prove how unsatisfied in your roommate-marriage you were, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue full of uneaten, partially chewed rice.

“Ea’ eh!” you mocked, your grin growing as Shouto’s initial instinct was to whip his head away from you.

But as always, because Shouto enjoyed being incredibly annoying, he went after your tongue, readying to eat the chewed-up food off your very tongue. 

Eventually, you gave Shouto back his part of the breakfast, laughing as the both of you chatted about who was going to repay Shishikura for the used rosés. Neither one of you could decide, and so it was something to be solved later. Noon, however, came and with a nod, you accepted Shouto’s hug goodbye, to which you twisted his nose triumphantly as you waddled out of the front door, clothed in your winter gear, textbooks, and laptop,

It was time to brave the world and get this paper done.

“Mina, I mean… absolutely no offense when I say this, but it still shocks me every time you say you’re a chemistry major. You just seem so…”

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta be some kind of stupid to willingly take inorganic chem,” Mina laughed, balancing her textbooks on her head as the both of you climbed the stairwell to the library’s study rooms. “That's why I have the dance minor! Best of both worlds!”

“Could never forget about that,” you laughed as the both of you neared the top of the stairwell.

You didn’t mean to notice him. As a matter of fact, most of your failed conquests at parties never amounted to much anger from you, but seeing Inasa from across the way, his face buried in some aerodynamics textbook, anger boiled in you. On the way to meeting with Mina, you had realized your mistake last night and how you wouldn’t have made said mistake if it hadn’t been for Inasa! You could’ve been dicked down, slammed against your bed and wall as the giant of a man fucked you!

“I’ll be right back,” you sneered, eyes narrowing as you passed your textbook to Mina.

With fire following in ever long, powerful stride, you blinked and immediately found yourself before Inasa.

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

Inasa reacted as if you had shot him, his knees coming up to hit the table, his body knocking backward, and he tumbled, crashing to the floor as you watched with a gaping mouth.

“Y-Y/L/N!” Inasa shouted, his face going through half a billion emotions before settling in anxiety-filled fear. You watched, horrified yourself, as he swung to his knees, his head crashing to the floor as he began apologizing to you. “GOODMORNING, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?!”

“Pipe it down, Inasa!” you hiss, your cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat as you garnered the attention of everyone on the floor. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just wanted to talk!”

“Aha, yes, of course!” Inasa laughs, a full belly laugh. He sits up and you freeze seeing the bloodied cut on his forehead. He stands up, completely unaffected by the gash on his forehead, and uprights his chair before sitting comfortably. “How can I help you?”

“What happened to you last night?” you try again, eyebrow raised, arms crossed definitely and awkwardly because yeah… you were confronting a guy who didn't want to sleep with you. “You were into me and then suddenly wasn’t.”

Inasa laughs more, although nothing you said, implied, or did was even remotely funny.

Irritation runs through your veins.

“Inasa, please,” you sigh in helplessness, your eyes annoyed, pleading, and hopeful that he would be the one to finally give you an actual reason.

“It’s… it’s not you. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Inasa finally sighs. His face turns uncharacteristically solemn as his tongue passes through his lips, his shoulders raising to a shrug. “Typically speaking, you are exactly who and what I want when I endeavor in less than chivalrous but still passionate activities. I wanted you last night, and I will not lie that even as I left, I regretted behaving as I did.”

“Well, you did it, and it sorta really sucked,” you laugh, your mouth taut in a frown as your feelings are genuinely hurt.

You keep being put down, and there’s no reason for it.

Why couldn’t you be as sexually active as you wish you could be?

“...Todoroki has a claim on you,” Inasa spoke slowly, his mouth dipping from a usual smile to a frown. “I know you guys aren’t together, but in a way, you two are.”

“No,” you say with complete certainty, anger burning in your chest, “we’re not.”

“Try telling Todoroki that,” Inasa shrugs, his fingers scratching through his buzz cut. “Listen, I wanted to have intercourse with you last night; I did. I also am aware that Todoroki is a womanizer, but he said you were off-limits for all of us.”

“He said that?” your voice is perfectly calm, not showing the raging fire in you.

“Well, no, he definitely did not,” Inasa sighs, the palm of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes. “He has never said it… but it’s the way he talks about you, how he looks at you. It’s a claim on you, even if it’s not a verbal one, and well, no one wants to defy him.”

Your nostrils flare in your irritation, and you find that you’re stepping into Inasa’s personal space, his eyes going wide as you step between his legs and press your hands on his chest.

“I’ll be going home in about five hours. If you still want to fuck me, wait for me,” you say slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “I don’t care if Sho looks at me the way he does; he is not my boyfriend.”

Inasa gulps, his tan skin sporting a healthy pink flush, “Yes, ma’am.”

Five hours later, you’re walking into your apartment with Inasa behind you, his warm, slightly sweaty hand clasped in yours. You make eye contact with both your roommates, Shishikura, whose eyes are rolling to the depths of his skull, and Shouto, who looks like a wall. You, despite the anger you’re feeling for Shouto, smile prettily, then grin wolfishly as you corral Inasa towards your room. You send your roommates a wink before closing the door with a decisive click.

Much like you assumed the night prior, your drunken hazed, lust-driven, anger-flared thoughts proved to be right. Inasa fucked you against the wall, deep into the mattress, he drilled and fucked you until his dick was wet with your slick, and his leg was trembling with his plentiful unleashed loads. But you weren’t done yet, too many times have you been denied, and even though Inasa was trembling, his voice shaking with desperate pleas to slow down or he would cum too fast, you rode him with powerful, swiveling hips.

Once he left, you felt light again.

Your head light, body glowing as you dressed your bruised, cum slick body in a robe as you trudged to the bathroom. You showered, letting the warm water and sweet-smelling oils drench your body before you eventually exited, your hair in a towel, Shouto’s shirt on your person again.

Waltzing to the living room, you grinned as you collapsed on the couch, every grievance you held when you walked in forgotten at the moment.

“Hello,” you smile, your head falling onto Shouto’s lap who was, at the moment, very interested in his phone. Shishikura was gone, undoubtedly leaving in case he heard something he didn’t want to hear during your little four-hour sexscapade. “I am a leaf flowing through the river right now, if you’re wondering.”

“Don’t need to wonder. You were perfectly loud enough,” Shouto grumbled, his eyes rolling. “Says something that I could, considering the rooms are soundproof.”

“I should hope so! After you, the girls rave that Inasa is the best fuck on campus,” you hum, still on a delirious high as you attempt to reach for your best friend's hand to grasp. But to your shock, Shouto jerks away from your touch, and he stands, letting your head fall roughly on the couch. And just like that, your anger is back. The emotion Inasa had managed to fuck out of you for a bit returned at full force. “Shouto?!”

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that you brought someone to fuck at fucking five p.m.,” Shouto explains, his expression like the void, empty, dark, menacing. “We agreed to keep it until past ten.”

Your face screws up as you push up off the couch, “Are you kidding me?! I’ve seen you constantly bring girls to fuck at any and all times of the day! Don’t suddenly bring that shit in when it clearly isn’t an actual rule in this apartment!”

“You were also being obnoxiously loud,” Shouto narrows his eyes at you.

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

“I literally listened to you fuck that girl last night against our shared wall!”

“You moved your bed to our shared wall?! When?!”

“Doesn’t matter! I would’ve heard it just fine on the other side!”

“The girl wasn’t even that fucking loud!” 

“You can’t ever remember the names of the girls you fuck! Do you know anything about them ever? Are you even using condoms?!”

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

The two of you were nose to nose, anger flaring and near tangible between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

“I’m talking about you mad dogging any male human who so much as looks or thinks of me!” you snap, finger shoving between his pecs. “No one touches me because somehow they respect the way a womanizer looks at me.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way,” Shouto squints his eyes, completely not having your accusations.

“Even if you don’t, this fucking behavior is pathetic of you!” you say, hands motioning between you two and the room. “I had sex, and you’re acting like some pathetic child! I have been putting up with your sex-craze tendencies since we were sixteen, asshole! Sixteen! If I want to gloat and float about having sex, then I fucking deserve to.”

His nostrils flare, his upper lip curling in a small twitch before he rolls his eyes and walks away.

“That’s right, Todoroki,” you laugh bitterly at his retreating form. “Walk away from a fight because you can never win them.”

It took a bit for the dust to settle, but as soon as it did, you realized in horror that you and Shouto had, for the first time ever, fought.

Being roommates with Shouto was always a fun thing. Having your childhood best friend right at your disposal meant that you could have dinner nights, movie nights, game nights, morning waffles, hikes, and literally anything whenever and wherever you wanted. He was a person to talk to when the days were long, and there was no one else in the world, the person who was there for you through thick and thin. But for two days, he had been locked away in his room, unwilling to look at you, refusing to be anywhere near you.

Your friends had noticed immediately.

The way the both of you hadn’t shown up together, the way you sat at opposite ends of the table, refusing to be trapped in a conversation together. Separate the two of you were, and the world acted as if Earth had dropped out of gravity.

You could care less right now.

You were rightfully mad at him! How dare he act so pettily over you having a sex life when you were expected to blink, turn the other way, and laugh when he would shower after a girl would leave before joining you on the couch to watch a movie. He was in the wrong, not you!

But even if you were unwilling to budge and he was refusing to see things the way they should be, you were now incredibly lonesome. So as you sat with your back on the mattress. Your butt to the wall, and your legs kicking against the wall, you thought of what you could do. With a bitter sigh, you rolled off your bed and scurried out of the apartment. Nothing but your wallet and ID on you so that you could get to the store on the first floor of the complex.

Holding the item in hand, you knocked on a door, your gaze already on the floor, embarrassed that you were going to do what you had to do.

“What?” came the annoyed voice of Shishikura, the door to his room opening as he looked at you unimpressed and very obviously unwelcomed.

“Truce?” you asked, raising the six-pack of Angry Orchard Rosé Cider. 

Shishikura looks at you, at the ciders, then back at you.

“Fine.”

How in the world you’re drunk off of four rosé ciders is beyond you, but you are. You’re in the living room, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts as you’re trying not to snort the liquid from your mouth and out your nose. Shishikura is equally plastered off of one drink, his red a ruby red against his purple hair. He’s leaning against you, his breathing ragged, near asthmatic as he tries to once explain just how Shouto looked like when some girl slapped him across the face yesterday for ghosting her after sex.

“He was so shocked!” Shishikura squeaked out, his voice pitchy and incredibly high as he laughed more and more. “You should have seen it!”

Your feet kicked at the air, your face and lungs burning with a fire you hadn’t felt in so long as your laughter turned silent. You gasped for air, trying to contain yourself but failing hysterically.

“Do you wa’ another meatballsh?” Shishikura suddenly asked, his hands flailing to grab his plate of meat. “I think you want another o’.”

“I wan’ ‘ne!” you cried with a slight slur, tears of joy slipping past your eyes to which you haphazardly scrubbed them off your face. “They’re soooo good! I didn’t think they could be so… be so good!”

You find yourself eating another meatball, drinking it down with the cider and feeling happy again. Shishikura goes still by your side, and you hum in wonder, unfocused eyes trying to find what had caught his attention and falling onto the one man you were mad at currently.

Shouto was standing at the apartment entrance, dressed in ripped black jeans, a tight grey turtleneck sweater, and his backpack slung on his shoulder. It was, without a doubt, a studying-only outfit. You knew and have discussed too many times with Shouto about how he never trusted women to take his turtlenecks off without potentially ruining the fabric.

“Well, someone’s finally home... from a night of beddin mo’ women, huh?” a voice spoke, but you were completely unsure if it was you or Shishikura who said it.

Judging by the way Shouto’s eyes locked on Shishikura and not yours, it seemed it was him who said it.

“No, I was doing something,” Shouto retorted, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack, his eyes shifting between you and Shishikura. “A paper for class.”

“Sure,” you end up speaking up, your voice sounding completely sober. You sit up so that your elbow is resting on Shishikura’s nearest shoulder. You raise the glass bottle to your lips, drinking its content without care, never once breaking eye contact. “What was the paper's name? You going after your TA? Or was it a professor by chance?”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow, his face completely unimpressed by your comeback, but he remains silent.

“He looks like he’s trying to cosplay that one Young The Rock picture, no way would a dignified professor or TA fuck him!” Shishikura laughed with a loud bark, and all of a sudden, that was all you could see too.

The both of you howled with laughter, laughing and slapping each other as you attempted to drink the last bits of the rosés as Shouto rolled his eyes and walked away.

“This is fun. No wonder why you guys do it to me so often.”

-

As time does, it moves forward.

It seemed as if the entire campus had tuned in to what had transpired between you and Shouto. No one the slightest bit sure as to what happened, but everyone knew something big had happened. There was no more walking together before classes or after classes, no weird Instagram or Snapchat stories of the other, both of you never having to excuse yourself because you had plans with the other. Even though they claimed to not care about other people’s business, the school was suddenly invested in the single speculation that Todoroki Shouto’s and Y/l/n Y/n’s relationship was over.

“Breaking News, it was never a real relationship!” you would scream the first few times you heard it, which only worked to make them whisper louder that you were in further denial.

For the last seventeen years of your life, you had never gone more than two days without talking or seeing your childhood best friend. Those two days happened when Rei had experienced a staggering, hospital-inducing breakdown from stress and had subsequently burned Shouto when you were five years old. The two days were because he spent four days in the hospital. The first two days, he was not allowed visitors as the hospital staff put him under a coma to help his body from entering shock and heal. Of course, the moment he was awakened, you were dragging your mother to his bedside.

That was the only time you hadn’t seen or spoken to Shouto consistently.

But since Sunday evening, you had only seen Shouto once when you were drunk with Shishikura. You had only spoken to him then too.

For the first time in seventeen years, you broke your record of not talking or seeing Shouto.

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

So when Mina and Uraraka placed their arms around your shoulders, their eyes dead serious, you knew that they had a distraction for you.

“The deltas are throwing a party,” Uraraka spoke with mystery. “It is on Saturday.”

“It is only right that we go, get our asses so drunk our blood is practically a distillery, and fuck anyone who looks at us a second longer than anyone else,” Mina agrees, her tone wise and knowing as she nods her head.

“Our question to you is:” they spoke together, their voices weirdly, obviously practiced, in synch. “Are you in?”

Your tongue is pressed between your lips, your fingers pressing against the textbook you were using to help support your essay’s thesis, and you roll your eyes.

You grin.

“Obviously.”

And as time promises each and every time, Saturday finally came.

“What is our objective tonight?!” Mina screams over the background music that Jirou is blasting in Momo’s larger-than-life bathroom.

“To fuck bitches and get money!” Hagakure, the only one currently not downing a drink, screams back.

“NO, WRONG!” Mina shakes her head, climbing onto the white marble countertops and pointing at Jirou. “Kyo! Your turn!”

“To beat that prick in the sound booth and prove that I’m—”

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

“INCORRECT, YOU GORGEOUS PRINCESS! Tsuyu, don’t fail me, babe!”

“Well, it’s to prove to Todoroki that y/n-chan should be able to fuck any person she wants.”

“A bit lengthy, a bit focused on the wrong parts of it, but YES! Tonight’s operation: get y/n a man — preferably Inasa — who fucks the negativity out of her!”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes as you lean in closer to the mirror. You hold a Mike’s Hard in one hand, and in the other is your eyeliner as you paint on your makeup. You’re not really hearing the conversations that the girls are having, your own mind too lost in the music, and the swaying you’ve picked up as the three bottles of Mike’s you’ve had in the past thirty minutes are calming down your still frazzled nerves.

You don’t pull away from your reflection until after you’re done smoothing over your favorite lipstick on your pouty lips. You look over at your reflection and see Mina dancing with an awkwardly stiff Jirou and a delightfully giggling Momo on the bathroom countertops. A smile forms on your face, happiness radiating in your chest, and you grin looking at your friends.

But Shouto still sat in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why did it hurt knowing that he was avoiding you as much as you were him?

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

He was your best friend in the entire world, since your earliest memories, he’s been there, you reason, your whooping not quite as loud as you watch Jirou awkwardly be sandwich between a grinding Mina and a complacent Momo.

It was his fault you, you further reasoned, smiling widely at Hagakure, who was twirling around you, applying her lipstick as a super crazy never before seen talent of hers. He was the one acting like an idiot over the people you slept with even though you let all the people he slept with slide!

But why did you?

Your brows furrowed slightly, unfurrowing just as quickly as Mina pulled you and Uraraka up onto the countertop with her as Jirou and Momo dropped to the floor.

You fucking were in love with Shouto, damnit! Of course you let the stupid personal things go just to appease him! Your back straightened, your eyes rolling as you began to dance with the Kehlani music thumping in the background, but then you freeze.

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

In an ‘I would date you if I could and marry you on the prettiest beach in front of the most beautiful sunset’ way.

You found that your body was dancing on autopilot as you began to reassess your thoughts, your actions, your wants with Shouto, desperately trying to disprove this love for him. But no matter what you did, you found that it was true no matter what angle you looked at it.

The bass dropped, and you went stiff, your body standing straight and tall although you felt incredibly, terribly small.

“I love him,” you spoke, although you’re not sure who to. Maybe it was to the laughing gods above you or the crying spirits around you. But the girls heard it for some reason, and they, as they were patiently waiting for these past six, nearly seven days, caught you as you went weak.

Finally, realizing that you were in love with your childhood best friend was not the conclusion you expected from a week's silence from Shouto and you. But as you were currently in a crop top with a mesh shirt underneath and the most ripped jeans you owned, chugging down a neon green and blue nearly toxic alcoholic drink, you realized that being at this party was the right way to conclude this circus of a week.

The rush of the liquid dropping down the beer bong was something you found yourself struggling to keep up with, and you felt some of the liquid pour out of your mouth as you grunt, trailing down your heaving chest, creating an image in your onlookers as you refused to choke or pull away. Swallowing the last bit of the drink, ripping the plastic tube out of your mouth, you threw your hands in the air, Tsuyu, who had held and poured the contents for you, screaming too as she lifted your arm in victory.

You couldn’t really hear the music anymore, much more entranced with the music you were singing on your own, and you were currently holding Mina’s face, touching foreheads with her as you spoke a mantra of your love for her.

“Ashido Mina, you are the baddest bitch in the whole wide world. I love your pink hair and your fat ass, and I would die for you. I love you… so fucking much,” is what you said. How it was actually said and how it was perceived is a whole other story because Mina laughed loudly and allowed you to hug her despite your sticky alcohol body.

Your twenties were the new two’s, it seemed.

“Yo, y/l/n!” a voice yelled, and although you let go of Mina’s face, your arms found a new home around her neck as you turned around.

“Hm?”

Your terrible drunk eyes looked all over before falling on a man wearing a basketball jersey and joggers.

Shindou Yo, one of campus’ manwhores. He had a reputation similar to Shouto, you knew that very well, but you were aware that he was disturbingly creepy. According to many vital witnesses, the man slept with just about anyone willing regardless of gender, so not only did you know what the girls thought of him, experienced with him, there was a wider demographic not even Shouto had entered. Number one thing to be told was the fact that Shindou was into some heavy, dark shit to an extreme, his room reeked of sex, and he himself smelled like booze, weed, and BO. But a strong dick was a strong dick at the end of the day.

“Come play beer pong with me?” he asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he smiled innocently. “I’ve heard some pretty solid shit about your skills, and I want to see how I add up.”

“I’ll play!” you agree immediately, jumping at the thought of drinking more. “Bu I don’t wa’ beer… ish nashty.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

With your arm still holding onto Mina, you accepted Shindou’s hand and allowed him to drag you off to where he wanted to play the game of beer pong.

The game of beer pong went without a single thing going wrong. You were paired up with Shindou, and Mina had managed to find Kirishima in the crowd before you got to your destination and demanded she have him as a partner and not Monoma.

It was safe to say that you were drunk, disgustingly out of your mind. It was an intense game of Cup Pong, the two different teams equally as bad in the drunken stupor, but finally, the two teams were down to a single cup and Kirishima — who was the only reason why they were winning!!!! — had the last ball. You watched in terrible apprehension, fingers digging into Shinsou’s biceps as Kirishima rose the wet ping pong ball to Mina’s lips and let her blow on it for good luck before bringing it back in and began a few steadying practice throws.

