Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine (mentions of the reader wearing make-up in this chapter); there are no mention of the reader’s race, hair type, hair colour, or eye colour, and throughout the fic there is slight implications toward her being plus sized that can be easily ignored, and it’s not a main plot point of the fic; this fic DOES use the term Y/N throughout, and I would recommend using a word replacer extension on your browser to put in your actual name in order to get the full experience; mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - though it not stated how much taller, and it’s based on the idea that Daniel Sharman is six feet tall, and he would be taller than most people; canon typical violence - mentions of the human sacrifice plotline that was canon to this season; descriptions of injuries and injury care (and mentions of blood) - carried over from the previous chapter, Isaac attacked the reader during a panic attack (by mistake), and now she has two small cuts on her arm because of it; Stiles compares this incident to an intentionally abusive relationship because he doesn’t understand the details (and because he has an underlying dislike of Isaac); more Stiles and Isaac conflict (but it’s more one-sided, more of Stiles talking about his dislike for Isaac); again - Stiles being generally mean and bitchy; again - implications of Stiles having a crush on the reader (one sided) (everyone seems to know about it but her); detailed descriptions of the abuse Isaac’s father inflicted on him - recounts of specific injuries that Isaac had from the reader’s perspective; mentions of the reader taking care of Isaac in the wake of the abuse and the emotional affect it had on her (especially due to keeping it secret at Isaac’s insistence); Isaac exhibits symptoms of PTSD and symptoms of being emotionally abused by his father when interacting with other people; mention of Isaac having a claustrophobic panic attack (an incident not shown in the canon); mentions of Stiles having panic attacks after his mother’s death (as mentioned in the canon); mentions of Scott x Allison (which will be a theme throughout the fic - they are a background ship, but pretty far in the background and not a major focus); mentions of animal abuse (done by a character unknown not during the chapter, and not described in detail) - Deaton and Scott are treating a dog that was abused, and Isaac feels an emotional connection to her and relates to her, and uses his abilities to help take away her pain; an incident of abuse from Isaac’s father shown in detail - including verbal abuse toward Isaac, mentions of his father’s alcoholism, the reader stepping between them, Isaac’s father grabbing the reader’s wrist painfully (this is the only physical contact between them, but it is meant to harm her), and implications of Isaac being heavily physically abused after the reader leaves; I think that’s it for this chapter.

A/N: So, one of the photos in the cover is of Daniel Sharman in a role before he played Isaac (so when he was younger than when he played Isaac) and I am obsessed with it, because I found that photo after I described 'younger' Isaac in the fic, and that is pretty close to what I pictured 'younger' Isaac looking like - longer hair, chubby cheeks, more of a spark in his eyes. So that is freshman, pre-werewolf Isaac for our purposes. I love that we have a visual reference lmao.

...

When Stiles entered the boys locker room, he thought it would be empty. 

He had gone for a run after school - wanting to try and clear his head, wanting to sort out all the chaos between his ears. He needed to have a good long think about everything. The recent murders, who could be behind them. He had mulled over his theories again and again, and still - nothing was making sense. By the time he got back to the school, he was covered in a thick layer of sweat and more than eager to shower off and change so that he could go to the library. He desperately wanted to do some more research about human sacrifices, maybe find something that he had missed before. Something that could hopefully put this whole thing into perspective and finally force it to all make sense. 

But he was distracted away from all that when he walked into the locker room and heard someone - or rather, something. When he pulled out one of his earbuds, he heard water running. There was no cross country practice today, and he thought everyone else from the team had already gone home. Then, he heard somebody wince - a very distinct sound of pain. 

“Hey?” He called out. “Who’s there?” 

His stomach twisted into knots, incredibly weary of what might be going on. He hated the natural anxiety that he carried, but unfortunately, the last few years of his life had taught him that his instincts were usually right. 

Before he could get too worked up, though, a soothingly familiar voice called back in reply, assuring those prickly instincts that there was no danger - at least not so close by. 

“Stiles?” 

You called him by name without having seen him, having easily recognized him by just his voice too. 

“Y/N?” 

He was wondering what the hell you were doing in the boys locker room. Beyond that, he was worried that you might be hurt, anxiety once again bubbling up in him as he remembered that pained wince. He didn’t hesitate to rip out his other earbud and shove his ipod deep into his pocket as he wandered around the corner, looking for you. 

“What are you doing here? In the boys locker room?” 

He found you standing at one of the sinks against the wall - you had just turned off the water, and you turned to face him with a bright red bag in hand. It was something he quickly recognized as the large first aid kit that Coach Finstock kept in his office, just off to the side of the locker room. So that explained why you were in here. And in a flash, his eyes were drawn to the reason that you were carrying that first aid kit in the first place. You had two large gashes across your forearm - both looked deep, still actively bleeding. 

Stiles winced just looking at the injury. 

“I know you guys keep a first aid kit in here, and uh - I didn’t really wanna go to the nurse.” You explained with a shrug, answering his question. 

“The nurse? Maybe you should go to the ER. Y/N, that looks pretty bad.” Stiles said, stress ripe in his voice as he watched blood drip in thick streaks across your skin, the wounds still actively leaking. 

“Stiles, I’m fine.” You grunted back, trying to dodge around him, wanting to sit on one of the benches so that you could bandage yourself up. 

Then, something came to mind, something that easily aggravated him. 

“Why don’t you wanna go to the nurse?” He asked, harsh agitation obvious in the words. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and he had a terrible feeling that he already knew the answer. 

“Because I don’t want all the hassle, okay? I’m fine.” You replied, your voice becoming ripe with stress as you tried to move around him once again. 

“Or is it because these are from werewolf claws?” Stiles snapped, grabbing your wrist and holding it up harshly, as though he were holding up evidence in court - the most terribly incriminating file against the worst criminal he could think of. “Your big dumb werewolf boyfriend finally snapped on you?” 

A quivering frown came over his face, and you knew that it was genuine, sour concern for you. But you hated the way that it came across - as though Isaac was some monster that you had to be protected from. 

“Oh, shut up.” You hissed, snatching your hand back. “He didn’t ‘snap’ on me - he had a panic attack, and-” 

“So admit that it was Isaac.” Stiles frowned deeper, crowding closer to you, chasing down the point. “You admit that he hurt you?” 

He said the words with intense malice, as though it were the greatest crime that could have taken place. It was a few small cuts, and not the end of the world. You would get over it. 

“He didn’t hurt me.” You argued firmly. “I’m not hurt, Stiles. I’ll be fine.” 

“Oh, so he kissed you and then your skin just split open by mistake?” Stiles griped sarcastically. “Please, be for real.” 

You rolled your eyes, and then you shoved the first aid kit into his arms, forcing him to take it. 

“Either help me, or shut up and get out of my way.” You choked out. 

You hated that he was so against Isaac, that he was so determined to misunderstand someone that you loved so much. 

Stiles sighed and nodded, and when he walked back over to one of the benches, you followed him. He sat down straddling the bench and you followed suit, sitting facing him with your knees touching up against his. He unzipped the first aid kit with annoyance in every movement, picking through it to find some gauze and disinfectant, and some of the butterfly stickers for the wounds - the kind he had seen Coach use on guys who were too stubborn to tap-out mid game when they got particularly nasty cuts. If you weren’t gonna go to the ER and get stitches, he could give you the best chance at healing that he could. 

“I’m not gonna be that guy.” 

Stiles said quietly as he took a small piece of gauze and dabbed the excess blood out of wounds. You raised a questioning brow at him, having no clue what he meant, and he added on: 

“I’m not gonna be that guy who watches his best friend get beat up in a crap relationship and just kisses your wounds and tells you that it’s gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let him do that to you, okay? You don’t deserve that. If this happens again, I’m gonna fucking kill him. I’ll go to Deaton and get something that will knock him on his ass, and I’ll bury him in some deep hole somewhere-” 

“Stiles.” You ground out, hating how detailed the threats were. 

Stiles refused to look at you, hating the judgement on your face. Isaac had done this to you and he was the one being judged. 

“I’m just saying - I’m not gonna be that guy.” 

Your stomach swelled up, and your throat choked off with tears. 

A huge part of you knew where Stiles was coming from. It looked bad from the outside. And you hated to be ‘that girl’ - that girl who constantly excused Isaac’s behaviour away, but at the end of the day, people truly didn’t understand him. 

Stiles sprayed the disinfectant into the wound and the harsh stinging was nothing compared to the flurry of emotions you were feeling, the storm wrecking you from the inside. 

“You have no clue what it’s like to be that guy.” You choked out. 

Of course, you were thinking of all the times you had attended to Isaac’s wounds. The times that you had wiped blood off him, kissed him and told him that it was going to be okay, all while knowing that he didn’t deserve it. 

Isaac would never be like his father. You knew that to your core, and it was the entire reason that you kept loyally pursuing him. 

“Oh trust me - I do.” Stiles huffed. 

In turn, he was thinking of his mother. She hadn’t been in some crap relationship - at least not one with something as tangible as a person. Not one that she could ever attempt to escape. She had been pitted against a horrible disease that was slowly killing her, and horrifically, Stiles remembered every single minute of taking care of her. He remembered wiping blood off her nose, holding a straw to her lips so that she could drink, yelling at invisible demons so that she could be soothed into sleeping for a short time. He had lost her to something that couldn’t be conquered, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose you to some blond idiot that he had to face every single day. 

You shook your head, unsure what to say. Stiles began carefully, intricately putting the butterfly stickers onto the cuts - and you found yourself rocked by the pure contradiction. How utterly frustrated he was with you versus how determined he was to be gentle with you. But you supposed that was the mark of who he was. It was a sign of your friendship, his overwhelming love for you. The way that things had always been. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled quietly. “Thank you for taking care of me.” 

He nodded, his tongue feeling oddly trapped in his mouth. 

He had to swallow down a lot of harsh words - things he wanted to say to Isaac that you didn’t deserve to hear. 