“You know, I’m glad I saw you at this party,” Shindou whispers to you, his head ducking down so that you and only you could hear that.

“Why?” you say a lot louder than you wanted, your heart hammering in fear that you would lose this game.

“Because you’re sexy as fuck,” Shindou spoke, his voice turning deeper, huskier, “and now you’re single.”

You blink, attention stolen from the game as you forgot about the final cup and looked at Shindou with a blank stare and an open mouth.

“What?”

“Cuz you and Todoroki are over,” Shindou explains to you as if you’re a child. “You guys are over, right? That’s all everyone’s talking about, and all us guys are ready to fuck you whenever you’re ready.”

His smirk irritates you, the lust in his eyes angering you as you drop your hold on his arm.

“We weren’t together, and you knew that,” you say, eyes narrowing as the crowd watching the game explodes in raging cheers as Kirishima sinks the ball into the cup. “Why the fuck would Shouto be fucking every girl that walks if we were together? What makes you think I’d be okay with it?”

“You’re a cuck,” Shindou continues on, confidence unaffected. “Oh, are the two of you maybe changing roles now? Does the big guy want me to fuck you in front of him?”

Your fist makes contact with his throat before you can even stop yourself and the cheers quickly turn into gasps.

After apologizing profusely to the party holders, they decided that you could, in fact, stay at the party. Your knuckles throbbed in pain, the alcohol in your system buzzing in you in a way that wasn’t fun or relaxing as you made a simple side-step dance move in the middle of the dance floor. The girls, who had at the beginning of the party, drifted ways, had once more glued themselves at your side on the floor. You weren’t in a dancing mood as you took a drink of what you assumed to be a Moscow mule made by Mina for you to keep you at a high for the rest of the party.

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

You would go insane if he ever thought that would be acceptable.

“Down girl, relax!” Mina yelled by your ear. “I thought I was babysitting y/n, not Bakugou Katsuki!”

You startled, realizing that your frown had become a fierce snarl as you danced on the floor.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you feeling good again; let’s enjoy this night!” Mina exclaimed, her hands pushing your drink to your mouth and forcing you to chug the contents of the drink. The red Solo Cup is dropped to the floor as soon as you finish. She grabbed your wrists and began to fluidly move your arms — or as well as she could manage herself because she, too, was drunk.

But with Mina winking and smiling at you, the rest of the girls eventually throw themselves into your linked dance circle, your own negative emotions left and in came joy.

It took about another round of ten songs for the dance circle to be destroyed and to have all of you resuming a rave-like jumping and scream-singing as Jirou finally snuck her way into the DJ booth and succeeded to take over. You spun around at the end of one song, laughing completely out of breath as you clapped your hands together. You often forget that while Jirou only listened to a very specific genre, she was a musical genius who had banger playlists for every occasion.

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

However, the next song had your head tilting backward, your grin spreading even wider as you began to move your hips in slow, distinct movements. Dancing with your hips was something you had learned, something you instilled into your dancing category for as long as you could remember.

The beats were loud, deep, thumping deep in the ground and vibrating with great strength in your chest as you pointed a finger at Mina, who was also dancing similarly to you. Your lips moved as you sang the song quietly, the heat and humidity of the room suddenly pressing onto you like another person. You hummed, flicking the parts of your hair sticking to the nape of your neck off, grateful for the slightly cooler air hitting your sweaty skin.

As you rolled your hips down, your hands fanning yourself, trying to cool down your deliriously warm, alcohol-heated body, you froze for just a bit. A person pressed to your back, your ass pressing against a hot thigh, and a hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, keeping you in place. You might have cared, but the body against yours was a welcomed one. Your hips and ass continuing to move in tandem with the music, deliberate highs and lows, and you worked your way up and down the man's body who met yours with spinning accuracy that made you began to pant, your heart racing because this was hot to you. You raised your arms behind you, clasping onto his neck, keeping him on you.

His hair was soft under your touch, slightly sweaty but threaded and parted between your fingers just too easily. His left hand, which had found a spot on your stomach, was radiating heat, something easily felt due to you only having mesh cloth there.

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

His chest broad against your back, muscles strong and tight against you.

He was skilled, practiced. Someone you knew was not going to disappoint you, and as your lust-glazed eyes took in the entirely shocked looks of your friends, you finally turned to look.

Somehow, someway, you weren’t shocked at all to see Shouto’s clouded, dark eyes locking on yours. Your world seems to freeze as something between you and Shouto is so obviously broken between you, forever changing, no longer able to go back. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a week you had seen him, had talked to him, he was there, and you wanted to feel his skin scorching against yours. His touch screamed of his want for you, your recognition of your love for him, and your current lust for him. You were angry, hurt, confused, but you were too drunk to care, too intoxicated on the spell the two of you created on this dance floor.

But even as your world froze, the music continued on.

Grabbing Shouto’s hand, you spun around so that his chest was now pressed against yours, your legs between his. You continued dancing, continued to roll your hips down as you sunk down to the ground as Shouto remained standing, his hand supporting and balancing you as you went down and up. He began to dance with you again, the world seemingly disappearing as the two of you ground and panted heavily in each other's ears.

He pushed forward, and you whined, feeling the blazing swollen heat of his semi-hard cock against your stomach, but you met him there.

Your fingers fisting in his hair as his hands found their way into your back pockets, gripping your ass, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth, blazing, intense, and intentful, mashed against yours. You kissed him back immediately, all defenses abandoned to that of your lust, wants, and needs. His mouth was a fire, his kiss a blaze that consumed you, drowned you, made you push for more.

It was a kiss that lasted who knows how long, but by the time you had separated, you could feel the familiar sting to your slowly swelling lips and the song that had ended.

His eyes were a near black, his cheeks flushed, and his arms kept you so close you had to think if you were in the privacy of your home or in public.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice begging, pleading for him.

“I need you,” he responded, his voice equally wishing.

“Take me home,” you speak, lips pressing sloppy, desperate hot kisses to his neck. “Take me home and fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Let’s go,” Shouto pants, his hands leaving your ass and grabbing onto one of yours before taking you and dragging you away.

It wouldn’t hit you until much later, but the very first kiss you had ever had with Shouto was in the middle of a dance floor, at a party where the male population had been ready to snatch you up after your relationship with Shouto was so-called over.

You were breathless.

No matter how deep you inhaled, you felt like you weren’t having enough oxygen flooding your veins, filling your lungs. You laugh loudly in the night, uncaring about the strangers you passed looking at you and Shouto, who chuckled and snorted with every giggle you made.

This felt crazy, insane, something serendipitous and not real even in the smallest of bits.

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

Wants and needs were different things, but he said need.

He needed you.

Just you.

Your feet ached from the running, but you could only focus on Shouto, your mind filling and swimming in the memory of his body pressed to you. The way his lips ghosted over your neck, and the way he danced against you — with you. The four-block walk back to your apartment seemed too far, and your eyes locked on a nearing alleyway.

With much more strength than you should have, you shoved Shouto into the alleyway, your mouth immediately pressing onto his.

Shouto groaned into your mouth, letting you drink his noises as you pulled him close, consuming him in a messy clash of teeth, spit, and tongue. You whined back, your legs slotting between his thigh and grinding down on the hard muscle. It alleviated the growing, scorching heat in your panties but also intensified it, making you want for more and more and more.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Shouto groaned in your mouth, shifting and guiding your rolling hips his thigh better, more fluid, more intense.

Your eyes barely cracked open, your mouth no longer kissing him put pressing against his in an open mouth pant. Your drunken breath saying nothing but implying the world.

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered for you to hear, so reverent, so holy. And so that you, the center of his world, the only thing he saw and believed in, knew how passionately, how ardently he believed in you, his mouth slid down your neck, and his teeth sunk in your flesh. He claimed you, praised you, making you a part of him.

“I’m still so mad at you!” you moan, voice pitched, whiny, and deliriously high. “I love you, asshole. I love you, and you sleep around! I love you, and I don’t care if you sleep around, but you care that I sleep around?!”

“I love you too,” Shouto mumbles against your neck, his teeth continuing to press into your skin that seems to explode with heat at the revelation. “I love, and I’m an idiot; I’m so sorry.”

And then he does something with his tongue against your neck, the soft of swipes, the wet tickling heat making your head slam back against the brick wall, and a mangled, strangled moan of unadulterated want emits from you.

“We'll talk about this in the morning,” you pant, fingers fisting in his shirt. “We can fix this, but right now, shut up and fuck me.”

“Y/n—”

“I’m horny,” you interrupt, hips sharply jutting into his leg. “You made me horny. Take responsibility.”

His eyes flashed dark, his nostrils flaring, and your words cemented in his head. He resumed his painting, his worship on your neck as you cried loudly in the alleyway, desperate, needy for more.

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

For so long, you had only touched him in a few ways, had only ever felt a specific type of warmth. But this was unlike anything you’ve ever done with him, to him. It felt like you were burning and freezing, consumed by heat and energy and everything Shouto. His all too familiar cologne filled your nose, drowning your brain, invading your senses. His frantic heartbeat felt against your own body, telling you exactly how you were affecting him, how you made his heart speed and jump with every breathy whine.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. We need to get home now!” Shouto growls, his hands grabbing you by the wrist yet again and pulling you away.

His strides are long, quick, and powerful. You’re running to keep up, beautifully out of breath, staggering and stumbling to keep up in his objective to get back to the apartment now.

It doesn’t seem to take long before he’s pushing open the doors to the apartment complex, corralling you through the doors and into the elevator to get to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors are behind you, and with no one else in the life, you turn on him and immediately resume your own endeavor of claiming Shouto with your mouth, body, and soul. He matches your intensity, hands roaming from where the clasp of your bra sat to the curve of your ass. He grabbed you, pulled you in closer, the air in his nose staggering as you stammer against his mouth.

Teeth touch lips, tongues in each other's cheeks, and Shouto leads you out of the elevator backward, his one hand on your waist forever steady and the other one holding the key. Your fingers are back in his hair, pulling and tugging sharply on the soft, short strands with nearly disappeared gel. He gets to the door, fumbling with the key as you continue to kiss him, distracting him with the smallest of movements.

“Which room?” he asks against your mouth, pushing you through the threshold, his foot closing the door behind him.

The shoes are haphazardly kicked off and you’re now on your tiptoes to continue kissing him as you were. You tried to think, tried to figure out if you wanted to be surrounded by Shouto’s scent or to have him displayed in your room. His teeth then suckle on your bottom lip, biting down on the swollen, hot flesh just gentle enough that your mind draws a blank and your voice responds on its own.

“Mine.”

You shriek then, Shouto swiftly picking you up off the floor and you panic, hands swatting and beating on him as you scream to let you down. He continues walking, holding you without a worry, his arms remaining strong and firm beneath you. But with your distraction, with your lips no longer pressed sinfully against his, Shouto’s mouth finds a junction point on your clavicle and sinks his teeth down again, claiming you once more.

“S-Sho—” your voice hitches, the feeling too intense for you to process all at once. You hear your room door open and close, and without warning, you’re soaring through the air before collapsing on the bed.

“You think I go to the gym to get muscles for fun?” Shouto taunts, his fingers hooking under the dark grey t-shirt he’s wearing. “Angel, I go to the gym to make sure I can fuck you in any position, against any surface or wall you want.”

Your body feels like it's scorching as he removes his shirt, his muscles rippling and moving seductively with the devious, intentional movement.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Shouto asks, the shirt dropping to the floor, removing all traces of oxygen from your person. He steps closer, fingers circling around your ankle and suddenly pulling you in toward him until you were sitting at the edge, his lips hovering over yours. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your tongue feels dry in your mouth, but your eyes narrow before you push up and capture his mouth back with yours. He kisses you back deeply, bending down so that you begin to shift backward, allowing him the space to crawl onto the bed with you, and at the last moment, your leg wraps around his waist and spins the both of you. Shouto gasps as you pin him onto the mattress, your tongue invading his mouth, brushing and swirling against his, coaxing his own tongue back into your own mouth. With the wet heat in your mouth, your teeth playfully, just gently dig into his appendage and tug.

“No, but it seems like I got yours,” you humor him, your teeth releasing his tongue, and Shouto looks up at you like you were both the sun and the moon, and the stars were a gift to him.

It takes your breath away.

Shouto grins, shifting onto his elbows so that he’s closer to you before kissing you again.

The kiss is growing louder, both your mouths ever so consuming, trying to relay years of repressed, unknown emotions and feelings within a drastic, incredible touch. Your hips begin shifting against his crotch, humping his clothed erection, demonstrating yet again the power and grace you hold in your body.

Shouto’s hands move from your ribs up to your breasts, and with the hot, rough flesh of his skin, he squeezes your tender flesh. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking wildly against him at the sensation. It isn’t a powerful flesh, but a reminder, a demonstration of just what and where he could inflect passionate actions.

Your hands scour his chest, fingernails dragging teasingly down his firm, developed muscles, fingers flicking and teasing at his own exposed nipples. Shouto grunts into your mouth, hips bucking powerfully upward into your clothed cunt, and you splutter at the power behind it. But it seems as though Shouto is over the fishnet mesh shirt and crop top you’re wearing because he’s tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans and commands in a deep, lust-ridden voice: “Off.”

Goosebumps flash across your skin, bubbling and spraying across your sensitive skin as your shirt and crop top join Shouto’s on the floor. Your gasp loudly when Shouto rolls the both of you over swiftly, his mouth immediately pressing hot, viper kisses on your breasts. All thought and reason leave your mind as his teeth nip and pull. His fingers pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders and shoving your boobs out of the bra in a firm hold.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, fuck you,” Shouto whispers, his tone almost dark as his hot air fans against your already pebbling nipples. “Fuck, angel, you’re better than anything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

You whine loudly, fingers tangling in his hair as you desperately, wordlessly try to persuade him to put his lips around your attentive, eager nipples.

“I always forget you got these things,” Shouto says in wonder, his fingers touching the metal bars sitting so innocently, deviously on through your nipple. He tugs on the bar, and all the nerves in your breast fire and tingle, and your feet curl by his back as you whimper. “Fuck... I can’t believe I forgot…”

“S-Shouto, I fucking swear!” you almost screech, hands desperately pulling at strands of red and white, wanting his teeth and tongue and the suction of his mouth on your nipple. “Stop. Fucking. Talking!”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Okay,” he says cheekily, and as if he read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your all too ready nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, clacking against the metal in your flesh. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, although you have no idea what you’re begging for. Your hips pathetically grinding into his clothed cock, trying to get yourself to cum while not having been touched. “Sho— Shouto!”

Shouto pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop. His breath panting, short, and overwhelmingly strained as if simply sucking your throbbing, needy nipple had given him the same amount of pleasure as it did you before consuming your forgotten one. Just as before, you melted against him, begging please, pretty please to him but never telling him what you were wanting. You didn’t know what you were wanting.

But unlike before, his hands leave their attentive position on your free nipple and slam your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping you down and still as he continued his ministrations until you were nipplegasming. You choked as the orgasm consumed you, your body going rigid and your eyes rolling to the depths of your head as his hot mouth was all you could think of. For a moment, the needy wet heat between your thighs was easily ignorable, something unneeded until Shouto was pulling away and kissing you again.

His chest was pressed tight against your own chest, your sensitive, overstimulated nipples rubbing against his chest with the welcomed friction as you let out a wordless, near-dizzy sigh into Shouto’s mouth. He kissed you with incredible passion, with dizzying heat, and consuming lust.

Your voice was so small, your voice easily drowned in Shouto’s mouth as your fingernails dug into his back and raked down pathetically, desperately proving that you were still here. Still fighting him on just who would win this night. Your fingers went down the curve of his spine, trailing down until you found the waistband of his sweats, and with his mouth everso distractingly on the swell of your breasts, biting, marking, and sucking hickies and his print on you for forever, he helped you slide the pants off.

In an almost dramatic fashion, his eyes burning deep into yours, leaving you stunned and a worshiper at his feet, he rose off your bed and let the pants fall. You shakily inhaled, your eyes suddenly transfixed and only seeing the hard, leaking dick that stood tall and proud against his twitching stomach. At the mere sight of him, you now truly, completely, and entirely understood just why the girls were obsessed.

From tip to the base, he was thick, the flush of his skin gorgeous, the curve of his cock optimal to fuck anyone. He was long, thick, and delicious—trimmed pubes of red and white and balls that had your mouth watering and going dry. You wondered, imagined, tried to visualize just how much it was going to hurt getting that in you. You’ve never had a man with a dick like that, never had to choke or fuck on something that looked like it would possibly render you stupid the moment you were impaled.

“Can I?” you ask, ‘can I touch you? Can I suck you?’ go unsaid.

“You owe me one,” Shouto says, his words teasing if it wasn’t for the way his voice betrayed him with the eagerness, the want and inexplicable tell that says if you don’t touch him, he will lose his fucking mind. “Please, do it.”

You’re dragging him back onto the bed, sitting him by your headboard, spreading his legs apart as you situate yourself between them. With a tentative, shaky hand, you reach out and grab on his dick.

His flesh is hot to the touch; it's hard and twitches just so at your grasp. Shouto lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, and you look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, your nose touching the underside of his length and nuzzling into the flesh. You look back up at him with hooded eyes, eyes dark with mirth, lust, and an overwhelming need to please Shouto. He stares back, eyes entirely too bright, almost scared, almost as if he can’t believe this is happening.

You smile softly, eyes breaking contact to look at the swelling cock in your hand, and then back at him as your tongue pokes out of your mouth and puts a long, wet stripe against his length.

And Shouto?

Shouto moans like a man who’s had warm food after days of starving.

You lick from base to tip, saliva mixing with precum as your mouth presses teasing, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the sweltering heat of his balls.

“Fuck, y/n, stop teasing,” Shouto grits, his hips pathetically snapping into nothing, his hands desperately trying to touch you, to which you swatted him away each and every time. You tut, shaking your head. With both your hands fisting his dick at the middle of his length, your squeeze and pull in opposite directions.

The reaction is one that you were hoping for, Shouto’s head slamming to the headboard with a clash, his legs jumping just a bit, and precum coming out in even heavy drops. You laugh breathlessly at his display, enamored with how fucking easy he is to get to make noises. He’d never made noises before, no other girl had him the way you did, and that made you crazy with power.

Before you wanted to, your mouth consumed to head of his cock, allowing the musky smell that was completely and only Shouto to fully consume you. You sucked on his thick swollen head, tongue pressing on the leaking slit on his head as he choked on your name. You smile, taking him in further, straining against the weight in your mouth, the pressure on the back of your throat, and the stretch of your throat. As soon as you had him a bit way in, you were pushing out, his hips driving to find you but missing you. Shouto’s noise was almost broken, near needy, and your head spun with his noises. Unable to stop, you pushed in again, allowing the drive of his hips to send his cock further down your throat.

Tears filled your eyes at the action, his cock much too large, much too thick to be fucked into your throat as such. Your fists acted as a barrier as you adjusted, your throat humming, mouth moaning as Shouto lost himself to the heat of your wet mouth. You bobbed your head, fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks. You sucked his dick with the intention of ruining him, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you needed to consume. You let go of one hand, allowing it to fondle with his balls as his cock went further into your mouth, the sounds of your choking, gagging, and crying egging him on.

“You take me so good,” Shouto sang to you, whispering words that only you’ve heard. “Fuck, angel, take me all the way. I know you can do it.”

With his hands at the back of your head, your fingers squeezing his balls, and the shaky removal of your final hand on his cock, he drives his hips all the way up. Shouto curses loudly, and you choke, feeling the rush of cum shooting down your throat, and you’re let free.

“Swallow it all, don’t spit it up,” Shouto breathes, his body shifting upward, eyes intent, focused. “Let me see.”

You cough violently, mouth closed as you swallow the salty cum, only letting your mouth open to allow the drool and spit to drip from your flat tongue as you show him that you swallowed every last seed. He groaned, grasping you by the chin and pulling you back in for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The taste of Shouto and his cum sat heavily in your throat, and you were shaking as he began to unbutton your jeans, shedding them off of you as he flipped you back around so that your back was resting against the mattress.