He hated it, but after too long, something else came spilling out. 

“I - I have to ask,” He choked out. “But what is it? What is it about the guy that makes you keep going back?” 

“You mean Isaac?” You asked - you figured this is who he had to be talking about, but clarification could never hurt. 

“No, Santa Claus!” Stiles hissed sarcastically. “Yes, of course I’m talking about Isaac.” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, but moved on to answering his initial question. 

“Because I’m in love with him.” You said, stating it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Yeah but - why though?” He prodded, trying to dig deeper. “That was the part I never understood.” 

Stiles began wrapping a bandage around your arm to protect the butterflies, continuing to be gentle with his touches, even though his words were sharp.

You were thankful that for once, he actually asked the question instead of simply calling you stupid for ‘choosing’ Isaac. Especially when you hadn’t really chosen him in the first place. You didn’t think that you could ‘choose’ something like who you fell in love with. If you did, you wouldn’t have picked someone like Isaac - someone so stubborn and difficult who often denied loving you back. 

You thought about telling Stiles about how Isaac was caring and sweet, and how often, you knew that he needed your love more than anything else, but instead, different words came to mind. 

“You remember Mrs. Tuck, the art teacher?” You posed. 

“Eighth grade? Yeah, I remember.” Stiles nodded. 

He finished wrapping the bandage and began tying the ends to secure it around your arm as you continued speaking. 

“Right at the end of middle school, right before our eighth grade ‘graduation’,” You put this in quotes, still thinking that it was more than a bit silly that they had hosted a ceremony to indicate the transition from middle school to high school. “She hosted an art contest. She said that all the best works would end up on the big bulletin board in the front foyer, celebrating the ‘graduating class’ - and I was super excited about it. That was when I was going through my Edgar Allan Poe phase.” 

Stiles let out a snort of laughter at these words, nodding as he remembered it. He began packing up the first aid kit, putting away the bits and pieces as he replied. 

“I remember it well.” He told you. “You said you were gonna name your future daughter Lenore, and you wrote quotes from his poems on the inside of every single one of your notebooks.” 

If there was a spark of fondness in his eye that was anything other than friendly, you didn’t notice. 

“Hey, I still think Lenore is a great name.” You grinned. 

Stiles smiled brightly in return. 

“Yeah - but, what does that have to do with Isaac?” 

“Well, Mrs. Tuck let people into her classroom at lunch and after school to work on their projects for the contest. I was one of the only people who took advantage of the time, and more and more, I would run into Isaac there. And we would have lunch together, and we would hang out after school, and it was the first time that I really… noticed him, ya know.” 

You couldn’t help but to feel a fondness bubble up, remembering that younger version of Isaac - a bit shorter and lankier, his hair longer and messier on his head. It used to hang in his eyes, hiding those sweet baby blues, and he used to slouch more. He was so different back then. He was so cute - so easy to fall for. 

“And looking back on it, he was probably just there to avoid his dad, because during all those days, I don’t think I saw him working on an art project once. But he always asked me about mine.” 

Stiles found himself surprised by how bright your expression got - by how truly happy you seemed as you spoke about it. Maybe it was because he hadn’t thought about it before, or maybe it was due to a streak of selfishness, believing that you did truly belong with him - but he had never considered before that Isaac could be sweet. He had never considered that Isaac might actually make you happy. 

“I got this huge 24 by 36 canvas, and I painted a raven on it. Cliche, I know. But I did parts of it with flocking to make it three dimensional, and I did the whole background with calligraphy of the poem, and my wrist fucking ached for days afterwards.” You continued on, becoming deeply absorbed in the memory. “And then - at the end of the year, it turns out-” 

“You were the only person who entered the contest.” Stiles completed the sentence for you. “I remember that.” 

A lull of shame came over you as you relived the embarrassment of it. A huge bulletin board at the front of the school with just your painting on it - how odd and naked it had looked. It seemed like you were trying to be self-important, when truly, you had just wanted to display your art alongside others. 

“And people kept squawking at me and calling me Bird Girl. Which isn’t even that creative, it’s just stupid!” You hissed, rolling your eyes. 

“So what - you like Isaac because you guys hung out in the art room together for a while?” Stiles guessed. 

“Ugh - no. That’s not quite it.” You shook your head. “It’s a lot more than that. It was like - the the time we spent together-” You cut yourself off, trying to rephrase the words. “It - it showed me this side of him that I had never seen before.” 

Stiles hated the cliche of it all. But he guessed that those cliches existed for a reason. 

“You know, on the last day of school, these random assholes took my painting down and shoved it in a trash can, saying it belonged there.” You continued. “And Isaac saw me on the verge of tears, so he grabbed one of them by the hair and made them apologize to me. And then he grabbed the painting out of the garbage, and he took it home. He said that he loved it, and it was the greatest painting he had ever seen. And he kept it in his room for years. He still had it when we started dating.” You grinned. 

That was when you truly began to fall for him. He saw beauty in your art when nobody else did, and deeper than that - he truly saw you. And you couldn’t help but to start seeing beauty in him, to start loving him when nobody else could. 

“Had?” Stiles questioned. 

Your jaw stiffened and you rolled your eyes again. You had a feeling that he was fishing for something to use against Isaac. Thinking that maybe he had thrown it away when the two of you had broken up, maybe he had broken it in a rage. He had a theory that Isaac was a horrible person and he was determined to find evidence to support that. 

You let out a huff, your stomach growing sour at what you would have to say next. Something that would contradict Stiles’s theory, but would be far too revealing still. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed dully. You shoved yourself up off the bench, knowing that Stiles was waiting for more of an explanation, and hating what was going to come next. “He had it until his father destroyed it in a fit of rage one night. He loved breaking things that were important to Isaac just to prove a point.” 

Isaac had lied to you about it at the time. He had given you a dozen excuses - he had said that it had mysteriously fallen out his window, that he had been practicing lacrosse moves in his room and he had bumped into it and accidentally punched a hole in the canvas with his lacrosse stick. Each lie was worse and less believable than the last. Everything came to light when his father said in front of you that it was ‘ugly garbage’ and he hadn’t wanted it in their house anymore. 

(You knew the truth - that he had broken it because it was one of the few things of value that belonged to Isaac that he hadn’t gotten to before.) 

“Oh.” Stiles said, clearly feeling awkward that his theory had been busted. 

“Yeah, oh.” You grunted back, crossly your arms sharply, the wounds still aching sharply underneath the bandage. 

This awkwardness lingered in the air for a moment, Stiles deep in thought as his brain began the near impossible process of rearranging his opinions of Isaac, grinding with annoyance that perhaps all his theories about Isaac weren’t entirely true. And you stewed with anger toward a dead man that you still didn’t know what to do with, still caught up with a load of impossible feelings toward Isaac’s father that you had never truly been able to unpack. 

“Okay, but I’m not gonna throw him some pity parade just because his daddy hated him-” Stiles said, still achingly determined that Isaac was wrong. 

“Shut up.” You hissed, shaking your head. “You have no idea what he went through.” 

“His dad was mean and yelled at him sometimes.” Stiles pressed. “Parents are like that sometimes. You know that my dad can be an asshole.” 

Your stomach twisted with bitterness and rage at Stiles so casually saying this - comparing his father’s imposition of logical rules in opposition with Stiles’s wild stubbornness to anything that Isaac’s father had done. You realized that Stiles most definitely didn’t know the details of what Isaac’s life had been like in order to make the comparison. 

“Did your dad ever break your fingers?” You said, your voice cold. Stiles was silent. “Did your dad ever break your ribs? Did your dad ever kick you so hard that your entire torso turned a different colour? Did your dad ever punch you in the side of the head so hard that you lost hearing for a week straight?” 

Stiles’s expression was purely haunted. His eyes were filled with a mixture of confusion and ugly sadness, and you knew that he was sorely regretting his earlier words. 

“I get it.” He mumbled quietly. “I get it, okay? You-” 

“No, I don’t think you do.” You hissed. 

You couldn’t contain it anymore, all the emotions bubbling out of you like a bad chemical reaction when you hadn’t paid attention in Mr. Harris’s class. Maybe it was because you had been keeping these secrets for years, maybe it was because Stiles had hit the wrong nerve one too many times. Maybe it was because you had too much respect for Sheriff Stilinski to ever let him be compared to the walking garbage fire that was Isaac’s father - but you couldn’t stop it now.

You had been the strong one, the one attending to Isaac and keeping him strong for so long. You hadn’t realized how hard it was to keep it all locked away. You hadn’t realized how much of an effect it truly had on you. But now that it was coming out, it was all spilling out. 

“You weren’t there.” You choked out, tears rimming your eyes as the intensity of the emotions overwhelmed you. 

Stiles remained silent, unsure what to say, almost terrified to speak now. 

“I begged him, and I begged him-” You cut yourself off, your throat throttled by tears now. “You know, there was this one night… he came to me, tripping over himself, barely able to stand. Both his eyes were swollen shut… he was so purple. And he kept puking up blood. And I had to guide him around, and I had to lift a cup to his lips to help him drink water… and I sat with him on the bathroom floor all night just praying that he would live. Because I thought for sure, with the state he was in, that I was gonna be burying a body in the morning.” 

Hot tears flowed down your face. 

Your hands shook down by your sides, and Stiles instinctively reached out - he was surprised when you didn’t pull away. Instead, you grasped his hand back tightly, choking down a sob. 

“Why didn’t you tell my dad?” He had to ask, hating that you had gone through all that alone, all while keeping it all bottled up. 

You sighed and shook your head, collapsing back down to sit on the bench once again. You kept a hold of his hand, enjoying the comforting touch. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to?” You choked back in return. “How many times I-? When he was standing right there. If I was over at your place hanging out, or if we were eating dinner-” 

“Yeah, but why didn’t you?” Stiles pressed. 