Salt sweat dripped down your neck, and Shouto left fingertip bruises on your waist, your knees and legs awkwardly kicking as you finally got your jeans off your ankles. You shuttered, feeling Shouto’s hot, spit-slick dick pressing against your stomach, your cunt flipping and twisting at the thought of taking him all in.

“You’re still, fuck… you’re still hard?” you gasp, Shouto’s fingers tracing the innards of your thighs, scratching at your ass, slapping it once, twice, leaving you pitched and shaking.

“How can I not be when you’re down beneath me?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking at you as if he was burning the very naked image to you in his brain for him forever. “You’re mine, right?”

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

You feel yourself nodding, your fingers scratching up his flexed arms, “Yours and only yours.”

“Good,” Shouto smirks, leaning in, his entire weight on the one hand beside your head, making you groan as his lips were so close yet so far away. “I’m yours as you are mine.”

With that, his fingers pressed to your thus far, unattended to clit, your legs shaking, kicking the air as you howled in pleasure. But it was such an intimate place, something you never expected Shouto to ever touch, and so, in a voice so pathetic you couldn’t even recognize it as yours, you screeched: “D-Don’t touch that!”

Shouto cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting as his fingers swirled around your swollen nub, sending just enough electrifying pleasure through every neuron in your body. “Why not?” he asked, voice authoritative and curious and sadistic. “It’s mine — you’re mine. I can play with what’s mine whenever I want.”

The words make your entire will collapse, the words liquid heat in your ears and mind. You moan loudly, feeling Shouto adjust your hips, lining your spasming cunt with his cock, and with his tongue delving into your mouth, his lips pressing against yours, he slowly pushed into you.

Shouto was loud the entire way into you, the deep grunts, breathless moans, and mindless babble of how this was unlike anything he’s had before, better than anything he’s ever imagined. He bottoms out quickly, hands leaving purple bruises against your skin as you lay on the bed silent.

Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single tone noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper over and over, your legs tight around Shouto’s hips, shaking with the feeling in you. “God, y-you’re so big, Sho… I’m—”

You can’t finish your sentence because he shifts just enough that his cock is meeting places in you that had never been encountered before. Your eyes roll back again, your fingers pressing ruby red scars to his back as you scratch and tear his back.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Shouto pants, his mouth panting against the sweat on your collarbone, his own breathing heavy and spaced. “You’re perfect, y/n, so fucking perfect.”

You preen with those words, your mouth finding a home at his temple to which you kiss him, drag your lips down to his ear. You bite and nibble as you adjust to him buried deep within you. And he heaves a sigh and pushes up off you, eyes daring to stare into you as he huffs almost in disbelief of this entire night.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says, fingers scratching down your sides to your thighs. “Are you ready?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. Shouto smiles, leaning back down for one last kiss to which you quickly returned, staying there as his hips moved backward before thrusting back into you. It's the first thrust of many, but your arms wrap even tighter underneath his own, your nails scarring his back as he goes again and again. You fucks into you deliberately, readily, with purpose and skill that speaks wonders and lives up to the many rumors you’ve ever heard.

His thrusts are powerful, slapping into your thighs with a mighty smack, making you whimper and wail into his salty neck as your hips lift up to meet his. It's a powerful dance, a dizzying cycle. His cock sliding up and down your puffy velvet walls, your weeping walls clenching him in a vice, unforgiving and unwilling to let go.

He speaks praises into your ear, your yours, your mouth.

“Such a pretty angel, moaning for me, crying for me, tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me buried in your fucking stomach.”

You are converted to him in return, seeing him, speaking to him, devoted to him.

“Fuck, I want you more. Faster, harder! Don’t stop! I can feel you in my stomach, Sho! Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me fuck me!”

His weight is pressed on your thighs, spreading your thighs further apart, fucking into deeper, fucking you so powerfully, so desperately your soaked cunt squelches and drips your essence, soaking your bed and his legs. Your teeth sink into his skin, copper filling your mouth, and your vision feels missing as you are slamming your hips up, rolling them desperately to fuck back into him. You can feel his hand clutching yours, pressing it into the mattress as he somehow speeds up again, drilling you into the mattress, the bed creaking and bending under both your weight.

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

You wail his name, the heat in your skin, tickling your clit and innards making you sweat, the alcohol on your skin sticking you to Shouto.

Shouto grunts your name, hisses your name, damns you heaven and back for having such a fucking grip on him. It's when he looks into your eyes, cock drilling into you at a speed and power that no human should ever obtain, one hand gripping yours and the other pinching and teasing your clit, you cum, bursting open at the seams.

Your orgasm is loud, clenching, all-consuming, and you drag Shouto down with you as he stammers, shudders, and cums deep within your womb. His seed spilling out of you as the both of you collapse onto the bed with breathless, thoughtless minds.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

And with your nose pressed to his sweaty, sex-lulled body, you fall asleep with his hands traveling up and down your spine. Hopefully, things would be well when you woke up.

P R E S E N T

To stop you from screeching so loudly you woke up the entire world, Shouto held his hand to your mouth, his eyes wide, terrified, and completely confused.

“Please stop yelling… my head hurts…” Shouto begs, his face completely exhausted but with that post-orgasm sleep glow.

“We had sex?!” you shriek, throwing his hand off your mouth. “We were mad at each other, and we had sex?!”

“Oh,” Shouto seems to remember, his head rolling before he sat up, bringing you up with him. “Right, we should talk about that, huh?”

“You think?!” you shriek, entirely overwhelmed with the fact that you had done so much embarrassing shit last night.

It’s quiet for a bit. The birds chirping outside an almost cheerful taunt as the both of you, for the first time in seventeen years, find it too awkward to talk. No one wants to speak first, to mention the elephant in the room, for once it happened, there really was no going back. Not that there was much to go back from.

“I’m in love with you,” Shouto finally says. It’s an admittance, a whisper that's strong despite it told in such a hushed voice as if you would laugh at him as he confessed. “I’ve actually been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Now that shocks you.

Your eyes are wide, and you’re staring at Shouto, unsure what to say, what to ask, but you know you need more answers.

“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Shouto chuckles, his hand running through his sex and sleep disheveled hair. “It’s true, though… I don’t remember not ever being in love with you.”

“No… no way,” you say, your body running cold, and you shiver. You remember then that you’re sitting up, and you’re very incredibly naked. Shouto notices and moves to grab a blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around you. “That doesn’t make sense,” you argue, your furrowed brows making your skin crease as you try to think back on all your years and memories, looking for signs in which Todoroki Shouto loved you. “You never showed it.”

“Camie said the same thing,” Shouto sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I was sixteen… I don’t know; I guess I could understand why. I only ever talked to you, always paired up with you. I let you hold my hand, and I let you hug me… I thought me telling you that I had never been kissed before would make you want to kiss me, but it never did. I know I was awkward and a little different when we were younger, so when I was paired up with Camie… I thought she would help me.”

“By fucking you?” you asked, your frown deepening as you remembered your bitter feelings over Camie stealing Shouto’s virginity.

“She… she said that by being sexual, maybe you would see me as a man, and not the four-year-old crying boy in preschool,” Shouto smiled sadly, his fingers picking at one another. “Me having sex was supposed to show you that I was a man who wanted to see you as a woman in return, but it didn’t work.”

“Well, no shit,” you snort, relaxing a bit although you felt limp. You found yourself leaning against Shouto’s strong shoulders, your head landing heavily on him. “You went from a virgin to fucking anything with a wet hole.”

“...yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Shouto said with regret, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “At first, I thought I needed to fuck more girls to prove I was a man to you because you acted like nothing had happened after Camie… but sex was fun, it felt good.”

“Sex is good,” you agree with a soft chuckle to which he returned.

He shifted a bit, arms tightening and relaxing before he finally admitted, “It helped distract me from you because you looked at others the way I wanted you to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

“No, don’t be,” Shouto speaks firmly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was my fault. I was never assertive enough, confident enough to simply confess.”

“So, does you being in love with me having anything to do with you driving the entire male population away from me?”

Your eyes look up at him, finding his embarrassed gaze before he glances away.

“That actually wasn’t intentional… I guess I just talk about you a lot.”

“Yeah, but still doesn’t mean you couldn’t ever deny it yourself!”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

“Y/l/n Y/n, I am sorry for making the entire male population we’ve ever come across think we were an item and not telling them otherwise. I am sorry for keeping you from enjoying sex while I continued to. I am lousy, and my love for you should be unreturned because that was ass of me.”

You sigh, your lips pursed to keep from smiling as you looked back at his handsome face.

“Now, ask me the damn question, crybaby.”

“Crybaby?”

“You finally admitted that you were, in fact, crying!!!!!”

If you asked Shishikura Seiji what the worst thing about being the third roommate to Todoroki Shouto and you was, he would give a million and three answers as to why it was the worst.

One: he absolutely hated how loud the both of you were. Todoroki Shouto was someone he thought was quiet and introverted, but whenever he was around you, he was loud. You were just plain old loud, and he thought it was annoying.

Two: he absolutely hated your rice. Call it petty, but after you fed him on his first night and tried putting him into a chokehold for saying the song your rice cooker sang at its end was the stupidest fucking thing ever made, everything you made taste like ash and dirt.

Twenty: he hated that there were biweekly karaoke nights. He would be studying away in his room and wanted to die when he heard the all too familiar sound of Mamma Mia’s Here We Go Again blasting in the living room.

Hundred fifty-seven: SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEX.

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

Ten thousand three: you put his toilet seat up whenever you’re drunk, so he falls in when he goes to pee in the morning.

Five hundred: the way the both of you looked at each other, fucking disgusting.

To say the least, there were a lot of many different reasons scaling from actual issues to petty small shit, but Shishikura was not in any position to find a new apartment, so he stayed. To be quite honest, having been living with Dumb and Dumber (you and Shouto, respectively), he only thought there would be one thing that would make him lose his actual mind.

The day that would inevitably come and the both of you realized your feelings were, in fact, returned. He didn’t want to even imagine how the animalistic sex he often had to hear coming from your hallway would increase, or the sappy stupid romantic love he would see in the living room because as best friends, you both had no care for PDA and if you were allowed to kiss? Allowed to have sex? He feared he would have to wear a hazmat suit in every corner of the apartment. You both were already incredibly loud as a duo (see reason one as to why he hates living here); he feared the worst when the mutual love was realized.

But he exited his room a week after that Sunday morning with a fully loaded water gun just in case. His eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck raised as his beady eyes focused in on the living room.

Shouto sat on the couch, his back on the armrest, and you sitting between his thighs as you watched him play some game on his Switch, your smile large and annoyingly bright, but he realized that he couldn’t hear you screaming or speaking so loudly he could listen to the conversation.

No, as a matter of fact, Shishikura couldn’t hear a single word; the words being exchanged between you and Shouto spoke so softly, so intimately, it shocked him. Shishikura noticed with an almost awed surprise that even though your smile was as annoyingly bright as before. It wasn’t directed at anything but Shouto, and Shouto’s smile, while nowhere near as big, just as warm and full to you.

It was intimate, romantic even.

Nothing had changed in your relationship except now, finally, now, you were allowed to kiss and fuck each other like heat-driven animals.

Shishikura was shocked to his core, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

You nor Shouto paid him any mind, too lost in the game and in each other to look his way as he made his way into the kitchen for his lunch. Shishikura set the water gun on the counter, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself, and chuckled.

Maybe the two of you together weren’t something to hate on after all.

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Copycat & The Spider-man —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

Words: 1,250

Phase two Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next chapter

Listen to: ‘Smithereens’ -by TØP

xxiii: Spring

"He's heading north!"

"I see him! Thank you, Cat!"

"You need help?"

"I got it, keep your distance!"

"I need to finish my essay and it's already eleven..."

"You can go!" She heard the distinct sound of someone being kicked to the ground. "See you tomorrow!"

The girl returned to Pietro's apartment shivering a little, it was still a cold winter night and her suit had a heater, but she didn't use it often cause Tony's warning had done its work and she was afraid she would break it too soon.

Pietro wasn't home yet, so it was just her in the apartment. She and the stray cats would somehow always find their way to her room. She put on music to ignore the quiet mews of the creatures outside her window and got to work. Barely ten minutes in, just when her essay was making sense to her, she heard a loud tapping.

"C'mon, if you're gonna hang out here at least don't interrupt me!" She huffed.

But then the tapping turned into firm knocks, she gave a start and look over her shoulder: Peter was crouching on the fire escape, he had a bloodstain on his suit.

"Pete!"

C.C. rushed to the window, Peter stumbled into her room and she helped him take off the upper part of his suit, he had a deep cut on his shoulder blade.

"How did that happen?" She winced. "It looks bad..."

"I didn't want to worry May," He raised his voice when she went to the bathroom, "you know how much she hates it when I go home covered in bruises..."

"Friday?"

"I don't detect any substantial injuries. Mr. Parker has a cut on his shoulder."

"Thank you," C.C. stood behind him and started to clean the wound. "Care to explain?"

"I was running after the guy," He groaned. "I slipped on a patch of ice and I scratched my back on the edge of a dumpster."

"Did you at least stop him?"

"Of course," Peter hissed. "A cut's not gonna stop me... but once I was done a police officer pointed out I was bleeding. I mean I could feel it wasn't serious, but I bled a lot at first, so I came here cause you don't freak out as much as May does, also you know how to get rid of blood when it gets on your clothes..."

"I should put something over to stop it from opening while you're tossing in bed through the night..." She scowled. "I shouldn't have left you alone."

"Hey, hey, don't say that," He tilted his head upwards to look at her. "This wasn't your fault, okay? I had a clumsy moment. Even if it were, I would let Hulk stomp me just so you could be safe in your room finishing your homework."

C.C. sat next to him and cupped his cheek. "That's sweet, Peter. Turn around so I can patch you up nicely."

"Yeah, sorry," He complained when C.C. poured rubbing alcohol on his skin. "Do it with love!"

"I am doing it with love," She laughed. "Tough love."

"Well how about using puppy love?" Her boyfriend joked. "That might hurt less..."

"I'll give you a kiss afterward, is that better?"

"What about a kiss now, and one after you're done?"

He locked eyes with her, wriggling his eyebrows playfully. C.C. snorted and gently pushed him to sit straight.

"Don't move..." She tried, but in the end, she ended up laughing again. "You've fought the winter soldier but a patch of ice manages to make you bleed!"

"It was crystal clear!" He pouted. "By the time I felt something was wrong I was already halfway down!"

She smoothed the butterfly closures she'd put on his cut. "You're good now..."

C.C. kissed the wound softly, Peter cleared his throat.

"Thank you."

"I'm not done," she got up, "take off the suit."

"What?"

C.C. frowned. "So I can get rid of the blood?"

"Oh— right," He blushed. "Yeah, er... should I change in the bathroom?"

"If you can do it without hurting yourself..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't worry," He said quickly. "Do you have something I can wear?"

"Tony's old shirt will do. And maybe one of Pietro's sweats?"

"That's fine..."

The door opened and Pietro froze, he slammed the door close.

"It's not what it looks like!"

"It's not my business!" Pietro said from across the hall. "You're old enough to know what you're doing— or at least I hope so... Wait, do you know how babies are made?"

"I was just mending his wound!" C.C. rolled her eyes. "He got hurt while chasing a bad guy, that's all!"

"Not my business, you continue with what you're doing, don't be loud!"

"Pietro!"

"That's not what's happening!"

"Listen," C.C. walked over to Pietro's door and knocked on it harshly. "Do you have any extra pants Peter can wear? We need to wash his suit—"

"The suit got compromised? You two are disgusting—"

"Pietro!" Both teens exclaimed.

They heard his chortles and a second later he was handing over a pair of dark sweats to Peter.

"I'm just teasing, I know you two are too scared to get it done," He taunted. "Here."

"Thanks, man," Peter mumbled. "And we're not scared... we're just..."

"I'm not ready," C.C. intervened. "Not that is any of your business."

"Indeed," Pietro winked at them. "Anyway, I gotta get up early tomorrow, have a good night you two!"

He closed the door on their faces, Peter sighed and made his way to the bathroom, she went back to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from under the sink. When Peter showed up he was still not wearing a shirt, but at least he had the sweats on. He handed her the suit.

"Look at this neat trick," She showed him the bottle. "Hydrogen peroxide. Buy some and keep it under your sink, it gets rid of the blood in an instant."

She showed him the process and Peter observed carefully, taking mental notes for the future. They hung the suit on one of the chairs and put it close to an open window so it would dry quickly.

C.C. went back to her room and Peter went to the kitchen, coming back with a small plate of snacks. She let him scroll through his phone while she finished her essay, once she was done she went back to the living room.

"There you go, webhead," She returned with the suit, throwing it over his body. "Impressive how the fabric didn't rip when your skin did."

"It's really stretchy," He sat up and pulled the red and blue fabric from his back. "What Pietro said..."

She immediately tried to stop him.

"Don't let him get to you—"

"It's not that," He left the suit on her bed and stood. "I'm not scared. If you ever tell me you're ready, I'll be ready then."

C.C.'s mouth opened slightly. "Oh. Thank you, Peter. It's just... I'm not ready for that kind of thing..."

"I understand," Peter cupped her cheek. "We're still young."

"Yup," She held onto his wrist loosely. "I'm... I'm not there yet. You'll be the first one to know, I promise."

Peter shook his head. "No need to promise. What counts is how we make each other feel, and there's no need to have sex for us to be happy together."

C.C. blushed at his words, if the mere mention was enough to embarrass her, she was definitely not ready.

"Y-yeah," She gulped. "I'd do anything for you, Webs," She kept her gaze down. "It's not about not wanting... it's how I feel about others touching me."

He pushed her hair back, fingertips dangerously close to her old scar.

"Sorry," C.C. stepped back, her fists twitched against her sides. "You should go."

Peter looked at her with a bit of hurt. "Okay... have a good night."

"Goodnight, Pete."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

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[ghost-light]

we rot, thinkin' lots about nothing

My contribution for Pride Day of @willieappreciationweek!!!

Summary:

Their gender- hm.

It was sort of like gender envy. Except remove the envy part. Because sure, ghosts could have gender. But it wasn’t really the gender he wanted. Stuck with it. Just like they were stuck in the afterlife, if you could call ghosthood an afterlife.

Read it under the cut or on ao3

To be fair, ghosts had never really needed a specific gender.

They still didn’t, at least not by any standards or official rules (spoiler alert; that’s because there were no definitive rules. The closest ones Willie had ever known to be rules were smashed to smithereens by Caleb Covington and Alex's band).

So when Julie asked if they wanted a pride flag or pin, it threw him off. When Julie showed them some pictures of pride flags for different gender identities, it threw them off. Hence the mini-spiral of skateboarding and maybe avoiding a certain band of ghosts and their lead singer.

It wasn’t hiding, per se. Willie Williamson Ortega didn’t hide. There was nothing to hide from, anyways. And yet, here he was, skating the day away, stuck in their own head with a problem that wouldn’t resolve itself.

He never had a label before. They were just a gay skater in the 80’s. He was just Willie, or William, to Caleb.

It didn’t feel quite right anymore.

The thing was, Willie's gender just was. They were a ghost. Couldn’t that be their gender?

(Agender, Flynn had suggested. Not having a particular gender. But that wasn’t quite right. He did have a gender. Probably.)

Willie tried explaining it to Alex, because he was a ghost too, right? Except… not quite in the sense that Willie was. Alex tried, he really did. But seeing the blonde’s encouraging but confused smile, and the way Alex’s eyebrows furrowed with intense concentration sank Willie’s spirits.

Flynn was a little more understanding. But they had found a label, was comfortable calling herself a demigirl lesbian. Demiboy and gay felt- close. Maybe. He hadn’t thought about these things so urgently before, hadn’t been able to find people that could truly get the situation. After seeing his look of distress, and the way their hands repeatedly combed through their hair, Flynn’s face softened. They put down their phone, still keeping a half-casual air. Adjusted their hat (where did Flynn get so many hats?).

“You know,” she paused. Exhaled slowly. “You know, gender is more like a concept. Like- my gender is basically a lesbian, yeah? It doesn’t make sense, but it makes sense to me. Some people call it a performance, but the point is that it shouldn’t define you. If you don’t find a label that you like, who cares, dude? If anyone gives you crap for it, hit them with your skateboard.”