“Isaac was terrified of his father.” You wheezed out in return, the sobs trapped in your chest threatening to overtake you completely. “And I could understand why. He - he was terrified that if the cops were called, his father would charm them or get out of it somehow, and then-”

You couldn’t say the words, but Stiles easily understood. 

He was terrified that his father would kill him. And so were you. 

More hot tears rolled down your face, and Stiles squeezed your hand. For once in his life, he didn’t have words. For once, he had no clue what to say. 

“You think I didn’t have this exact conversation with Isaac a dozen times?” You said, sounding entirely defeated. “A thousand times, probably.” 

Stiles didn’t fully understand it, but he knew that you always had the best intentions. And that was part of what worried him. He knew that people with good intentions often ended up getting hurt. 

“Okay but - what if Isaac ends up hurting you one of these days?” He asked. You hissed sharply, shaking your head, and let go of his hand. “You know, there’s statistics about how abused people end up becoming violent-” 

“And Isaac is not a statistic.” You told Stiles, entirely determined that this was a fact. “He won’t hurt me. I’m not afraid of him. I don’t have to be afraid of him.” 

“Don’t you think you should be? Just a little bit?” Stiles prodded, sounding far too sure of himself, as usual. 

But you knew this was one case where he was most definitely wrong. 

“I’m more afraid of the fact that you don’t listen.” You huffed out, pure annoyance in your voice. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

You got up, grabbed the first aid kit to put it back in Coach’s office, and picked up your backpack where you had put it down when you had first come in, clearly getting ready to leave. Obviously, Stiles had worn out the welcome of the conversation, finally wearing out your patience with him. But before you left, you said one last thing. 

“Next time you see Isaac, you need to apologize for what you said to him.” You told Stiles, referring to the crude comment that you had overheard him say in the halls earlier that day. You knew that you didn’t have to go into much more detail, because there was only one thing he would have to apologize for. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Stiles sighed harshly. “You want me to apologize to him?” 

“You could use the practice.” You said, grinning at him. 

You ruffled his hair and then left to put the first aid kit back, and he groaned to himself, hating that he was likely going to follow through with it just because you had asked. 

Once you left, he finally stripped down to take that shower, and he thought about you the whole time - a mixture of worry and some less… pure thoughts on his mind as he scrubbed his body clean. 

… 

When you were laying in bed later that night, all your homework done, nothing else to distract your mind from it - you couldn’t stop thinking about Isaac. 

Your mind drifted back to the past, to a day that may or may not have been your first ‘date’ with Isaac. Back during your freshman year of high school - back before your mother had been killed, before you knew about anything strange or monstrous living in Beacon Hills. Back when his father was (regretfully) still alive, back when he was still an ordinary human. 

Isaac had finally worked up the courage to ask you out on a date, and you had wanted nothing more but to say yes. You had been over the moon that your closeness and flirting and affectionate touches were finally evolving into something more. But you were bummed out, because that upcoming weekend was time you had set aside to repaint your bedroom. 

You needed a change from the obnoxious purple that you had chosen in the fifth grade, and your mother said that she would only pay for the paint if you did all the labour yourself. So you picked out a gorgeous, gentle seafoam green, along with a new chic black and white bedspread and other pieces of decor to match. You were more than excited about the new, more mature bedroom make-over that you were going to be getting. 

So when you told Isaac that you would be busy with this, he enthusiastically volunteered to help you, insisting that the spurt of height that he had gained over the summer, now standing over six feet tall, would definitely help you reach the higher spots that you wouldn’t be able to get on your own. Even though you would have a ladder, making his point redundant, you eagerly invited him over, stating that the two of you could order pizza and ‘make a day of it’. 

“What, like a date?” He had asked, gently biting his lip and looking at you through his lashes, something that seemed impossible when he was so much taller than you. 

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “If you consider inhaling paint fumes romantic, then sure.” 

It had turned out to be… oddly romantic. You put on music, and you were delightfully surprised to find that Isaac was the type of person to sing along and dance while he worked. At times, you turned down the music and the two of you chatted about anything and everything, and you were loving getting to know him on a deeper level. When you took a break to eat the pizza, he reached over and brushed a spot of paint off your cheek in the most gentle way that sent chills down your spine. 

It was feeling more and more like a date as the day went on. 

While the two of you were finishing up the last wall, he was on his knees using a brush to get tidy lines along the baseboard while you painted broad strokes with a roller, and when you went to re-dip that roller, you accidentally gathered too much paint on it and began dripping large streaks across the tarp that was covering the floor. (Hence, why the tarp had been put down in the first place.) 

You also ended up dripping a large splatter of paint across the back of Isaac’s neck and the top of his head on your way to the wall, and you didn’t notice until he visibly flinched and let out a small gasp. 

“That’s my head!” He chuckled, looking up at you as you rolled the overly-dipped roller across the wall. 

“Sorry,” You grinned in return, thinking that the two of you would simply return to working after that. 

Instead, he dipped his brush into the paint tray that was sitting beside him and didn’t hesitate to flick paint up towards you - this left large spots across your black leggings, and he began laughing brightly as you flinched away and gaped in shock. 

“Isaac!” You gasped, laughter edging in your voice. 

You knew this was going in a dangerous direction, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. At the end of the day, it was harmless fun. 

“What? You can dish it, but you can’t handle it?” He replied, still incredibly playful. 

He stood to his full height, smirking at you, waiting for you to make some kind of move. 

“It was an accident when I got you!” You replied. 

“Yeah, but you still ‘got me’.” Isaac chuckled.

“Well, I’m gonna get you so much worse now.” You told him, playful revenge potent in your voice. 

He dipped his brush into the paint tray once again, wielding it like a weapon, and you held up your roller defensively.  

“I think you’ll find that this town ain’t big enough for the two of us.” He joked, putting on an exaggerated fake Western accent - a joke that made you laugh once again, a sound that echoed through the empty room. 

You could have easily called off the ‘game’ and strictly stuck to painting the walls. But there was something about him that aggravated the mischievous part of you - something about him that made you want to relax and have harmless fun without worrying about the consequences. And you played up those feelings within him too. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish!” You threatened, laughter in your voice. 

When you had barely gotten the words out, he reached out and dabbed you on the arm, leaving a large glob of paint dripping off you, and you smeared your roller across his knuckles as he recoiled. You began laughing brightly as he stepped toward you, closing the gap. He easily used his height as an advantage against you, coming at you from behind and wrapping an arm around your torso from shoulder to shoulder, pinning you in place against him with your back pressed tightly against his torso. 

You quickly became flustered by the closeness, by the warmth of his body, and you didn’t have the instinct to fight back as he reached up and painted a large stripe across your shirt and then up your neck, onto the side of your cheek, getting some in your hair and onto himself in the process. 

“My shirt!” You gasped. “Isaac!” 

It was probably a mistake to wear a sentimental old tee shirt while painting - but nobody ever would have called you wise. 

“I win.” Isaac chuckled above you, tossing his brush down into the tray. 

Neither of you bothered to point out the fact that he still held onto you, keeping his arm wrapped around you fondly. If you hadn’t been so sweetly enthused by the warmth of him so close, a feeling so brand new, you might have bothered to conjure up the idea that this had all been a ploy just to get close to you. 

Instead you went for a bit of petty revenge, rolling more paint down across his pants for good measure. And then you tossed down your tool, signalling your surrender as well. 

“You got my shirt dirty.” You said, a dull laughter still present in your voice as the paint began drying on your skin, slightly uncomfortable. “I’m really mad now.” 

The words came out so dull and disingenuous, he couldn’t help but to laugh as you turned in his arms, moving to face him. His laughter only increased as he saw your face covered in paint, and saw the way you were so weakly glaring at him. 

“Oh yeah? You’re mad?” He posed, knowing that it wasn’t the truth. 

“Yes. I’m absolutely fuming.” You replied. “You’re gonna have to make this up to me. You owe me, mister. Big time.” 

“Okay.” Isaac said, very finite and matter-of-factly. 

And then, in a perfect but shocking move, he leaned down and planted his lips on yours. It was a firm, sweet kiss. You must have tasted like the horrible chemically strong paint because at least some of it was smeared onto your lips, but Isaac didn’t pull away because of it. He lingered there for a few moments, and instinctively, you kissed him right back, moaning quietly into his mouth as you reached out and grabbed onto his hips while he put a palm onto your paint-sticky cheek. He pulled away slightly and then pecked onto your lips once, twice more, fully sealing his affection onto you before he rose back up to his full height, leaving you dizzy on much more than paint fumes. 

“Is that a good enough apology?” He asked, giving you a small smirk. 

“Uh - I -” You were left stuttering, speechless, and you had to force yourself back to earth, away from those utterly distracting baby blue eyes. “It was a start.” You grinned in return. “I - I think we’ll need more of that to fully… make-up for it…” 

Isaac let out a bright laugh, and when you leaned in to hug him as he opened his arms to you, the paint caused the two of you to unintentionally stick together as it dried. The fact that you literally had to be torn apart became a metaphor for the rest of your relationship, oddly enough. 

That had been your first kiss with him. The moment that signalled the beginning of your romantic relationship. 

And later that night, you had peeled him off the floor when he had a terrible panic attack from being stuck inside your closet by mistake. When you had been in the bathroom, trying to clean some of the paint off yourself, you had invited Isaac to look through your things to see if he could find some clean clothes for himself, and a mishap of you slamming the door a bit too hard meant that the ladder got knocked over and pinned him inside the closet. Which unintentionally induced a claustrophobic nightmare for him. 

When you found him curled into himself, sweating, crying - you hadn’t questioned why. You hadn’t yelled, or laughed, or called him a freak. Instead, you had crawled to sit on the floor to be beside him, and gently petted his shoulder, speaking calm, gentle words to him until he was steady enough to get back up. You wouldn’t accept his apologies, and you hadn’t asked him for an explanation, not once. 