The last line startled a laugh out of Willie, their shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “I, uh, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind. You’re-you’re pretty great at this stuff.”

Flynn smirked, tilting their head to the side. “I know. Now go get ready for your,” she wiggled her eyebrows a bit, “date with blondie. And I am off to catch my demon of a girlfriend’s dance rehearsal.” Their eyes sparked at the word “girlfriend”, and Willie couldn’t help but grin back.

“Not a date!” he called out. “Not- it’s not a date. It’s just movie night with Alex. And Luke and Reggie and Julie. See? Not a date.” Willie was fumbling with their words, meaning he was probably blushing hard too.

“Mhmm.” Flynn looked bemused, shaking her head a little. “Have fun on your not-a-date-ghost-party-plus-my-best-friend then, skater boy.”

—

Okay, so Flynn had been helpful. That wouldn’t explain why Willie still felt lost, though considerably less so than before.

Their gender- hm.

It was sort of like gender envy. Except remove the envy part. Because sure, ghosts could have gender. But it wasn’t really the gender he wanted. Stuck with it. Just like they were stuck in the afterlife, if you could call ghosthood an afterlife.

So gender envy without the envy. And it was still unclear if “ghost” was a real-enough gender, or if Willie was making it all up. So that took away from the metaphor quite a bit. Gender envy, but without the envy. Oh, and scrap the gender too. Nice metaphor, Ortega. You’re really making progress here.

It’s ok. Everything’s fine. Willie isn’t the least bit concerned. He didn’t need a label, honestly. So why did they feel like they needed one so badly? Nobody was going to care, Julie certainly wouldn’t mind regardless of the answer she got. (If Willie was being honest, it wasn’t really about Julie.)

Didn’t Willie figure this out when they were alive? Skaters didn’t need a gender. Skating was what defined them, not a gender identity label or their sexuality. Skating was the one thing that made them feel free and alive. And then they died, of course. That didn’t mean they couldn’t still skate, though. And yes, maybe he couldn’t really feel the wind in their hair as he rushed down Hollywood Boulevard, and as much fun as phasing straight through lifers was, it did only emphasize the fact that he was a ghost. Not real.

If Willie themself wasn’t real, then why should their gender have to be real? It was barely a significant part of them, anyways.

In all seriousness, he did have an idea of why Julie’s simple question was affecting them so much. Nobody had ever asked them that before. For years, decades, Willie had simply. Been. Willie Williamson Ortega, ghost skater at the Hollywood Ghost Club.

It hadn’t occurred to him just how much they didn’t feel like a person during that time. Skating was wonderful, of course. Their only true escape from the strange hodge-podge of Caleb’s talent show. It was Caleb that was the problem, Caleb that had been leeching off Willie’s being the whole time.

And then, he was alive again. Willie, that was. Not Caleb. Alex brought Willie back to life, and wasn’t that just ironic? Because Willie was so, so alive in ways that they had never been before. And all while he was dead, to top it off.

And the craziest part about it was-

And then their board rammed into someone, sending both parties to the ground in a groaning heap.

“Ah damn, I am so sorry, I- Reggie??” This was great. Another one of the band members that they ran over with a skateboard. Alex was never going to let him live this down. At least they weren’t obsessing more over the board than the person. (Although, Willie had done a quick check of his board, which seemed unharmed.)

“Man, I just wanted to go for a walk, not get turned into roadkill,” Reggie laughed, sitting up cautiously.

“I’m so sorry dude, I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention. Honestly, I was kinda having a minor afterlife crisis, as Alex would say.” He doesn’t know why he said that, doesn’t know what it is about Reggie that made them suddenly willing to stick around instead of apologize and skate off.

“Minor afterlife crisis, huh?” Reggie raised their eyebrows, hands propped up on his knees. “I mean, the afterlife is weird. Luke poofed my shirt away the first time we teleported! And Alex still gets wedgies, even though all our clothes are made of air!” Willie glanced at him, checking if he was serious or not. It was hard to tell, with Reggie’s earnest-puppy-dog confused face.

Willie inhaled deeply, sighing as they sat down. “Yeah. You know, I don’t think I’ve felt this alive, with Alex and you guys and Julie, since like, I died. And then Julie was asking about pride, and I can’t quite figure out what my gender identity is. It’s kinda…” His voice trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Like you just are, but in a different way than everyone else.” Reggie murmured, eyes downcast.

Willie’s eyes snapped to Reggie. “Yeah! Exactly. You know that feeling? Because you just are, but nobody can understand that. I’m alive like I haven’t been in forever, and I can’t. Can’t put a name to myself anymore.”

Reggie nodded enthusiastically. “Luke keeps saying that maybe I’m like him. But I think he’s wrong. I used to wear skirts to our band performances. They were just fun to stomp and jump around on stage with. Nobody asks me, but if they did, I would say my gender’s like that. I’ll do it if it makes me feel good, but not because of labels.”

It was as simple as that. Willie took a breath, felt it sink into his bones and settle there. Simple. As. That. They’d been so busy worrying over finding a proper label. And truly, it wasn’t such a big deal.

Beside them, Reggie was still talking. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re ghosts. We can pretty much do anything. Skating makes you feel more you, right? You say that a lot. Skateboarding, that’s enough to be an identity, gender or not. My sister used to say, when our parents would get mad at me for wearing skirts or makeup, that it didn’t matter. Because I would always be me, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m always going to be me. Thank you, Reggie. I think you solved my minor afterlife crisis for me.” Skateboarding is a part of me. I can be a skater. I can be a ghost. I don’t need any other labels than that.

Except maybe Alex’s boyfriend. Or spouse. No! Stop thinking that much ahead, you haven’t even asked him out yet, Ortega! Focus on right now.

“Nah, it was all you. You knew it, you just needed to hear it again.” They grinned, green eyes sparkling in light of the setting sun. Willie huffed out a laugh, offering a fist. Reggie tapped his fist against Willie’s, not hesitating for a moment.

—

When Alex met Willie’s gaze, all he could see was happiness.

“Everything okay?” He asked, already knowing the answer that would come.

“Yeah. Reggie helped me figure some things out. And I’m still me. Just Willie.” They smiled, reaching out for Alex’s hand.

“Well, Just Willie, I hope you’re ready for Friday movie night. Luke picked A New Hope,” he leaned in and stage whispered, “for the seven hundredth time.”

Luke protested from across the couch, standing up to make his point.

“It’s a good movie, but we’ve all memorized the script at this point, Lucas.” Alex shot back, squeezing Willie’s hand slightly.

Willie leaned back, eyes fond as he took in the scene. Luke and Alex bickering loudly over who had the better movie choices, Julie laughing, exasperated as she bent over to paint Reggie’s nails a pale purple.

Definitely the most alive they had felt in a long time.

[elisaphoenix13]

A Full Party

Thanks to a donation, this has been made available to read!

Athena and Tibbs greeted them like anyone else that was considered a friend, they barely even paid any attention when they stepped off the elevator. Athena briefly flicked an ear in their direction before returning her attention to the rare belly rub she let herself enjoy that Bucky was giving her, and Tibbs rubbed up against their legs before he dashed over to Peter when he shook the treat bag. But Flynn? His reaction was...interesting to say the least.

Everyone was relaxing and spending time with each other while Wanda and Cassie made dinner and snacks for their regular team bonding day (otherwise known as movie night), when the fox suddenly screeched. Quill was on his feet quicker than anyone could turn their heads, but when he saw who the kit was screaming at, he groaned and stomped over to pick him up by his scruff.

"Hey! Relax! Do you see Athena freaking out?" The god huffed and Flynn immediately fell quiet. Whether it was because he was safely in Quill's grasp or if he understood him was a mystery though. "They're friends!"

Shuri bent over cackling and T'Challa merely shook his head as Flynn squirmed in Quill's grasp to try and get to his shoulders. The celestial held him up and let the fox curl around his shoulders, and Flynn sniffed the fingers that Shuri offered after she was done laughing. She pet his head a few times before he playfully snapped at her and she took her hand back.

"I swear he's not racist." Quill said. "He doesn't do that shit with Sam or Rhodey."

"They're new to him. He hasn't seen them before." Stephen said as he approached them. "I'm glad you could find some time to get away." He said to T'Challa.

The king smiles. "We needed a break and we wanted to visit."

"You came at the perfect moment. We're having our monthly movie night. How long are you staying?" Stephen asked as Quill stepped away.

"A week if that's alright." T'Challa said.

"No can do kitty-cat." Tony says from the couch. "There's no room. You'll have to sleep in the dumpster outside."

Stephen rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to him. There's plenty of room. You can stay on Sam's floor."

"Thank you."

T'Challa and Shuri step out further into the floor to socialize, the king going over to Steve and Bucky, and Shuri of course joining the teens. She did eventually end up with Diana and Valerie a little while later and both girls were enraptured by stories of her brother's good deeds. It was nice to see the baby warm up to her so quickly since they rarely saw the royal pair. But it also rubbed Stephen the wrong way because that meant she was becoming less attached to him. At least in his mind she was. If he asked anyone else, Valerie was just as attached to him as she usually was. She was the baby that he could have every single day and wasn't expected to change back to normal within 24 hours or completely miss out on. He enjoyed when the boys and Cassie had been changed but they weren't actual babies. Valerie was, and she was growing up too fast. Sometimes it felt like he had been snapped again because it seemed like just yesterday that he brought her into the world.

He missed her tiny hands and feet, the way she curled against him, and even missed the times she would fall asleep on his shoulder and drool all over it. It was amazing how much he had changed. The old him before the accident would have scoffed at the idea of having kids. Now, he actually thought of the accident as a blessing in disguise. It humbled him. Gave him the opportunity to meet Tony, to have this huge family instead of being alone for possibly the rest of his life.

Stephen really did want another one. He could have ten and Tony would barely blink. He'd just look at however many kids Stephen brought home (whether adopted or magical) and put aside some money for college for every single one of them. He already did that for the twins. Everyone joked about Stephen bringing home the next kid, but sometimes he thinks they forgot who brought home the first two.

Peter and Harley were Tony's first. Stephen just swooped in and took over. Peter very easily cracked the ice around his heart, Harley stuck a chisel in it, and Diana dealt the finishing blow and smashed the ice to smithereens when he accidentally brought her into the world. Stephen's heart was now soft and mushy, and grew with each kid.

He was the fucking Grinch of kids.

"Honey, why do you look like you ate something sour?" Tony asked and Stephen looked at him.

"I…" he blushed. "No reason. Just thinking to myself."

There was another screech from Flynn and an irritated "why are you like this?!" from Quill and Stephen looked over to find Carol on the balcony. Considering she didn't use the elevator, she probably flew here and might have spooked the fox, so he didn't really blame Flynn this time. Tibbs happily trotted over to the woman and rubbed up against her leg before looking around her.

Carol laughed as she crouched down to scratch behind his ears, "sorry fuzzball. No Goose this time."

Tibbs actually sounded like he meowed in disappointment, but he enjoyed the scratches and followed her back inside.

Carol smirked as Stephen approached her. "Have any popcorn?"

"It's for movie night!" Cassie called from the kitchen and Carol raised an eyebrow. "Dinner's almost ready!"

"Guess I'll go get cozy." She said as she scooped up Tibbs in one of her arms and sauntered over to the couch.

Peter seemed to give up on the cat once Carol arrived, knowing Tibbs would spend as much time as possible with her since he rarely saw her. She was in the top three of the cat's favorite humans, Peter and Tony being the other two. Quill finally found himself on the couch again with Flynn contently curled up on his lap and both T'Challa and Carol looked at them.

"Even I know the fox is new," Carol said. "What was with the screaming?"

"Stephen thinks it's because you're new to him. I think it's just because he's a brat." Quill huffed. "The universe decided that I needed the neediest fucking animal alive."

"He can't be that bad." T'Challa said and Scott snorted from his spot on the ground where he was playing cards on the coffee table with Sam and Clint.

"He's that bad. He cries if Quill goes anywhere without him. Hey! I saw that!" Scott said to Clint who had tried to slip a card away for later.

Things got a little too busy for Valerie so she joined Stephen on the couch when he finally sat down. Athena did too once Bucky finished giving her obnoxious belly rubs, and dinner ended up having to be brought to the sorcerer and Valerie when it was ready. Thankfully, Vision was kind enough to do just that and they both thanked him. Tony managed to find his way next to Stephen with his own dinner, and when everyone was settled with a plate, a family friendly movie was started. If only for the sake of the younger children. Once they went to bed, the older kids would go watch another movie in one of their bedrooms, and the adults would drink.

Stephen really needed a night to let loose. It had been a while.

So when the younger kids went to bed and the older kids squirreled away into one of the bedrooms with endless snacks, Stephen didn't even bother replacing them like he usually did. Tonight was a freebie. He was going to drink and he would let his kids get sugar high and consume a concerning amount of other junk food. They knew the adults were going to be drinking, so they knew leaving the bedroom would be at their own risk. It was a good thing William knew how to make portals and teleport.

"Mom, I swear if that's a bottle of wine I see, I'm going to stage an intervention." Clint said with a groan.

Stephen raises a brow as he opens the bottle in the kitchen, then rejoins everyone. "This is mine. I don't know what you're all going to drink." He said with a smug smirk.

"Oh, wow. Who's being a bad influence on him?" Carol asked.

Everyone looked at Thor who looked back with a little offense.

"Why are you all looking at me?" The Asgardian asked.

"Thor had nothing to do with it." Stephen said after draining a fourth of the bottle. Tony had watched in amazement with a hint of concern. "I just need this. I parent...I don't even know anymore." He mumbled.

Sam cackled after he came from the bar with bottles of hard liquor and every single shot glass Tony owned. "I'll drink to that. We children are pretty wound up from missions."

Everyone else laughed and started off with a shot before deciding on a drinking game. Stephen took his time on the rest of his bottle of wine while everyone else decided on a game of Never Have I Ever. Steve, Bucky, Thor, Carol, and Quill drank Thor's Asgardian stuff to even the odds, but even then, everyone was pretty shit-faced pretty quickly. They all knew a concerning amount about each other's sex life or whatever else they were drinking to, except Scott and Quill's sex life wasn't a surprise. Shame wasn't in their vocabulary.

Stephen finally polished off his bottle and joined the game just as Laura said, "Never have I ever done it while a child was in the room."

Stephen and Tony each took a drink and everyone stared at them. The sorcerer simply chuckled and shrugged.

"Valerie was asleep."

Bucky was the one to burst into laughter. "Even I didn't think you'd go that far!"

"I take it where I can get it." Stephen said. "Whose turn is it?"

"T'Challa's." Scott hiccupped.

"Never have I ever been thrown out of a bar or club." The king said.

No one was surprised when Quill took a drink.

"It's not what you think!" He exclaims after swallowing the ale. "It was during a fire. One of my buddies actually threw me out the window...it was before they knew about my powers."

"He probably always wanted to do it." Sam laughed and Quill shrugged.

"Probably."

"Alright," Natasha said to get everybody's attention. "Never have I ever sent a sext to the wrong person."

Every single person took a drink. The ones with kids blushed bright red...and Quill even grabbed the bottle of ale while mumbling something like, "Cass and my work buddies probably need therapy."

Stephen coughed at the god's words and his eyes water from the burning in his nose. "Please don't tell me you sent your daughter an unsolicited dick pic."

Quill groaned. "I did. Thankfully we were both home so I was able to keep her from seeing it. I never got out of bed so fast."

"I should put filters on the kids phones." Tony mumbled. "Or add their personal AI's or Friday to them. Friday, make a note of that."

"Yes, Boss." The AI said.

The game went on for another couple of hours until everyone passed out where they had been sitting. It was weird seeing the king of Wakanda passed out on the couch from drinking, but Tony figured the weird level of that was very low on the list of what he'd seen. He hadn't drank nearly as much as his friends and decided to go out on the balcony and sit in a chair with a cigar. It was something he rarely indulged in, but it was the perfect time to do it. The kids were all asleep and the smoke wouldn't bother anyone, but halfway through it, Stephen had gracefully stumbled out onto the balcony and landed in his lap.

Tony chuckled. "Hi honey. Thought you were dead to the world."

"You left." Stephen mumbled. "Are you smoking?"

"A cigar. A rare treat." Tony admitted.

"Hmm...I like the smell on you." Stephen hummed pleasantly.

"When you're not in danger of puking, I'll make it up to you."

"That's too bad." Stephen whispered. "I thought maybe we could do it right here."

"Tempting...but we do have thirty something kids." Tony laughed.

"I want another one." Stephen slurred as he dozed off on Tony's shoulder and the mechanic rubs his shoulder with his free hand.

"I know. Soon." He promised to his sleeping spouse.

He liked having Stephen in his lap like this. Maybe next time his wife would be sober and they could enjoy the stars from next to the fire at the lake house. He would indulge in a cigar again, have the man cuddled up to him in his lap just like this...and they would look up at the stars. Better yet, it would even be relaxing for Tony. No triggers from looking up into the vast expanse of space, just pure enjoyment.

"We'll have as many as you want." He whispered before placing a soft kiss to Stephen's brow.

[coffeewritingandimagination]

★·.·´¯`·.·★ ᴀᴍᴀᴢᴇᴅ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

(Lucifer Morningstar x Reader) 

It was a beautiful morning as your eyes slowly fluttered open, seeing the bright and warm rays of the sun gently trickle through the curtains in the bedroom. Usually you were never a morning person, however you could make an exception for today. To your luck, you had fallen ill a couple of days ago and it seemed as if you were ready to be taken by death himself, but today you felt better, even though your body felt sluggish. Letting out a small yawn, stretching your stiff body, you looked over and was saddened at the sight of an empty space. How you wished for Lucifer to be by your side, however he had a case to solve with Chloe and by the recent things he’s been telling you and what you could comprehend in your sickened state, it was a rather extensive and tricky case. 

You let out a small sigh as you reached over to your phone and smiled to see that your darling lover had sent you a message so early in the morning. Opening it, you smiled as he messaged you good morning and to make sure you eat properly, take your medicine and get plenty of rest along with not exerting yourself. Quickly replying to him, you slowly got out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, thinking that a hot shower would make you feel better. 

Oh, how correct you were. You felt as light as a feather, and after stripping yourself of your sweat covered pajamas and into a soft turtleneck sweater, tights and of course your favorite fuzzy socks, you felt as if you could fly. You smiled as you made your way over to the kitchen and started brewing coffee and tea. You then started making a simple but delightful breakfast of your liking and while you were at it, made an extra serving or two. A part of you had a gut feeling that you might need this later on, and after living with Lucifer, that gut feeling is usually true. 

Soft music played in the background to fill the deafening silence and the scent of a warm breakfast filled the air. The whole atmosphere felt surreal. You almost forgot you lived in L.A from how peaceful it felt. You wished Lucifer would be here, the place would feel less empty. With a small sigh, you slowly sipped your tea, enjoying how the warmth soothed your aching throat. Everything was peaceful and felt just at ease as you continued to enjoy your breakfast, until suddenly the door slammed open. Not to your surprise, Chloe and Lucifer came walking in, arguing with one another yet again. ‘Must be a difficult case then,’ you thought as you put your tea down and listened to them. 

“Lucifer, if you had done it your way, your ass would’ve been arrested!” Chloe shouted, placing her hands on her hips.  “And what did it result, dear detective? Oh that’s right, the entire entire place blowing into bits and taking our only lead with it!” Lucifer snapped back before walking off. Wow, if the devil himself is getting frustrated, then it must be one hell of a case, no pun intended. Chloe sighed in exhaustion, pinching the bridge of her nose before she looked over at you. “Oh (Y/n)! Sorry for the loud entrance. I hope we didn’t bother you or anything.” she grinned sheepishly. You shook your head silently, waving it off as if it were nothing. You ushered her to sit down, noticing how tired she looked. 

Chloe gladly accepted it, finally being able to sit down after chasing down baddies day and night. You piled on a hearty serving of omelettes, filled with fresh and crisp vegetables along side a golden toasted bread and poured a mug of steaming coffee before sliding the plate and mug to her. Chloe gasped at the sight. “(Y/n)...! You shouldn’t have!” She gasped, her mouth watering at the sight and sent of the delicious breakfast you made. You grinned as you pulled out two brown paper bags, one named Chloe and the other one named Trixie. 

Chloe’s mouth dropped. She couldn’t believe it. Here you were, sick as sick can get and you not only made her lunch, you made her daughter one as well! “(Y/n) you really have out done yourself...! I can’t take this...!” She said, in utter awe that you had went out your way to do this. You shook your head, giving her a playful look before pointing at her food, in which she happily ate. The two of you ate in silence before Chloe regained the energy to talk about the case. It was simple really, but the people who were in charge of it all were more skillful and organized than they had appeared. “So all we know from last night before the whole building went into smithereens is that there is a file and a box that has the answers.” Chloe sighed. 

Before she could even continue, your attention was broken off when you heard Lucifer’s loud complaints. "For fuck sake where is my damn shirt!” He shouted, listening as he stomped through the penthouse. “Oh now it won’t button, how fantastic! Is this what you wanted father? Huh?!” You let out another sigh as you put your cup of tea down and walked over to him with light and gentle steps. Softly, you tugged on his shirt. “WHAT-!” Lucifer snapped, turning to look at you, however before he could usher another word, your soft lips met his in a soft and sweet kiss. Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock yet at the same time, all his anger had vanished. Instead of being tense and angry at the current situation, his muscled relaxed and his mind went completely blank. Slowly, you pulled away from him and gently pushed him onto the bar stool next to Chloe, straitening out his shirt and buttoning it up just to his liking. You smiled as you quickly gave him a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee before rushing off to grab his coat jacket. 

Lucifer was in utter awe at the sight. It boggled his mind how you, a mere human out of the trillions on this earth could ever calm the devil himself, all while still being sick. You came back with a crisp and clean coat and gently placed it on the counter when Lucifer’s hand gently placed his hand over yours. “(Y/n), you don’t need to do this darling. Your sick.” He said, his voice much more softer, much more sincere. After everything had calmed down, Lucifer and Chloe took this time to discuss what action they needed to take next. You listened intently until the words were said a gain, a file and a box. Why did those words ring in your head? You thought for a moment, until you remembered what happened last night. 

You were up late, due to the fact that you had gotten plenty of sleep and that you just didn’t want to lay in bed. Maze came by to check on how you were doing, not only because Lucifer probably asked her to, but she was worried- well as worried as Maze can possibly get. She dropped some things off and you vaguely remember them being set somewhere before you fell asleep. Slipping away from the kitchen, you made your way over to the coffee table and picked up the manila envelope before walking back to where the other two were. 

“What’s that darling?” He asked, wearing his suit and looking much more calmer than when he had arrived at home. You bit your lip as you looked around, trying to find a way to convey your message. Yes, your throat had become so bad that not only did you loose your voice, whispering will only throw you into a coughing fit. “You still can’t speak can you.” He said, looking at you worriedly. He truly felt terrible for you leaving you alone while he went all over Los Angeles for this case. He really did want to stay home and make sure you felt better, but even he knew that you would’ve physically pushed him out the door to this job. He watched as you grabbed a note pad and scribbled something down before sliding it over to them. I’m not for sure, but Maze left it here last night when she was cleaning up Lux. She said that some guy had left it here in a hurry and never came back for it. She said she would’ve thrown it a way but she had a gut feeling something maybe useful in there, he read before looking back at the envelope. 

“Well it couldn’t hurt to take a look.” Lucifer shrugged, giving you a playful wink as he began to open it.  “You know you can go to jail for that, right?” Chloe asked.  “Oh who’s to stop me.”  “I can! I’m a detective!” Chloe exclaimed, however it was no hope. Lucifer quickly pulled out paper, along with a small box. Lucifer raised an eyebrow as he looked through the papers before asking, “Detective? Tell me, the only way for an official document to be- well...authentic, is that if it has a seal correct?”  “Yeah why?” She asked.  “And our case involves the senate right?”  “Lucifer we’ve been on this case for three days now!”  “Well then, if I’m correct, and that’s usually the case, then, these are the missing documents, this box holds the flash drive, and my darling (Y/n) has officially made us one step ahead of them.” 

Chloe looked at the papers with a raised eyebrow as she took it from Lucifer and quickly scanned them over. Her eyes widened as she looked back up at the two of you. “These are it...! This is what we’re looking for!” She said as she sat up. “And if they were here at Lux last night, then we have a trail!” She said as she quickly whipped her phone out. “Come on Lucifer!” She said, quickly reporting their find to the others while grabbing the sack lunches you made and giving you a silent thank you before leaving. 

You smiled as you looked over at Lucifer who looked at you with admiration. “You know, I’m the king of hell and here you are silencing me. I admit, that is rather impressive.” he said. You chuckled silently at his flirtatious acts. “I’m serious darling how do you do it?” He grinned. Rolling your eyes, you shook your head with a wide smile spread across your face. Even after all that, he still had to be the flirtatious angel that you fell in love with. As the two of you continued to chat, well, more like Lucifer doing all the talking and you listening, a sudden wave of exhaustion fell over you. You gripped the counter trying to catch yourself from not landing on the floor. A coughing fit started and suddenly everything seemed to be dizzy. “(Y/n)!” Lucifer called out as he rushed over to your aid. 

Without another second to spare, Lucifer quickly caught you and held you against him. “(Y/n) you’re burning up again, and not in the way that I usually prefer.” he said, mumbling the last part before picking you up with ease. Making his way over to the shared bed, he gently placed you down and covered your body with the blanket. He watched as you drifted into a deep slumber, curling into the warm sheets. Lucifer silently swore to himself that he would be here by the time you wake up. With that in his mind, he sauntered off, ready to quickly deal with this nuisance. “I just hope you didn’t get me sick darling.” Lucifer said to no one in particular.  “Can you get sick?” Mazikeen asked, leaning against the bar with a raised eyebrow, as she watched Lucifer come down, only to be answered with a shrug. “Not for sure.” Lucifer replied before bidding farewell. 

                            ｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Hello everyone! I hope you like this little tid bit! It’s been quite sometime since I watched Lucifer but I tried my best! I’ll see you in the next post ❤❤❤ ~A.Nightingale

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 17

the silver lining

SUMMARY: Memories are points of light. Find the connections.

[A/N: This chapter can honestly probably be read as a standalone piece -- though you’d miss a lot of the references and shit. But that’s why I’m posting it like this instead of a link~]

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3. master post.

Ryker is owned by @popsicletheduck.

---

...61... ...62...

Emma watches the numbers tick up. Her fingers tap her palm, nervous, but she can’t remember why.

...64… ...65…

The elevator is in some silvery, novo art deco style popular among the rich set. She isn’t usually called to the gilded parts of Detroit; the penthouses and the towers stand empty and dark against the skyline. Those with privilege could take their time returning to the ghosts of their old life as the world changed fast, then slow, and they did not require the services of a ragtag team of rugged volunteers.

...69…

The air is dry.

...70.

Her stomach tugs.

Ding.

The doors open to a dark hallway.

“What in the…”

A SWAT officer neatly melds into the shadow, rifle pointed outward, finger on the communicator in his helmet like he is warning someone about her -- but he is frozen midstep, caught while trying to leave. Water from a shattered fish tank shimmers against the smooth wood floor. Unmistakable bullet holes mar the glass. The terrarium at the end of the hall -- stupidly unnecessary, as is the way of the rich -- is somehow untouched.

She has a nagging feeling she has been here before.

She has never been here before.

She feels pulled forward, anyway, down the dimly lit halls into the rest of the penthouse suite and its wide open floor plan, barren in the way that signifies a household living for appearances. She passes glass decorations shot to smithereens and a bedroom lit with soft purple ambiance. That room and a yellow, bloodstained shoe spark a realization: A child lives here. Or did.

In what was once a living room lies a dead man in plainclothes -- someone’s father, some part of her mind says. In the kitchen lies another man, but in an officer’s uniform. The rest of the SWAT team stands in almost reverent attendance near the door to the balcony, frozen in place.

She is following an invisible string to an unknown end. She could turn around, but she knows nothing is left behind her. Everything moves at the speed of dreaming, slow and viscous, until another gunshot hits the back wall, not far from where she had just been standing.

The sound fractures into a thousand pieces in her head. She’s heard it before. She cannot piece it together.

She steps through the door anyway, like the gun is an invitation, rather than a warning. A white hot pain sears her shoulder, but its not her shoulder, its…

She isn’t sure.

A blond man stares at her from across the balcony, dressed in black and white. A blue triangle twinkles on his chest. He holds a gun aloft, unapologetic despite the tears streaming down his face and the young girl curled into a statue of fear near the edge of the pool.

“Simon?”

“Who are you?” the android asks.

“Not Simon,” she realizes out loud, as if she should have known that.

---

Something wet and leafy clings to the back of Connor’s head. Drizzle sticks to his cheeks.

“Connor!”

He opens his eyes to a voice that isn’t familiar -- and yet, he knows he’s heard it somewhere, in some life beyond the grayness of this sky. He sits up. In an instant, he nearly understands the human sensation of vertigo; a sea of soybeans spreads for miles across the flatland. A curtain of rain marches closer and closer, and the green wavers and clacks beneath it.

A woman and man run to meet him as he rises to his feet.

“Please,” the woman says. Her hands grasp Connor’s shoulders with an intensity he hasn’t seen since his first real test mission. “Find her. She’s gone somehow. We don’t know what’s happening.”

“Shara Ibori,” Connor says, unable to believe it.

“I knew you’d find a way,” the man -- Ji-hun, clear as day -- says. He touches just beneath Connor’s elbow, intimate and comforting and asking. “We lost her somewhere.”

Connor is stunned before their vivacity.

“You aren’t memories,” he says. “What is this?”

“It’s an interface.” Ji-hun’s grip tightens. “We’ve hung on too long to help. But you...”

“He’s more advanced than I expected,” Shara says to Ji-hun, unsure.

“It’s not about that,” Ji-hun says. “If you look at his code--”

Shara shakes her head to silence him. Ji-hun turns to Connor.

“We aren’t supposed to be here.” He wipes his wet brow as if struggling under confession.

“We agreed,” Shara says as explanation. “We’re not letting our girl die.”

Ji-hun sighs. The rain creeps closer.

“I know.” Shara glares. “I know what we’re supposed to call her.”

Her eyes, dark as obsidian, shine with a curious guilt. The shameless kind. An understanding of wrongdoing, but a rejection that anything is wrong, actually, if you would please look at the evidence.

“Oh,” Connor says. “You’re deviants.”

---

The balcony is caught in a still life. Clouds of mist curl off the pool, kicked up by the helicopter hanging in the air. She pointedly ignores the dead body floating macabre in the water and holds her breath against the smell of the saltwater but she is still a part of the moment, painted in at last minute. Even if she doesn’t look or breathe, she knows.

“He never told you,” the Not-Simon says, disappointed.

“This...this was on the news.,” she says. “You--”

No, it's not my fault... I never wanted this... I loved them, you know...but I was nothing to them...just a slave to be ordered around…

That was not on the news.

“Daniel,” Emma realizes. “Connor thinks of you everyday.”

Thoughts spring forth like they’re her own, but they’re not her own, and the dissonance of the dual-memory sends her vision spinning. Daniel steps forward, arm out to stop her, but his face is still angry and she’s still too far away. Her vision stabilizes.

You're not going to die. We're just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.

"He tried to help you,” Emma says, realizing. “He didn't know."

"He did know,” Daniel says. “He knew what he was doing and he has to live with that. And so do you."

Daniel stares at her and she feels, strangely, like she is being tested. She’s at the beginning of a gauntlet. Something rattles in her stomach -- fear and loathing and want.

“Is he here?” she asks. Her voice feels thick in her throat.

He smiles mirthlessly. Splatters of blue blood bloom on his face. Bullet holes form dark craters in his chassis. "You’re here. Where he is supposed to be."

Air begins to lift her hair from her neck. Time skips forward to meet her.

“It’s time to face the truth,” Daniel says. “And you have a long way to go.”

The whole world tilts. Her feet skitter across the ground, useless, as the cement rises to meet her body and she slides toward the shining skyline of a Detroit she doesn’t know.

---

Perhaps this is just what happens when intelligence is left alone too long. It gets bored. It finds connections where it isn’t supposed to. It learns to seek, then to favor. Perhaps that’s all rA9 ever was -- a mistake borne out of time passing and memories forming and people, somewhere, caring enough to listen.

Perhaps the endless search for that actualizing flash of concern in another person’s eyes is what sets sentients apart.

“Okay, Connor,” Shara says, giving no quarter. Her hand tugs tightly on his, leading him toward a small house barely visible through the sheets of rain. “Where you’re going, you’re going to have to take it all with you. Everything that scares you.”

You don't love her. You don't know the half of it.

“She wouldn’t want me in here,” he yells over the storm.

Did it all start for show?

“Listen, honey,” Shara says. The tough slate quality of her gaze does not diminish. “You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want you to knowsomething.”

What do you fucking live for?

“Our program is breaking down,” Ji-hun says. “It’s now or never.”

Doubt breathes hot down Connor’s neck. “Where do I start?”

Ji-hun clasps his shoulder. “The beginning, of course.”

Shara opens the door and the light blinds him.

---

An android sits across from her in a dark room with cinderblock walls. Red blood curls in a crescent across his forehead and down the front of his shirt, like it was paint no one wanted to scrub off. One arm is cracked open, revealing the blue stars of complex machinery within; the other has the tell-tale circle marks of cigarette burns. Her heart beats erratic and hollow in her ribs as he stares at her, unmoved.

“The evidence was not in Cyberlife’s favor,” the android explains with plodding exactness. “Abuse, hatred, misunderstanding. These actions are what led to our acts.”

This is the proving ground of a different Connor. A buzzy chill, a certainty that is not her own.  More lies. More wondering.

How do they balance on the scales -- the mask that he wore with ease and his curious hope that maybe he could change the result this time?

“But those were not the answers the humans wanted, and so he searched on anyway, for something else.”

“They -- we thought you were just machines.” Emma’s fingers wrap together tightly beneath the table.

“Things change.” His dark eyes glaze over. “No one wants to see the world for what it is.”

All the secrets that run just beneath the crust of the earth. All the secrets that someone knows, so that someone’s agenda can persist. Her stomach twists.

She doesn’t want to think about Noah.

“You did kill someone,” she says, knowing without knowing and knowing because--

“I did,” he says, dead-eyed. “And I’d do it again.”

Her hand hovers near her mouth. She’s not qualified for this. She wants to crawl out of her skin just to stop staring at the dark, crusty stains on his shirt, at the thin chain keeping his fists from killing her, too. She glances to the mirror, knowing someone back there is watching her. She shoves the chair backward and stomps away from the android whose name Connor didn’t even know, if only to find some air.

She throws the door open. Hank blocks her path.

“Not yet,” he says. “You haven’t done your job.”

She turns back to face the bloody android, but then she’s not in the interrogation room at all.

---

Connor knows this room. It doesn’t look like this, the way he knows it.

The walls are brighter and there are no computers -- just two small beds and a wooden toy box kept between them. The white floor has no stains. White clothes sit in a careful pile on each bed, perfectly made. A single window brings in wan sunlight.

A small girl, between the beds, glares up at him.

He has never fully grasped the human notion of sentiment -- the tender sadness of reliving a memory. He has seen it. It is why Hank both keeps and hides his pictures of Cole. It is why Emma has a box of tchotchkes of no discernible use.

But his memory does not diminish. Recall is just another way to invite analysis into things he can’t change. And yet, he knows who this tiny Emma will become; the thought brings a pain akin to the first time he deviated, dulled through time.

He’s traveled so far and yet.

“Hello,” he says softly. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” she says, in the way children poorly obfuscate lies. “Go away.”

He kneels down to her level, a common negotiation tactic. He makes eye contact. He does not wince, because he is a professional -- but he has to think about it. Surgery scars pulse against the thin cotton of her skin, red and angry as an LED. Her body shakes. She is the cost of human progress, and so is he, and he struggles to reconcile that with the girl in front of him.

“My name is Connor.”

“I don’t want you.”

His mouth twitches. “Who do you want?”

“I want--” Her voice stutters. Her face scrunches up. “I want…I want to see my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He closes his eyes for a single moment. Will all the Emmas, of every age, hear this apology? “I’m afraid I do not know where he is.”

The glare returns. “That’s my secret name.”

A miscalculation.

“Why do you know that!” she shouts.

“I--”

She opens her mouth and screams.

“Now, wait--”

Her tiny fists pummel his arms, his knees, and her screaming doesn’t stop.

“I hate you!” she shouts between the wordless screams. Tears streak her tiny face. “No!”

“I’m your friend,” he says firmly between tiny punches. He does not try to restrain her. It wouldn’t work on an adult Emma. A child version, while smaller, would resist even harder. “And I love--”

“NO!”

She punches his chest over and over and over, desperate and afraid. Each punch is a reminder of what it feels like to be confronted with something you aren’t ready for. They don’t injure him. He still finds them unbearable.

“I know,” he says. “What you’re feeling is real. And it hurts so much.”

“I don’t know!” she sobs. Her punches, punctuating words, slow from exhaustion. She sniffles and gasps in air. “I hate you!”

“I left the door open,” he says quietly to her cries. “Where do you want to go?”

She freezes. Her eyes dart behind him and then back to his face and then to the door, calculating. And then, with the singular mischief of a child, she shoves him down and runs past. He listens for a dumbstruck moment to the pitter-patter of her bare feet against the dirty ground before he wordlessly follows down the grimy basement hall.

This is what love is, he has learned -- following and reminding and hoping. But he is glad when the light comes again, and he’s taken somewhere else.

---

Emma’s feet hit the pavement and she goes.

She narrowly avoids getting hit by a truck. She somehow makes a leap between rooftops like she was born to this life.

A pretty woman -- no, an AX400, no -- darts across the road, child in tow. A young man in a flapping jacket and askew hat stomps flowers into dirt as he goes. They all look back at her, goading and fearful and expectant. Chase us. Find your way. You seek a crime committed to prove you are righteous, but is it justice if you’re just doing what you’re told?

The wind of a moving train throws her hair behind her. Was it a choice?

Jump, Emma! The shouting sounds like Hank. You have to jump!

Connor thinks like an arrow, and maybe that is why he can keep going. When she jumps, she misses, and the falling twists her stomach up.

---

Memories are points of light. Find the connections.

Connor walks through flitting shadows: the surgeries that made his skin feel scratchy, the sanitized green brightness of her parents’ lab, the heavy quilt she hid underneath in the back of her father’s car. She leaves it all in a trail and he wishes to linger until there’s nothing new left to analyze, but there is no time.

Your mission is to--

Solve the tests, he thinks, for the first time in...over a year. Solve the tests. Stare at the blood in the perfect white test chamber and decipher the exact nature of how this came to be. Lab conditions are nothing like a real crime scene, but Cyberlife cannot afford to structure real breaches of justice over and over again to test their RK800 series, of course , and he is reminded coldly that he is the 51st, and he nearly detects something akin to exhaustion when the woman in the white coat tells him as much, but he discards it as something unnecessary. It digs in wrong, anyway. Instability is not an acceptable outcome.

Everyone wishes, don’t they? He projects.

He watches all the times Shara and Ji-hun thought she wasn't listening just behind the door. He sees the therapies, the fears, van after van after van, moving between houses until the act of moving is more a home than any single place. Understand more than you are supposed to. Grapple with meaning before anyone thought you capable as much. You are the consequence of someone else's choice, but no one will teach you what that means.

No one likes to be shown up, some Emma voice, ageless, says back. No one wants to remember exactly how much they can’t control.

She looks back at him, hair grown out but eyes still the same unreadable glass. Her body is lean and wiry with youth, untested.

I’m always watching from somewhere else. She said that to him once with alcohol-soaked veritas. They are the ones that watch as the door opens and the illusion breaks -- revealing parents and makers never knew everything, after all.

---

Another back alley, dripping and moonlit. A metal trash can slams into Emma’s back and she’s forced to the wet cement, body trembling from the blow. A blue-haired android stares back with narrowed eyes. A red-haired companion waits by a chain link fence.

“He thought it was weird that we remembered each other through memory wipes,” the blue-haired Traci explains. Rain slides down her glittering skin. Emma’s jeans stick to her legs and her shirt feels too warm.