It was something that you had known how to navigate because you had gone through it with Stiles before. The panic attacks popped up after his mother died, but his triggers were never as pointable or specific as closed off spaces. For him, it could be anything from the sound of ice clinking in a cup to an electronic beep that sounded a bit too much like a hospital monitor, to his father telling him ‘you look too much like her’. When it first started happening, you ended up on the floor in a pile with him, holding him tightly at least three times a day. And you developed a unique kind of patience for the waiting. You developed patience for the crying and the tight gripping of you like a lifeline to die out. You knew that it took time for the panic to ebb off into normal human breathing again. Never true calm, but terror and fright leveling off into the usual anxiety that he could function with. 

So taking care of Isaac came naturally to you. 

You didn’t know when Isaac came to school the next day, he had bruises littering his torso, hidden away underneath his shirt, because his father thought he was ‘disrespecting the things he worked so hard for’ because he had gotten paint on his clothes. 

You had no clue what his father was doing to him behind closed doors. 

Not until two weeks later, when he showed up on your front porch for the first time at three in the morning with bruises on his face that he couldn’t hide, crying and broken, and finally ready to talk about it to someone. You were his confidant before you were his girlfriend (officially). You were a bandage on that open wound before you were his lover. 

But that first kiss still meant everything to you. 

As you cried in your room alone, clutching Isaac’s sweater, the exposed brick of your sister’s loft apartment taunted you so much. You missed those seafoam walls every single day. Not only because Isaac’s love for you was painted into every single stroke, but because they represented a time in your life before everything had changed. 

… 

Isaac did return to Scott’s house after his ‘run’. He really didn’t want to bother anyone, but he didn’t know where else to go. It was nearly midnight, and to avoid knocking on the front door and possibly waking Scott or his mom, he climbed in through Scott’s bedroom window - nearly giving him a heart attack. But after the commotion was settled, Scott assured Isaac that he was more than welcome to stay. Isaac was covered in dirt and his face was tear-streaked, but Scott didn’t try talking to him about his emotions again. 

At that point, he knew that Isaac was a stray animal that only you could tame. As those big, wet eyes stared at him, apprehensive and fightful, he knew there was only one thing he could do. He could try his best to make him feel welcome, walk around him timidly and hope that he didn’t run away again. Anything deeper, any more permanent fixes that Isaac desperately needed - they would have to come from you. 

He invited Isaac to a shower, and he made up the bed in the guest room for him. He got him some spare clothes to wear to sleep in that he knew would be too small on Isaac’s sprawling limbs. Isaac’s stuff from his bag was still in the laundry - left in the dryer that Scott had forgotten to turn on a second time to make sure it was thoroughly dried when he had taken the initiative to start Isaac’s laundry earlier that afternoon. He had been worried and needed something to do, but ultimately, he had never finished the task because he had fallen asleep. 

But he did click the button on the dryer on his way along to the kitchen, and he warmed up some take-out leftovers for Isaac before he could say that he wasn’t hungry. And then the two of them sat on the couch together and watched Friends reruns while Isaac ate. 

Melissa came home late, and she smiled at Isaac when she came in from her double shift. He was thankful when she didn’t mention his presence - didn’t say she was glad to have him or call him a burden, just the way he didn’t know he needed it. Lovely and unacknowledged, like a ghost. She went on a long winding rant about her day while Scott warmed up some leftovers for her and they soon left her in front of the TV as Scott showed Isaac to the guest room. 

“Scott?” Isaac called out gently, reaching up to awkwardly scratch at the back of his head as Scott walked off to his own room down the hall. 

When Scott turned back, the sight before him struck him like a pole of bitter sadness. 

Scott’s shirt was too small on Isaac and rode up his stomach, revealing quite a bit of skin, making him look like a child growing out of his clothes at a rapid rate. It made him look younger and smaller and more vulnerable than he was. That, combined with the way he looked at Scott - he was so tall, yet it was like he was looking up at Scott. Like he was waiting to be yelled at, waiting to be scolded. 

It was something that instantly put a lump in Scott’s throat. 

“Yeah?” Scott said, trying his hardest to make his voice gentle, lingering in the middle of the hall. 

He wondered if this was how you felt constantly - terrified, still, waiting for Isaac to run away at any moment. Terrified to make any big movements because you thought you would scare him away. 

“Thanks.” Isaac said, his voice so terribly small. “For - for everything.” 

Scott nodded, smiling gently. “Of course.” 

Isaac nodded in return, and moved to close the door to the guest room. Scott had faith that he would be there in the morning. 

… 

The next day passed fairly uneventfully. 

Isaac was thankful that you didn’t try to talk to him. He knew that if you approached him, the pure guilt of hurting you would have had him running in the other direction once again. And that would have been absolutely embarrassing. 

But of course, in pure confliction, he found himself missing you. He found himself staring at you in the hallways, his eyes glued to you in a way that he couldn’t control. And he forced himself to take ridiculously long, out of the way routes to his classes - sometimes even going out of the school, walking around it to enter through another door, just to avoid you because he knew that you had a certain class, in a certain place, at a certain time. 