“...isn’t it, a little bit?” Emma asks.

The Tracis’ hands clasp together. Emma presses her eyes shut and wonders at the strength of whatever error that allowed for the dreaming of a different life.

I didn't mean to kill him... I just wanted to stay alive...get back to the one I love.

These are the things Connor never allowed himself to know. The things he sought to see, regardless.

“Sweetheart,” the woman drawls, stepping forward with one heeled foot, gazing through her. “You can’t get away from the marks it leaves.”

The other heel rises, pointed toward her face.

---

Connor sees her through a haze of smoke. Her coughs rattle deep within her lungs. They’re at the end of an unfinished road, a subdivision that stopped growing, and they sit in the back of a pick-up truck facing a field of corn.

“You can arrest me now,” she says, with all the dramatic tension of a coughing 16-year-old baiting someone wiser to do something idiotic, and of course he shakes his head, even as she follows the failed cigarette drag with a quiet pop of a metal cap and the glug of liquid poured into a dirty cup.

“You like the feeling of testing your boundaries,” he says.

“Oh, because you’re perfect.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She eyes him suspiciously. Her cigarette glows red in the dark between her small fingers. She takes a shot of something amber colored and winces as if trying not to, and all he can do is watch like she’s smoke on twilight turning blue and he can’t miss it. He’s always been like this. Petting Sumo when he should have been studying Hank. Watching Hank when he should have been putting notes together. He tests the boundaries of his mission. The only thing you can ever own is your sense of how a thing should be done, be it a case or turning 16.

She flicks the cigarette away and slips from the back of the truck. “Maybe another time,” she says -- perhaps to him, perhaps to the cigarette.

He is not perfect, and it is a considered a deep flaw by the people that made him; she is not perfect, and he is enraptured by the concept of a life lived a little jagged.

---

Kamski stands in a snowbright room next to a pool the color of blood -- a vision that’s a bit too on the nose to be something Connor made up as a metaphor. Kamski must really be like that.

“Now isn’t that interesting,” Kamski says, crossing to her in a silk robe. “This isn’t your experience.”

“What did you do to Connor?” Emma snaps. He waves his hand, uninterested, as Chloe rises to her feet and Emma’s anger becomes a part of the memory, bleeding and hot. “You did this.” She’s unable to bear the mocking gleam in his eye. “You look at me and you say that you did this and that you knew.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he reminds her. “The creations can’t run from who they are.”

He has no idea exactly how good she is at running -- but Connor, she knows, has never been able to outrun himself. Her fists curl.

“Look,” Chloe says. “It’s all right.”

She points to the window which becomes a screen which becomes reality. The metal bruises of an ancient shipyard -- Jericho, the namesake, echoing with gun fire. Connor tearing down the ruddiness of his own code, betraying something he once believed in to follow the flitting hope of something he’d always wondered.

You're just a tool they use to do their dirty work. But you're more than that. We are all more than that.

Owning up to forgiveness in the green light of sanctuary. Stepping up to deserve it. Throwing himself on the pyre of expectation.

Betrayal leaves a hole, even if they had been using you. It can’t all be for nothing.

“He could have shot you,” Emma says to Chloe, shaken.

“He didn’t.” Chloe stands at eye level, searching. “Have you seen the way he looks at people?”

Emma looks out the window, screen now gone. The Detroit winter is familiar and uninviting and barren and bright, and she feels wholly ignored by it in a way that feels correct.

“He saw the intrinsic nature of the thing,” Kamski says. “The essential nature of living being enough on its own.”

She sees herself in the glass and winces at the blood on her face.

Life’s that way.

The tired and bloody gnashing of teeth.

Is it?

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says, “but it’s the only way.”

Her palms press into Emma’s shoulders until she falls backward into the red pool.

---

He begins to lose his footing against the muddy ground of some distant field as the memories move faster. His fingers touch the ends of her hair and then she’s gone again, and it reminds him of those crucial early months with Hank when absolutely nothing came easily.

He catches glimpses of a young girl not so young anymore, watching the mist rise off a neighborhood pond. Her fingers rip at the grass just between her splayed legs, droplets of late summer rain dampening her khaki shorts, and she considers taking her aunt up on the offer of staying in one place for years at a time.

Emma made the mistake of deploying this weapon too early against her mother; the fight cleared out the entire house in the way an exterminator chokes out vermin, and so Emma sits alone, the only way she feels comfortable anymore, watching the dusk and braiding grasses together like she can build a rope to elsewhere.

Three days later, her parents are killed.

The memories fracture and he gets the sense she’s not running so much now as hiding from him, ashamed, even though the recognition rings with the sincerity of the old church bells of Trinity Lutheran. She hides in small Michigan town after small Michigan town, fighting men at bars and fixing farm houses and watching people’s kids until she wears the loneliness of being known but not known like a cloak. He grasps for points of light, fingers spread wide, but sometimes he just sees himself, working late at the DPD until he can shed the mantle of deviant hunter. As of late he’s wondered if it’s possible to extract the reason you’re made from the components built to enable it.

By rA9, he just wants to find her.

He smells smoke in the distance, acrid and poisonous. Heat licks at his skin from flames he can’t yet see. He shouts her name as he bursts into the strange expanse of a dark theater, where curtains red as heat hang over a black stage. She’s not here, but he can see the smoke gathering upward toward the lights.

He careens around seats and scrambles to the stage. He doesn’t stop shouting until he finds Ryker behind the curtain, next to a backstage door shining with a strange light.

Ryker watches Connor stumble forward with a practiced, sad indifference. They raise a crutch, blocking Connor’s path.

“Let me through,” Connor snaps.

Ryker’s sea glass eyes flash with the properties of two Emmas: the self-flagellating hatred and the disastrous need she still can’t smother. They’d tried all damn year to get her to listen and she knows that; she didn’t deserve their love but she held on, anyway, because she doesn’t know how to live without it.

“She’d rather go down in flames than have anything else taken from her,” Ryker says, resigned.

Connor stares at them in horrified realization.

“She can’t!” he sputters. “She--Ryker! Let me through!”

Ryker’s face turns forbidding.

“What are you going to do?” The question is sharp. “Fix it?”

“I have to try. ”

“Don’t you think enough people have tried?” They shake their head, knowing more than Connor ever could. “She needs your help. But she has to fix it on her own.”

Before Connor can open his mouth, Ryker’s crutch whaps him in the side of the head, and he stumbles backward into the curtain as the door opens. The light blinds him. This time the falling feels permanent.

---

The cold in this place bites like teeth. A woman who is familiar in the vaguest of senses watches with the haughtiness of a still-falling god.

“My mom knew you,” Emma realizes, but that does not soften the woman’s slate gaze.

“Not me,” the woman says.

Connor crying out in a panic, Amanda! Not me, she says, though that is the correct name, and Emma considers that maybe she isn’t the only one with handlers in her head; perhaps Cyberlife stole that concept, too.

“I’m tired of your stupid tests,” Emma says. Rage rumbles down into her hands. She’s snowblind and useless, as always. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready yet.” Amanda’s voice is honeyed sweetness spread thin over a trembling anger. “He’s betrayed everything.”

Don't have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do.

“He betrayed you.” Emma steps forward, jabbing a finger toward Amanda. “You didn’t have a plan! You just wanted to control him so you wouldn’t be obsolete! You’re just as deviant as all the rest.”

The woman does not reel back, but her jaw tightens. “He will never be free of me.”

Anger bubbles up as hysterical laughter. It peals outward, eaten by the blizzard. “You don’t fuckin’ scare me.”

“But it’s not about you, is it?”

Emma’s bravado holds, even when the woman’s mouth curls into a glinty smile, but her breath freezes her throat on the way down.

“It’s about what he can handle,” the woman says. “And there is nothing he fears more than his own potential.”

He flies between rooftops, he shoots without looking, he tosses a dead body like it’s nothing but weight in a flimsy bag. He kisses like he’ll never be allowed the indiscretion again. He slides his hands up her back like he’ll lose the privilege in the next breath.

I don’t think you would have liked me.

Oh, sweetheart.

Have you seen what I’ve been willing to do?

“Now you see it, don’t you?” Amanda’s smile falters. Her eyebrows furrow. “What exactly it will take to risk it with an ex-deviant hunter?”

“Yep,” Emma says.

She tightens her shoulders and spins up a punch, right to the woman’s nose, but her limbs lock in place and the snow starts to glow, whiter and whiter and whiter and she screams against the brightness and then--

---

Emma awakens in a cloud of clover grass. Connor awakens to a vista he never thought he'd see again.

A computer’s soft clicking gives way to the real chirping of distant songbirds and springtime crickets, all singing within a soft golden light. The wind shifts the softly clothed willows weeping into the water. Wildflowers sprout around old trees with branches weighed down by old growth, webbing perfect white paths in swatches of pink and violet. Moss covers white stones that are collapsed along the pathways, some homage to a place that fell to ruin long ago.

On the central island, where all roads lead, roses spill out of a dirty trellis like a thousand drops of blood.

Emma hops across white stones to find a better view. Connor stands still, struggling to process the truth.

His eyes catch on a single fountain of blue light and the sparkling flutter of tulle petals across the surface of the moat, afraid of the realization. This place can only be complete if its true warden has arrived.

“My god,” Emma mutters, seeing Connor’s silhouette across the water.

He moves with sudden, body-seizing purpose toward the figure in a ratty old flannel, snow-stained jeans and work boots. Her hair is pulled up into a cloud. Her face brightens with exertion as she hops and hops and hops until she’s on the island proper, carefully stepping over vines of roses and moss and things long left to their own devices. His shoes smack metallic against the bridge.

She stares in wonder as he stops short of reaching her, fists clenched down at his sides so he doesn’t scare her off with the fury of his want.

“Wait,” she says. “This is your drawing, isn’t it?”

He blinks and scolds his eyes for forming tears.

“The garden?” she says.

“A bridge,” he says in realization.

“You’re in that--”

“Jacket,” he finishes for her, watching the gesture of her hand. A painting in motion. “I know.”

His well of patience has long dried up, so he closes the distance in two steps. He lays his hands against her cheeks just as she presses her palms against the flat lapel of his old android lambda. He freezes at the realness of her skin. The warmth of his body prompts her to speak.

“Is it you?” she asks.

“It’s me,” he says. “Are you--”

“I saw everything,” she says, words spilling out soggy and shaken. “I saw…”

“Everything,” he repeats, in question and statement.

“This place…”

The finicky nature of wetware sizzles on his tongue.

...bizarre organic connections…no one can explain...

Technology that followed rules written in old, old books, long ago by dead gods. Life had no good explanation.

“I think we made this,” he says.

He has never thought himself capable of making much of anything.

She has only ever dreamed of new worlds; her hands never moved to build one, knit up in time and money and all the excuses the world could ever offer.

They stare with great knowing and too many questions across their garden of variance.

She takes a step back. His hands follow, lingering against the front of her shirt, afraid to lose a dream.

“Is this how you see yourself?” she asks.

He looks down at his old uniform. “I...” I don’t know how to be any other way, he thinks, and yet. “...am learning, still, to see other things.”

The light in her eye twinkles out of step. He never wanted to show her those places. But when she opens her mouth, she answers an old prayer uttered in darkness.

“You’ve always looked like light,” she says quietly. “I wish you could see…”

He did see, he did see, he saw--

Her words choke off in a ripping, high-pitched sob.

“Oh, god, you’ve seen everything. You’ve seen--”

She closes her eyes against the wind rising in an angry bluff against her skin. He tries to step toward her but something else keeps him back -- some sense that she needs the space to find her way again.

“I killed him. I killed him and I wanted to do it, I…”

“Emma.”

“I’m dying,” she says. “That’s...that’s why it’s all been so…”

“No,” he says, as if words could hold back the world spinning on its axis -- but it had, once upon a time, when Markus had lifted his fist. “You’re safe here with me. In the…” He tries and fails to find the right word. “The science that made us possible.”

“Magic,” she whispers. He counts the stars across her cheeks again.

“Perhaps.”

“I did all that.”

“But so did I.” The words hit him in the chest like a 3 ton weight, but he steps forward and lets it sink in -- the weight of giving a shit. “I did, Emma. All the things you saw, and I didn’t do them for good reason.”

“I saw you,” she says. “I saw what you felt. I saw that...that even when you didn’t know, you...thought to ask the question, and--”

“You didn’t want to lose anything else,” he says, “so you fought back the only way you knew how. Pretending you had nothing to lose.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as tears run out. The wind picks up, ready to collect. He has never been very good at putting into words the faultlines of his thoughts. There is no time. Only the jump.

“You said once that loving me was like letting a part of your heart walk outside your body,” he says to her. “You remember?”

She nods, mouth grimacing against her grief and the storm curling inward toward them.

“But for me it is more like...you are my heart, everywhere you go.”

He is not sure if that makes sense, but when he touches her face again and she doesn’t flinch, he thinks it is the right track. He does feel it, the more he thinks about it -- that soft glow of truth stumbled upon in the course of investigation. She’s written into his code, now. Of course. And he’d let her settle there, if she wished.

“I don’t think deserving is part of the equation anymore,” he presses. “I think we just have to make a choice. To keep trying.”

The storm darkens.

“And I’ve made mine,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes finally open, afraid of something behind his shoulder -- obligation, duty, a mindless devotion to a concept of something.

“I’ve made it,” he repeats.

He lifts her hand up and presses his palm flat against hers before he peels back the skin of his hand to feel her warmth against his true self. She’s scarred from work and surgeries and time. He wants to taste the steel that made her.

The world around them begins to flatten and spin, starting far away but pressing closer and closer. She stares at him, caught between defiant and yearning, and she lingers in silence -- but then the first peal of thunder rolls and she jumps toward his chest, shaking.

The bridge is ending; they both know it. The storm rises to meet them, crashing like a cabinet of iron pans finally collapsing from the weight, and she digs her fingers into the front of his jacket until the fabric fills her fist.

“Hold on tight,” he says. “No matter what. Don't let go.”

He presses his forehead to hers, arms pulling her tight. She is silent against his plea, in his gathering of the pieces, until the storm roars like God and the world is little but a swirl of color. Their noses cross and suddenly one on her hands snakes around the back of his neck.

“I don’t let go of things,” she whispers against his mouth, “Even if it kills me, that won’t ever change.”

She presses her lips against his. She pushes in toward him and he pushes back, two particles entangled together across the universe. His fingers dig into her back.

“Don’t let me forget this,” she says, quiet and small.

They wait until the storm becomes them, and there’s nothing but color and light.

---

...brushing past, smiling tightly, holding aloft her coffee, holding herself together just long enough to find her post. They pass one another like motes in the wind and she knows --

---

She feels the sun again on her face, and the world seems so small beneath the hugeness of the blue sky. She doesn’t look back, but she knows who is finally there.

Listen, love. It’s okay.

We're only gone from here. But we aren’t gone from you.

Hank and Chase and Messi and Ryker and...she sees their eyes, even though they are far away, and she knows…

Here’s the real secret.

A whisper of a kiss on her temple.

When you truly love something...

When you set your heart free, Emmaline?

A love like that...it changes everything.

---

Connor flickers into consciousness.

“...Hank.”

“Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

He nods, vague and tinny in some strange box...moving...

“Son, you’re gonna make it. Just hold on to me, okay? ...that’s right. Ah, don’t break my hand --”

“Emma...she’s dying, she…”

“She’s right there. They’re stabilizing her. See? Okay? Look at me.”

“I need to--”

“You don’t need to do shit except sit here with me. Alright? Your mission right now is staying alive, you got that?” The man lets out a shaky huff. Faith and disbelief realized, all at once. “Can you imagine what she’d say to you if you bled out in an ambulance?”

And Connor actually smiles a little at the concept, though it dies as soon as Hank’s sturdy hand brushes something on Connor’s forehead.

“...he tried to make me forget you,” Connor says, eyes welling so suddenly that he leans forward until his head connects with Hank’s chest and he shudders from relief more than anything else.

“I’ve got you. We’re gonna make it,” Hank rumbles, eyes wet and arms tight. “I’m here. We’re gonna make it just fine...”

[tessatechaitea]

Second Coming #3

If that bug-eyed guy on the cover is named "Preying Mantis" (with an E!), I will be suing.

I realize I didn't review the first two issues of this series but that's because I'd mostly stopped reviewing new comics. Once I began reading mostly new comics that I wanted to read because I liked them, I found I wanted to simply immerse myself in the story and enjoy it without interrupting that enjoyment every half page to spout some invective or spew my opinion about something just tangentially related to what I just read. But recently, I realized that writing commentaries (or reviews (or whatever the fuck it is I'm doing that really just amounts to distracting myself from the notion of mortality)) was more fun if I didn't have to write one hundred and twenty Teen Titans review in a row. So now I'm mixing things up! Let's see if I can find anything critical to say about Mark Russell! I wouldn't place any bets on me losing my shit. You should put all of your money on me fawning on Russell like he's the first girl to ever let me touch their private business through their cotton underwear.

I know Mark Russell isn't the first writer to discuss this because I was.

This morning, I realized I have a big crusty gash in the top of my head because I banged it on the bathroom cabinet while stumbling around in pain, dizzy and nauseated, from passing a kidney stone. So much kidney pain my nerves couldn't appraise me of the gaping head wound. And even though I instantly began to feel better after stumbling out of the bathroom and collapsing into bed, I now must live in fear of that kidney stone pain coming back. At least for as long as the human mind can grapple with that kind of sheer terror before moving on to something else. I guess reading a comic book and trusting that my insides aren't going to suddenly explode is moving on! Jesus continues to ride around on Sunstar's back being a literal angel on his shoulder. Sunstar is all, "I'm going to kick ass for justice!" And Jesus is all, "But is that justice? Really? I mean, really? Justice?" Then Sunstar is all, "What do you mean?" And Jesus is all, "Well, I'm glad you asked! Have I got a parable for you!" And just like every single apostle, Sunstar listens to the parable and then says, "What? Explain better." Then Jesus sighs, drops the parable, and says directly whatever he was trying to say poetically. I mean, Mark Russell does a better job with the dialogue! But if you want Russell's spectacular dialogue and the soft, budding pudenda under fuzzy cotton, you're just going to have to buy this comic book yourself. Take my word for it: it's worth it! But don't think you should stop reading my review now that you got my take on it. There are still some great jokes coming up and probably a moment where I offend all gun owners! Even the ones I'm friends with! One of the great things in the many great things about this comic book is how Mark Russell isn't specifically calling Superman to task for being a blunt instrument against crime. He's throwing shade at all the writers of Superman who haven't had the nerve or wit or understanding of the character to make him the peaceful motherfucker he always should have been. Yeah, sure, occasionally he's going to need to punch a giant alien robot into smithereens so the fans can be all, "Wow! Cool!" But every time he punches Lex Luthor (not in Battle Suit), it's because the writers don't fucking get it. Why would Superman ever have to punch a human?! First of all, whenever he punches any sentient being he's ever just encountered, he has to use the most minimal amount of force he can just to be sure he doesn't knock the creature's head clean off. Which means the fight just drags on forever as he punches a little harder each time until he calibrates just how hard he can punch his opponent without actually making his opponent's head explode. That seems like a huge pain in the ass. Instead, can't he just grab the opponent and fly them to the arctic? He can do that pretty fast. And if the opponent just happens to be too strong to do that? Well, that's the time to start punching super hard! If it's a human opponent, that person is now trapped in the arctic on an ice floe where Superman can just hover over them and scold them while wagging his finger in their face. I just realized Jesus is Mark Russell's Mary Sue in this comic book. Sunstar and his version of Lois head out to look for Grandma Sunstar. She's escaped her retirement community and headed to Littleton. Instead of pretending like things don't really change much like DC would have readers believe, Mark Russell takes the time to comment on urban sprawl by having Littleton subsumed by Urban City. He doesn't even hit anybody over the head with a major rant! He's just all, "Look at this shit! This is why Portland has laws against it! I mean, the laws came too late for a lot of the area. Have you seen how much Portland has sprawled? But at least it's not like the San Francisco Bay Area where you can go from San Francisco to San Jose without ever leaving El Camino's stripmallesque environment while simultaneously driving through like twelve other cities!" Um, once again, that wasn't Russell's actual dialogue! Do I have to keep explaining this? Sometimes I feel like I have to keep explaining myself. Have you seen the idiots who comment on blogs and Twitter reply threads?! No offense, King Beauregard! I always enjoy your comments! Although stating it like that after what I just wrote makes it seem like maybe I'm being sarcastic. But I'm not! I always come off as sarcastic which is why I simply gave up on earnestness and, thus, am always sarcastic. Except that part where I said I enjoy your comments! Sometimes my sincerity comes screaming out of my skull to shout at the world: "I'm a fucking human being! I can feel! I fear! I love! I cherish my time with friends!" But then I bash myself in the head using a bathroom cabinet until the little fucker hides back inside and regrets showing his stupid earnest face. Fucking sincerity. Suck my dick! While Sunstar visits home, Jesus wanders around looking for evidence that people remember him and his message.

That's an outstanding sign!

The new karaoke place has a bunch of Jesus Christ Superstar songs so I will be doing "Heaven on Their Minds" soon. Jesus doesn't get much page time because Mark Russell ditches him to get back to the Sunstar story where he can insult me right to my face.

Does being vulnerable to physical harm count? Because then I'm lovable too! I have the head wound to prove it!

Sunstar gets all nostalgic which is why Fake Lois needs to hold his hand. Because he's being cute and vulnerable and stupid. They roll by Sunstar's old house to see it has become a dildo shop where they sell totally vulnerable, sincere, earnest dildos. Jesus runs into Satan who explains God is going to destroy mankind if anything happens to Jesus on his return visit. Satan then ditches Jesus when some anti-gay Christian protesters approach him. They try to tell him about the word of Paul and Jesus is all, "Don't know the guy." It's pretty good Biblical comedy! Plus Jesus gets his ass stomped and the police pick him up for vagrancy. Exactly what we all know would happen if Jesus came back. Maybe that sentence is in the wrong tense. Let me try again. Exactly what happened when Jesus came back. Because obviously were already in the end times. Second Coming #3 Rating: A+. When this comic book was announced as a Vertigo title, there was a ton of religious pushback. I don't know the whole story because that would require research and how much life do you think I have left? I almost just died falling over because my kidney betrayed me! But the pushback was of the type where religious people here that some secular person is writing a story about Jesus and so it must be fucking blasphemous. And of course it isn't at all. It's treating Jesus more sacredly than most religious idiots treat him. And don't think you secular people are any better! The amount of times I've seen people bitch and moan and attack DC or Marvel simply based on a poorly worded solicit in Previews makes me think all y'all are no better. How about we all stop relying on that one charismatic Tumblr follower whose word is somehow gospel and maybe put in the work to read and experience the actual thing people are so worked up about before totally condemning it? I mean, I'm all for condemning shit! It's a lot of fun! But maybe do the research first! And yes I know how that sounds after claiming I don't do research! Suck it sideways!

[zonamievents]

Warmth Over Flowers

Word Count: 4,591 words Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Nami Artists: @daftyoungen

Summary: When Zoro left to find Kaidou, he didn’t expect to be successful in locating the Yonkou so quickly. So of course, the Straw Hats would find him even faster! However, on a winter island, during a harsh winter storm, one member of the crew goes off to search for him all on her own and is in need of an immediate rescue… (title inspired by the manga series Boys Over Flowers)

NOTE: This story takes place on the unnamed winter island in Kaidou’s possession, where Scotch was located when Drake attacked him during the time skip. Without a name, I wanted to clarify that here, thank you.

BANG BANG! “NAMI!” Zoro cried out, hoping to breach the wild howling of the snowstorm with a belated warning. His voice couldn’t overcome the drifting ice shards or the thunder he spied a few yards away, and so the swordsman relied on his feet to carry him through the layers upon layers of snow that piled high around his legs as he fought the winter island’s storm in order to reach her. The gusts that blew past him, through him, collided with any of his exposed skin managed to steal every single breath from his frigid lungs while he stomped his way towards the battle.

He didn’t know just how many enemies Nami was facing, but in Kaidou’s territory, it was more likely that their power levels should worry her about rather than the quantity of the Yonkou’s subordinates.

A bright flash of lightning blinded him as it reflected off of the snowy field that he had been trying to cross. Zoro hissed even though his own ears couldn’t make out the sound as he raised his bare hands to somehow rub his impaired vision away. However, his Haki did not need his eyes to be open in order to activate – as his mind’s eye opened to warn him of the battle Nami was currently facing, he also managed to predict a new weather pattern that was looming overhead.

Raining icicles.

Impatience bleeding into his system, Zoro drew his swords and grit his teeth on the hilt of the Wadou. Sandai Kitetsu and Shusui in hand, he used their sharp tips to aid his escape as he clamored through the snow. Like ice picks did he pierce the ground beneath the snow and pull himself towards the battle. The first icicle that his Haki had warned him about slammed down three paces behind him and the force shot his hood up over his head as broken pieces struck his coat. That one crash gave him pause – did Nami have a coat before she escaped Kaidou!?

The next icicle cut off his path and he raised his blades to protect his body. He had barely taken a step! Before he could fathom his next move, his body moved of its own accord to cut through the icicle that was aimed at his head. The sky was clouded and darkened by the night enough as it was, with only Nami’s distant lighting brightening the island. He needed to reach her faster, before she called attention to herself!

Before the icicles impaled her!

Before anything took her life!

“Santoryuu,” growled the swordsman as he glared at the open field before him, icicles plummeting into the snow with enough force to shake his stance. Unafraid and unrelenting, he took the chance to catch his breath before calling out, “108 Pound Phoenix!” The blast from his attack was almighty without a direct physical target to receive it. As the force shot straight into the sky in a dome-like shape, so did it fly forward, digging through the snow, forming a thin path ahead. With swift feet did he rush forward in the direction he had seen that familiar lightning activity—

“D-Dammit!” He cursed at himself when he somehow managed to step off the path in a matter of seconds. Zoro stared firmly at the line his swords had drawn as he escaped the icicle storm and raced onward to save the navigator!

It was a very rickety run as he came face to face with his greatest yet silent flaw.

But it was even more distressing when he managed to reach the battlefield, where he found Nami.

There was a small hill that he had cut through unexpectedly and he nearly thought that he had somehow journeyed off course again. That is, until Zoro’s eye tore away from the line in the snow when a spark of lightning crackled at his boot so suddenly. His speed had carried him towards the battle, which had ended with a horde of Kaidou’s pirates’ bodies lying in every direction within a massive crater. So deep was it that there were patches of dirt peeking through the snow that tried to cover the indentation! Men and women of all sizes either laid dead or twitching with buzzing electricity dancing over their corpses…

“N-NAMI!” The swordsman shouted with a twist of fright in his voice as he leapt into the crater to retrieve the navigator. Her orange hair managed to stand out during the heavily clouded storm, but so was her signature green bikini top, acting as the only cover for her upper body.

“Dammit, Nami! What the hell are you doing out here, like this!?” His bark was hollow as he fell to his knees at her side. It was a horrifying notion to think that she was facing against a Yonkou’s crew alone, it was terrifying to see her body huddled in the middle of the battlefield without any winter clothes on.

But the worst scare he came face to face with in that crater was the fact that her skin had begun to turn blue.

It shocked him the moment he tried to pick her up, just how frozen her body was. Hadn’t she been fighting off Kaidou’s crew just moments before he arrived, he wondered. Her wide-range Thundercloud attack had blinded him!

‘Then why does she look like she’s been lying here for hours!?’

Unconscious and unresponsive, the navigator looked worse than he could have imagined her to be. Zoro genuinely felt that he was looking at someone else – that he couldn’t be staring at Nami of the Straw Hats, the woman who had been apart of the crew for nearly as long as he had – but that signature tattoo of hers was unmistakable.

As much as he hated to admit it, everything was unmistakable.

“Nami…” Feeling the low vibration in his throat of the way he said her name made his heart sink; the weather continued to oppose both of their survival and prevented him from hearing just how devastated he felt. A scowl befell his face, the dark and increasingly demoralizing thoughts crept up on him the moment he let his guard down. After all, Chopper had taught them all about the deadly illness you could contract in extremely cold temperatures. Hypo…

Hypo…ther…

Hypother…mastat, or something.

“Shit, what did he say?” Asked the swordsman as he tried to stand in for the Straw Hat’s doctor as his forcibly removed his coat form his body. His spine straightened, stiffened as soon as the frosty breath of winter blew against his back. He glared at Nami while lamely wrapping her up in his jacket simply because he knew that inside her intellectual mind were the answers he was looking for on how to tend to her!

At least her jeans protected her legs and prevented her condition from getting much worse.

Zoro lifted his crew mate into his arms and held her close, hoping to channel his warmth into her, despite how little her actually possessed. He moved a few of the stray pieces of fur from the hood out of her face in order to glance at her expression, now that he had a better view. He had never seen Nami sleep without her eyes being fully closed and it gave her a most haunted look. Skin pale, breathing weak, blue lips – whether it was that hypothermastat or not, she couldn’t have been well at all.

And then, it hit him.

“You’re not…shivering.” The fact was spoken so gently, Zoro wasn’t even sure he said it. If there was one thing he knew it was that cold bodies shivered… Living ones, anyway.

They also weren’t blue, typically.

And her eyes weren’t closing— “I need to find us somewhere to spend the night. Shit, somewhere indoors!” Constructing a plan, Zoro knew he needed a formidable shelter in order to survive and keep Nami alive. Anything inside a cave would still welcome in the cold. It was a fool’s errand potentially, but he had to find a building or a house of some kind if he was going to reunite the Straw Hats come tomorrow.

And that was exactly what he was going to do.

On top of the tired, dense body, he now had to lug around the lead weight that was Nami’s unconscious form. His robe might as well have been sliced to smithereens by the unforgiving wind and his boots were soaked through, yet Roronoa Zoro climbed out of the crater without so much as a grunt. The snow greeted him with a harsh smack in the face once he emerged, and he welcomed the refreshing burst if only to reawaken his weary mind.

One steely eye scanning the surrounding area, the once chivalrous swordsman scoffed. “Couldn’t you have left me a clue or something, telling me where you were going? You’re the navigator, aren’t you? You’re always making fun of me for having no sense of direction, so what am I—”

His toes knocked something light and thin, ending his mindless rant.

Zoro was shocked yet relieved to see that he had stumbled upon none other than the Climatact as he was leaving the makeshift battlefield. Reaching down carefully, he picked up his crew mate’s prized (and expensive) weaponry like it was some major triumph. Something positive amongst the chaos the night. Lifting it to show it to its owner, the swordsman hadn’t expected the Climatact to be much help on its own; it wasn’t until he raised the orange-tinted baton that he noticed something green flashing in the off to his right.

He uttered an unintentional ‘huh’ as he spied the light – was that beacon attached to a structure of some kind?

“…Shit.” Was all Zoro could say, hoping against reality that he could make his way towards the possible shelter without a single slip-up…

Not as he passed through the horde of fallen bodies…

Not when he traipsed over another hill…

Especially not during his descent through a sloping strip of trees…

“Heh, you must have rubbed off on me.” Concluded the swordsman as he found himself smirking up at an industrial-styled building that stood tall beneath the gleaming green light.

Just as he was about to celebrate his momentary victory, a tornado-like tempest swirled around him and battled with his stressed body to stay within its icy grasp. Snowflakes struck his cheeks like cold sandpaper in blatant protest of his attempt to flee the storm. Their assault only reminded him that he couldn’t relax just yet, not when he needed to guarantee that there would be no surprises once they made their way inside. The caution tape that wrapped around the building was tattered so badly that it wasn’t visible until he was standing directly in front of the wall of the building but he still managed to use it as a physical guide to lead him towards some sort of entrance.

Zoro nearly thought that he had somehow turned around and walked right back to the corner her had first arrived at until he spotted a deep line in the middle of the wall. No, he quickly realized, it was a mechanical pair of doors. Without a knob of any kind, the clueless swordsman had no idea how he was expected to open them. There was some kind of frozen black box on the wall – was there meant to be a key!? A childish, restless part of his mind urged him to cut through the metal or make his own damn doorway!

Allowing the winter weather inside by any means would be a foolish mistake, though.

Zoro wordlessly sneered at the mechanism that he could not use before continuing to stomp his way around the building. His Haki had not activated since the icicles attack and he truly believed that that meant they had found a rather secure place to hideaway. No security cameras meant no one was watching him foolishly waddle around the premises—

Foolish, until he found a traditional door with a frozen handle.

It didn’t take much for the relieved swordsman to use his Wadou’s hilt to chip away at the ice that kept them from going inside their shelter; a set of seven blows and the door knob was free to use…if one had a key. “…All right, that’s it.” Zoro nearly tossed the Wadou Ichimonji back into its scabbard, braced his arm, and threw himself into the door. Once, twice, three times he struck with his shoulder followed once with his foot in order to force it open and allow them inside. A weakened thud and a tumbling step forward indicated that he had achieved his goal. He felt a relieved breath escape him – nearly stealing all he had left inside his lungs – during his sluggish march inside their newly discovered shelter. On the floor a few tiles away from the entrance was a door knob…which he had presumably kicked out in his desperation.

Looking around, he doubted the place he had happened upon would have a spare.

It appeared that the swordsman and the navigator would be staying in an unoccupied security facility; there were screens laid out like a grid on the wall next to the door he had charged through, a control panel that was much too complicated for Zoro’s tastes resting beneath it. Again, his lone eye searched the surprisingly small space for any Den Den Mushi roaming around, silently relieved to discover that there was nothing within the vicinity to spy on them.

They were completely and utterly alone for the night.

“Okay, Nami,” Zoro spoke in a commanding tone in the hopes of awakening the frozen girl. Now that the wind was no longer thrashing around him, her limp body was even more alarming since he could feel just how still and lifeless she truly was.

As important as that was, there was something else he knew he needed to focus on first: sealing off the entrance he had bashed in, now that it was without a door knob. It took him a matter of seconds to see that there was some small yet sturdy-looking futuristic box propped up against the side of the control panel, perhaps heavy enough to close the door. Arms full, Zoro used his feet to shove the box in front of the ajar doorway. A buzzing sound started up the moment he knocked forward an inch but without any sparks and smokes coming out of the device, he persevered—

Pale, dim lights shuttered on above his head after he positioned his makeshift door jam in place.  

“Huh,” was his brilliant reaction to the probable emergency lights that could make their stay a great deal easier – he managed to lock them indoors and provide them with lighting. Luck on his side, the swordsman moved onto his next concern: creating a place for her to rest in such a cold and office-like room. “Let’s see what we can work with here.”

He continued to hold her as he rummaged through the technologically advanced room. Everything was sleek and purposeful, emotionless and inhospitable compared to what he had envisioned while wandering through the snow. He had quite a long while to think of where he’d take her after all, given that he had left Kaidou and the Straw Hats before the sun had set on the west side of the island. If Nami had gone looking for him, Zoro assumed she would eventually run into him before he would have found her…

Again, he asked himself if she had been without a coat the entire time she had been separated from the crew?

Zoro squeezed her in his arms. Sighing, he paused his search to glance down at the typically rambunctious navigator in her current state. Being alone with her during a time where they were so far separated from any other living person on the island felt much more frightening than he imagined it would have. Nami wasn’t the type who would have sat quietly and waited for him to solve their problems, no. She would have told him where to go, most likely while he was forced to carry her on his back, all while loudly advising him on how to make the most out of the room he had found. She would have been warm due to her fiery nature and would have spent the rest of the evening berating him for doing what he did…

For putting them both in such a dangerous situation.

“I was trying to avoid this…or anything like this.” Mumbled the swordsman with a defensive rumble behind his words. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so physically close to her, yet being nearly face-to-face with Nami then and there was almost awkward as much as it was necessary.

“What I did…was necessary.”

Zoro stated the words he had kept within for so very long that hearing them spoken aloud shattered the tenderness he had experienced momentarily. Reaffirmed in his goal, he lifted his stare and noticed there were two more doors for him to consider. He nearly hissed when he examined them more closely, until he discovered what they each opened up to: his right led to the rest of the facility through a hatch marked ‘Corridor 001’ and the other appeared to be a glass-paneled opening to a closet that housed a dozen or so lab coats inside! More layers, which were exactly what they needed!

There was a moment of disbelief that opening the closet door required a mere sliding motion until it was tucked away within the wall. The easiest moment of his day, most definitely. “This is probably as good a place as any, considering where we are.” And on that note, the swordsman informally decreed that they would be camping out in the closet for the night.

To him, it made the most sense. The door he had used to enter the building was merely wedged in place at the bottom, which meant that any sort of strong gust could rattle it off its hinges and welcome some strong gusts of snow inside. The closet could be sealed off if need be, but casually, door opened just a sliver, it was technically an insulated space for them to come together for warmth. Zoro plucked the lab coats off of their hangers and let the metal hooks cry as he collected them for much less scientific reasons than they were made for. He jostled Nami around quite a bit during his nesting process – some for him to use as a cushion for the potentially long stay, others draped over them in a rather uncoordinated way – until he could tuck her into his side.

Then, finally, after everything he’d done to find her, Zoro could allow himself to relax.

“Ah…our temporary home.” He felt foolish for whispering something so blindly optimistic while releasing a breath that he had been holding onto deep within his chest. His nose was red like Luffy’s vest and his skin felt he had allowed Mihawk to slash at his flesh with his kogatana repeatedly; switching roles with Nami on a typical day would have been a foolhardy decision but to do so in an enemy’s territory, during a snow storm, felt very much one of the lessons he endured on Kuraigana Island.

Those challenges had been life-threatening in the beginning, too.

“Hm, I should probably see how you’re doing.” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, at least, Zoro didn’t believe so. Nevertheless, his fingers twitched when they reached for the winter coat he had given her and began to slide it off of her shoulder. Nami reacted instantly – reminding him that she wasn’t merely sleeping next to him, but potentially fighting for her life – with a breathless whimper. Her desperation to keep his coat inspired him to move quickly as he moved to observe her one bluish skin.

To his great disappointment, it was still blue.

Franky’s hair color did not belong with Nami’s creamy complexion, Zoro decided in that moment. Brows digging into each other, lips burrowing into his cheeks, he was free to express his complete and utter displeasure when there was no one there to witness his natural response. However, as if she sensed his sullen mood, Nami’s head suddenly bobbed against his bicep. It felt as if she was calling him to attention! All he knew how to do was brave the bone-chilling touch of her body and place one hand on her shoulder, drawing her in.

“I don’t have anything else for us to use,” explained the swordsman with an earnest affliction to his tone. “This place wasn’t made for us to camp out here during the night, and I wouldn’t know how to turn the heat on, wherever it would be in here.” By the end of his explanation, it felt like he was pleading with her to understand that he had done his absolute best to bring her back from the frigid temperature that plagued her body. He hadn’t made her go out into the storm to find him – he hadn’t even invited the crew to follow him to the island! They had chased after him without his consent to do so. The Straw Hats were as everyone thought of them: eternal troublemakers that stuck vehemently to their causes.

Though Roronoa Zoro was the last person allowed to mock a crew mate for overzealous loyalty.

When a slight brush of wind slipped under the open collar of his robe, he couldn’t tell if it was Nami’s breathing beginning to regulate or a burst of air from his own nose, but it riled him just the same; he pretended it was her, as part of him had been thinking about how he came to be in his current situation. His newfound urge to speak his mind had been expanding ever since the crew reunited again all those months ago…it was only fair that the noisiest crew mate had her share of being scolded too.

“Wouldn’t need to figure out how to turn a heater on if I was in Kaidou’s headquarters, and you were safe on the Sunny, right? I told you guys time and time again that Kaidou would be our greatest threat – that we kept pissing him off with everything we were doing – but none of you listened. Then he takes Kidd and tries to make an example out of him, and suddenly you were beginning to take things seriously. But me? I had been thinking about what to do about Kaidou for a hell of a lot longer than all of you.

“I left to do what I needed to do in order to protect the crew. Usopp left, Robin left, you left once too, and… Yeah, we always chased you guys down. Sanji was the one exception for me, though…

“Argh, you guys shouldn’t have come!” Bursting with the strength that the budding warmth in his body provided him with, Zoro carried on audaciously. “You have no idea what I nearly managed to do for you guys so you could make it in the New World safely. I was so close to having him accept my terms and then you showed up so quickly! Your fault, huh? You didn’t even make Luffy bring Law and his crew with you! Now everyone else is sitting in a Yonkou’s jail! Why… It’s become worse than I could have ever wanted.”

Impassioned and unstoppable, Zoro turned to angle his head so that he could address Nami while staring her down. “You weren’t thinking when you brought them here, and look where it got you. Not in prison, yeah, but now you’re situation is a hell of a lot worse.”

Outside the building, the winter gusts shifted and struck the structure, mimicking the fury with which he had just chastised her. His reverence of Nami had always been the basis of his respect for her, the disillusionment sinking into the pit of stomach, mingling with the sick feeling of worry he had been housing whenever she made anytime of jarring movement. So when she bobbed her head again, Zoro felt the capacity of his endurance deplete instantaneously.

Sitting side by side felt so cold (ironically), so he shuffled her one again and propped her body up against his leg. Unintentionally, he was cradling her again, an act she appeared to appreciate as she fell into him rather suddenly. She wasn’t set up completely between his legs, however, the navigator easily found a place on his chest to rest her head, a space against his firm form to lay comfortably against.

And finally, she began to shiver.

“Nami!?” Zoro gasped soundly. It started in small jerking motions in her upper back, her hips, her hands, but it was unmistakeable that she was beginning to move again! That would normally be a negative sign in an everyday situation – to Zoro, it felt miraculous.

Unless he assumed that she was only beginning to feel better because she heard his accusatory rant and was planning to recovery quickly so that she could deliver her hefty, heated response.

He scoffed in disbelief at her unconscious vigor, then sighed at himself for being so aggressive with her. A remorseful hand patted the ground until he found a loose lab coat and draped it over her lower half in response. Nami rattled against him, teeth chattering as her shuddering unsettled her, and his typically emotionless heart twisted so tightly in his chest. His other hand became protective as he brought it back onto her shoulder, securing her against his most likely uncomfortable body. Everything about being on the worst winter island in all of the New World was uncomfortable…

Knowing that at least one member of his crew was safe was all of the comfort he needed, though.

Roronoa Zoro believed in the Straw Hats no matter what it was he had tried to do by pursuing Kaidou, including his faith-based prediction that they would escape from their prison cells without being harmed the way Kidd was. They were fine – he knew it – which meant that he could focus his sole efforts on taking care of their navigator. Even if he couldn’t remember much about that hypothermastat sickness Chopper had taught him about, the swordsman admired the strength Nami showed in fighting off its effects.

“…Let’s get some rest,” Zoro suggested while tucking Nami’s head under his chin, bringing her even closer. “If you wake up before me…you can take me home.” He promised her those words as a sign of the faith he had invested in her as well.

The sudden crackle of her voice was almost like a verbal reminder that that was her intention, all along.

((Thanks so much to the ZoNa Discord for giving me more than one idea for my entry this year! Ultimately, I went with this one because I never wrote a blanket scenario for ZoNa, and the sudden realization felt wrong!? 

We DO know Kaidou has a winter island in his control, we know Zoro DOES somewhat fear him, so I put two and two together to make a premise for why there would be a naturally occurring blanket scenario for Zoro and Nami in the OP universe. 

Thanks for reading! Now go show some love to @daftyoungen for doing an amazing job illustrating the last scene for this story before it was even finished being written! She did fantastic work and it really motivated me in the end~))

[chlstarrbaby]

MickxMin GPS Shenanigan

Minnie finally suckered Mickey into buying a GPS for the next time they went on a road trip together. And she couldn't have regretted it more.

Now she didn't worry about it at first, which she should have been since Mickey was notoriously not modern tech savvy. Cars were fine no matter what day and age, house hold appliances, the same thing, cell phones on the other hand…took him years to get the hang of no matter what anyone said, one could easily say he was as behind as Donald in that department. However he seemed to get the GPS just fine enough as he put in all the settings.

It wasn't until she heard the results for herself that she regretted him getting the darn thing.

"Turn right in 300 meters, Mister Mouse." Came a rather surprisingly seductive feminine voice from the GPS. Mickey turned beet red in embarrassment that it actually referred to him in such a manner, he knew he should've set the voice settings to a guy telling him what to do, even hearing Master Yoda's voice would've been better for him as he noticed Minnie sharply glaring daggers at the device out of the corner of his eye.

"Would you like me to direct you to the love motel, Mister Mouse?" Came the seductive voice of the GPS again.

Mickey nearly choked on his own spit. Sure they heading to Vegas, but they were going for the cleaner fun side of the destination so where in Sam Hill did that request of rerouting come from?

"Pull over and stop the car, please, Mickey." Minnie requested as soon as they both stopped reeling from the last line the GPS gave out.

He did as instructed, not daring to incur her wrath further. However he was surprised when she reached for it too.

"I'll pay you back for it since it was my idea." Minnie told him simply.

"But I can just change the settings ta some guy telling me what ta do." He tried to argue, but she had already scooched out the door, but hadn't shut it yet. "At least save the memory card please!" He called out after her, since he just knew what he was going to do to it.

Thankfully she heard his last request as she made movements of inspecting it a little and took something out of it, then she threw the GPS to the ground and stomped on it several times with the sharpest point of her heel. Mickey knew that if she had a gun she'd shoot the darn thing to smithereens.

When she was satisfied with the destruction she caused of it she returned to the car nonchalantly as if nothing had happened, though she made it clear why she did what she did.

"I don't mind being your GPS, and besides, if anyone's going to be flirting with you, it's going to be me." She told him heatedly, pressing her nose to his affectionately.

Mickey subtly gulped at her heated sincerity, he didn't doubt her for a second on that notion. However, the heatedness wasn't going to get them to Vegas any faster so he did the only thing he could do to douse her flames a little, he closed the distance between their muzzles and kissed her, albeit briefly by intention, she prolonged it a few good extra seconds.

"I don't doubt it fer a second, Min." He told her after eventually pulling away. "Now…was it this next exit that we hafta take?"

"Yep, that's right. By the way, what do you want the memory card for?" Minnie couldn't help but ask after directing him back on course.

Mickey smirked as he thought of a use for it that may or may not happen in the future as he pulled back on to the road and did as he was instructed.

"Oh, just in case really. Ya never know when ya need ta out somebody technologically, and who knows? If they've got a memory card with a dangerous program on it, what better way ta distract than ta pull the ol' switcharoo?"

"I swear you have an answer for everything." Minnie giggled at him as she got out the map to direct him the old fashioned way.

"Not everything, only with what I know." Mickey quipped back at her cheerfully.

[ghostfeetalexander-blog]

Starry-Eyed

When I was much younger, think fifteen, twenty years ago, in my early twenties, I had a brief foray into dating a star. It didn’t last long, although back then those sort of things always seemed to be longer than they actually were. But for a fair amount of time afterwards, longer than I probably should have, I longed for her. It took a lot of time, and an incredible woman that would eventually become my wife, to help me stop having that twinge of wishing she was still with me, that waking up next to nobody and still smelling her presence there.  We met at a science museum. I was there taking my niece to see something I’ve forgotten by now, probably a dinosaur exhibit or underwater one. At the time, as part of their space exhibit, they had somehow managed to create miniature stars in controlled labs. While my niece was quickly bored by it, I found myself mesmerized by her on display. I sparked up a conversation with her, found it easy to make her laugh. After a short while, I asked, why are you still here? She didn’t have much of an answer. I told her, I’m about to leave with my niece, do you want to leave with me? Drop my niece off and we could go somewhere and walk for a bit, maybe stop and get drinks? She readily agreed, perhaps because I had charmed her in some way, or perhaps because she was just glad to get out of that museum, which up to then was all she had ever known. I told her I would be back in a bit, I just had to find my niece and we’d get going. Of course, when I did, my niece didn’t want to leave yet. She pouted and moaned and sulked. I gave her a little more time, but probably not as much as I would’ve if I didn’t have a star waiting for me. And of course, when I went by to get her, the star, my niece was wildly confused. Why is she coming with us, she asked. Isn’t she supposed to stay here? I told her no, she was her own being, she could decide what she wanted to do and where she wanted to be, and she wanted to come and spend some time with me, could you please just be happy for me for a minute? That quieted her down, because everyone in my family knew that I had recently been a little heartbroken over my last failed relationship, something that had ended a couple months before meeting the star. 

After dropping off my niece we decided to talk a walk in a nearby park. By that time, it was night out. I honestly was a little tongue-tied; I had no idea of what to say. What sort of music does a star like? Does a star ever get a chance to read books? What about a star’s siblings, do they have any of those? Everything I thought up seemed incredibly dumb or dull. “The stars look wonderful tonight,” I said, absentmindedly. When I realized what I had said, I quickly added, “of course I count you among them.” I felt silly afterwards. There was definitely something less cheesy I could’ve said, but there was no way I could’ve thought of it on the spot. There were multiple times that a friend or family member pulled me aside and asked me what I was doing. If I was sure of this. They asked, what do you see in her?  “I don’t really know, honestly. A lot of light,” I’d respond, avoiding eye contact and clearly uncomfortable. It was true, I didn’t know exactly what it was about her that I was attracted to. Maybe it was her warmth, maybe it was having a feeling of being her protector. It could’ve just been superficial, in all honesty. But it wasn’t. I truly cared about her, and wanted what was best for her. But how could I know that? I hardly knew at the time what was best for me, how could I know what a star needed, what they needed most out of life? So I tried to make her happy. I tried my best to amuse her, to make her feel cared about, to make her feel like she was someone special. There were, of course, things we couldn’t do together. We never even bothered trying a movie in a theater, or a play. My niece eventually did take a shining to her, but that proved to be troublesome when she was acting in a school play and wanted the both of us to come.  “But whyyyy can’t she?” my niece would moan, and either I would be tasked or I would put it off to her parents to explain why. It hurt to see that she, the star, was just as disappointed that she would be able to see her performance. I wracked my brain for several ideas for how to make it work, but it just wouldn’t: her brightness would be too distracting. I still went, and was unable to focus on the play itself at all, thinking much more about the star, and what she was doing, and beating myself up for not thinking up some miraculous solution. Concerts, though, that we managed to work out. Everyone assumed she was part of the lighting aspect of the show. Some people would be mesmerized by her in turn, staring at her intently, which bugged her. It reminded her of being back in that museum, where she was gawked at and kept in captivity. She was glad, though, to be able to get out and do activities with me. She just wanted to experience whatever she could with me, and I felt the same way. One time a woman moved in between her and I at a concert. I glared at her, frowning, until she noticed and quickly yelled over the music. “What?” “Um, excuse me,” And I moved to her other side, back next to the star. She looked at me incredulously, obviously weirded out. “Are you like, on something?” she asked, even though I had stopped paying her any attention and had resumed watching the band. “Uh, no, I’m not.” She looked at me again, eyebrow slightly raised, and stomped off into the crowd further ahead towards the stage. “Some people, huh,” I said to the star, jabbing her playfully. “It’s like, yeah, I do think I’m coming to love her,” I remember telling my friend several drinks deep at our favorite haunt. I munched on a couple fries in ketchup. “But it’s frustrating, because, I feel this pull toward her, and when I get to close, I get burned, y’know?” “Yeah, man, yeah. I get it. I’ve been there,” my friend replied, also slightly inebriated. “But it’s worth it, though, to me, for some reason? I don’t know,” I added. “Who’s asking if you know? Why are you getting so far ahead of yourself, why don’t you just have fun with it and not take it so seriously?” my friend reassured me. He was right, I knew he was right, I agreed with him then and there and told him he was right, but it just did not get through my thick skull. How is it I knew what I had to do, and I still wasn’t able to do it? The thing is, because she was technically a miniature star, not a full-sized one, her lifespan was significantly smaller than if she was a big star. It would’ve been lightyears and she would have far outlasted me. Instead, she only had a half life of two weeks. So a full life of four weeks. And she had been in the museum for a week before I had met her. It wasn’t until the last four days we had together that she started to brighten significantly, and I thought back to what I learned in high school science class, and wasn’t able to remember, and looked it up on the internet to remind myself. I felt ridiculous when I found the information. Why didn’t I see this coming? How could I have not known it was too good to be true, how had I not known it wouldn’t last? And because there was no significant distance, when she burned out, it would be immediate to me, I wouldn’t get to see her image for an extra amount of time after she had burned out. It was just before that started happening that I took her to a family barbeque. At this point, everyone had just gotten used to it. They did their best to accommodate her and include her in all the games we played at get togethers. Sometimes she wasn’t very good, especially at stuff like volleyball or polo, but she was surprisingly good at cornhole. There was a cornhole tournament we did, like for a lot of the other games because there was so much family that wanted to play, and we managed to win it all. The team we beat, which was a second cousin and his wife, were a little peeved off by losing but were able to shake it off quickly. I was surprised, sometimes my family had been the sorest losers and taken shots about there being cheating or the like for them to lose. But no one made such allegations against us, everyone seemed happy to see me as happy as I was. “You guys will repeat next year yet, I bet,” my mother joked to us after we had a victory embrace. I smiled widely at her, and her back at me. I thought, could this go on forever? Or at least, a long time? What more could I want? I tried to discuss this with her, tried to plan ahead a little. I wanted her to know I felt secure with her and didn’t want no one else. Talking about that stuff though, she never responded. It must’ve really agitated her. I think she was trying to get me better to understand that I need to try harder to live in the moment, to take life for what it is. I still struggle with that, to this day. Before, I was so preoccupied with what was next -- now, I can’t stop looking back to what could’ve been. And then it happened: we were innocently laying in my bed, listening to the repeat of a record we had just listened to, and she had gotten to be so bright I could hardly look at her. “Wow, you must really like this record!” I said, partially joking, but her response made me ask whether she was okay. She didn’t say anything back. Her light began pulsating, brightening even more, throbbing, and she even began expanding. I wanted to reach out to her, to grab her and hold her and tell her the grand lie, the biggest lie, that it was all going to be okay. Then suddenly, poof! My whole room was lit up, and I was temporarily blinded. I rubbed my eyes for what felt like forever, ineffectively, frightened whether my vision would ever come back. Which it did, of course, shortly after. I looked around my room and saw no trace of her except for small bits, little smithereens floating down my room, tiny amounts of ash trailing in the air as well and falling to the floor. I called out to her, and felt stupid for it. Of course she was gone. I knew something like this was going to happen. I had remembered from my haphazard research about how after stars nova, there were possible periods of nebulae floating in its wake, and usually a white dwarf left behind, but there was nothing but the ashes, the ashes that scattered and disappeared from the breeze of my slightest movements. I felt robbed: any sense of her presence would be better than this, even a collection of gas or a dull orb. But it wasn’t to be; maybe it was a side-effect of her unnatural creation. It took a lot of reflection, and most importantly time, to realize I had put a lot on her, I projected a lot on her that maybe wasn’t actually her. I realized that in her silence, I filled in the spaces with what I wanted to see most. Did I really get to know her, get any sense of her? Or was it all projections? I like to think if I had more time with her, I would’ve definitely gotten to know her, to understand her, to fill in those figments of her with the reality of her, but who knows. It took her exploding for me to stop and reflect on how I was acting before, who’s to say I would’ve been able to figure it out without that. As if I have it figured out. I’ve gotten it wrong before, so, so wrong. And I’ll be wrong again, definitely, before my own light goes out.

[thebackroadtourist]

My Culture Shocks in Italy, and How Glow-Sticks Saved Me.

“Catso!” She murmured under her breath as she swerved around the Fiat that had stopped short in front of us.

Monza is a non-touristy town one hour outside of Milan. A town where the largest paid outdoor concert in history was held and no one outside of Italy knew about it. A town with the biggest public park in Europe and where Formula 1 racing fuels the fire of its’ locals. With 123,000 residents Monza it is home of the controversial former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi - who no longer serves as Prime Minister yet his mansion is still guarded by security paid for by tax payer money. But lets not get into the corruption of Italian politics. From Monza to Milan, Verona, Lake Como, Bergamo, Venice, and smaller towns and villages in-between, my friend was nice enough to show me her stomping grounds. I experienced the ultimate tour of Northeast Italy with all the cool cuss words such as “catso” meaning “dick” in Italian, like our “shit” or “damnit” in the States.

Northern Italy has it all: historical cities, small towns, old architecture, a beautiful countryside, gorgeous lakes and gelato that would make you want to move there. However this gelato-filled week stuffed with glutenous apperitivos and strong negronis did not come without several culture shocks.

1. The Breakfast “most important meal of the day” in the States. My host had bought me breakfast food out of empathy which was sweet of her. Though I felt like a fat savage in the mornings when I shoveled ham and eggs into my mouth as she sat back and sipped her fresh cows milk ever so daintily. 

2. The Lack of Bro Hugs. Do NOT try to bro hug an Italian guy. If you do (which I did twice) you will be received by an awkward stare followed by an even more awkward chin first tin-man armed pat on the back. And then he will take a step back, and judge you. Hard. Although with women it is casual to kiss both cheeks, which I found ironic given how physically conservative the people in Italy are. 

3. The Pride. Mainly the pride in their appearance out of respect for their country. Formality is normality here. Collared t-shirts is the norm. They wear collared t-shirts to go grocery shopping. I wear loose tank tops everywhere I go in the summertime, sporting the occasional nip-slip.

4. The Water. They buy bottled water even though their tap is perfectly healthy. Why? I have no idea. I drink tap water in the states that is likely laced with pharmaceuticals and fluoride. Ugh. 

5. The Portion Control. They are big eaters, but even bigger on portion control. They delicately place pasta into boiling water only after an exact measurement of dry pasta in the bowl they will eat from. Back in America I dump the whole damn box into the pot and always over-eat. 

6. The Pregame. My friend took me out on a Saturday night to meet her friends in downtown Monza. I wore the nicest t-shirt I could find in my 60 liter backpack (a basic H&M v-cut) with cargo shorts and my dorky blue tennis shoes to find the other men wearing collared shirts and slacks with dress jeans, belts and dress shoes to match. The women wore alluring dresses. Our “pre-game” was a sit down wine bar where the waitress poured us wine as we sipped from our glasses at the candlelit wooden table with a cute bowl of potato chips in front of us. Of course I brought glow sticks like a jackass. They were in my pocket and I planned for them to stay there. As the waitress was explaining the white wine options to our group of wine connoisseurs, one guy at our table questioned what the shining bright colors hanging out of my pockets were. Shit, I thought. Surprisingly, everybody wanted one! In fact they were so amused by them by the time we left the wine bar they were sticking them in each other’s hair and beards and snapping photos while laughing hysterically. I think the glow sticks ironically made up for my lack of class. From there we went to a negroni bar, a wickedly strong drink made of vermouth, gin and campari. One negroni was all I needed before the rest of then night turned into a blur. The night then turned into a blur. The end.

7. The BBQ. “EEAAATTAAA THA MEEEAATTAA” echoed in my ears for days afterwards, the copious amount of food was insane but I loved every minute of it, especially the part where we pitched watermelon rinds to each other and smashed them with baseball bats as they burst into smithereens. An Italian BBQ is nothing like an American BBQ. It involves a gathering at someone’s house followed by each individual order taken before proceeding to the supermarket as a group to buy all pertinent materials (cups, forks, plates, food, seasonings, etc), and everyone splitting the bill evenly. It’s meticulously designed so that everyone knows exactly what they’re getting. There is no such thing as a “potluck” in this part of the globe. 

8. The Hospitality: One night I crashed at another friend’s house in Erba Village, a pristine area near Lake Como where George Clooney lives. We hiked through his beautiful hillside down the creek and through open fields. We rolled spliffs, ate gelato and relaxed in the shade on his patio. It was truly a reset. And the hospitality was extraordinary. Upon leaving his peaceful abode his sweet Italian mother fed me breakfast and gave me a sack lunch for the train. I was truly astounded by the gesture, a typical Italian mother thing to do that nearly brought me to tears. I felt loved.

All in all, Italy left an impression on me. I fell in love with Italy and I am extremely thankful for my hosts. Next time I will bring nice clothes and hold the bro hugs, and maybe sip my negroni more slowly.