There was one moment that was particularly difficult for him, your voice fluttering down the hall toward him as you had a conversation with Allison. He was standing far out of your sight, but with his enhanced hearing, he perfectly heard every single word.  

“I just… I miss him.” You sighed, frustration ripe in your voice. “Which sounds so stupid, because he’s around. He’s still here. He’s alive, he’s fine. But I miss him. Fuck - I miss him so much.” 

It couldn’t have been a bigger punch to the chest. With his enhanced hearing, he heard the mourning in your voice in perfect surround sound. It made every single inch of him ache. He wanted nothing more than to run toward you and sweep you into his arms, and declare that he missed you in return. 

But that would be so damn selfish. And he was done being selfish. 

“You miss dating him.” Allison replied. “You miss what you guys used to be. I totally get it - I miss Scott in the same way.” 

“Well at least Scott talks to you.” You replied. “At least he doesn’t run away from you at top speed every single chance he gets.” 

Isaac was terrified of being a danger to you - of course he had to keep his distance. He thought Scott’s approach would be infinitely harder. Being close to you, talking to you, trying to be friends. Not getting to kiss you, hold you, tell you how much he loved you. Not getting to feel the warmth of your touch. That would be his own personal hell. 

He had to leave the building, flee far enough away so that he couldn’t hear anymore. And luckily, he didn’t run into you or your voice for the rest of the day. He got through his detention in peace, and Scott asked him to come and meet him at the vet clinic after school.  

…

When he walked in through the door of the vet clinic, he didn’t hesitate to walk right to the back. He knew that’s where Scott would be. There was a large dog sitting in the middle of the exam table - from Isaac’s very minimal knowledge of dog breeds, it looked like a rottweiler, or a pitbull, or one of those dogs that people usually denoted as ‘guard dogs’. Though it didn’t look very scary. It had light grey fur, and one of its legs was in a cast all the way up to the hip. Isaac hated to think that it had been hit by a car or something. But at least it was in the right place to be taken care of. 

Deaton was making small, precise stitches on the ear, presumably sewing up some kind of smaller injury. 

The dog was very still and well behaved, oddly calm for what was going on. 

“You can come in.” Scott told Isaac, giving the dog gentle pets across the back, keeping it calm. “We’re almost done.” 

Deaton tied off the stitches and put down his tools and Isaac crept closer, and the dog then gave him a few cursory sniffs with its short snout before it licked him a bit, causing him to smile. 

“Hi there,” Isaac said, reaching out to gently pet the side of the dog’s face. “What’s your name?” 

Isaac had never been around animals much. His father had banned him from ever having a pet, so he had tried to push the desire out of his heart. But he did find this one to be sweet as it licked long, slimy strokes across his hand. 

“Isaac, this is Asha.” Scott said, formally introducing them. “Asha, this is Isaac.” 

“Hello? How are you? You’re so cute.” Isaac couldn’t help himself - he dissolved into baby talk, drawn into the pull of big round eyes and more licks into the palm of his hand. He felt so welcomed by such a sweet animal. It was a nice feeling when most people in life were afraid of him, and kept such a wide berth around him, or even tried to kill him. 

Deaton wiped some anti-bacterial medicine onto the stitches and began bandaging up the cut. 

Scott grinned as he watched Isaac, pleasantly surprised by how easily he was bonding with Asha. 

“Where’s your owner?” Isaac wondered aloud. He hadn’t seen anybody out in the waiting room, and most often, the owners came into the exam room with their pets, so the lack of another presence made him curious. Why would someone wander off and leave their injured dog alone? (Yes, she was in great hands with Deaton and Scott, but still.) 

“Asha doesn’t have an owner. She was brought in by a pet rescue.” Deaton explained. “Once she’s well enough, she’ll go to the local shelter.” 

Isaac’s stomach curled up sourly. She didn’t belong to anybody. She didn’t have a home. 

He looked down at her, her eyes staring brightly back at him. 

‘I know the feeling.’ He thought mournfully. 

“Yeah, she was found out behind a dumpster a few weeks ago. She was in a lot worse condition when we got her. It seems like someone just… left her there.” Scott sighed, sounding deeply upset about the whole thing. 

Isaac looked Asha over again, taking in the cast, the stitches - and then he noticed small scars on her body, old wounds that had healed over. He noticed the fact that she was underweight, her ribs visible in every single row, sticking out harshly. He saw those big eyes looking up at him again, the way she almost smiled as her tongue lulled out on one side. When she moved to lick his hand again, leaning in for more affectionate touches, he held back tears. 

“A person did this?” He choked out, pure fiery anger on his tongue. 

“It is a harshly common occurrence.” Deaton replied, sounding deeply disappointed himself. “Especially with pitbulls. They are seen as a tough, protective dog breed, but most often they have a very mild and friendly temperament. So if they are attacked, especially by humans, they won’t fight back.” 

Isaac wondered if you could teach a dog to bite. He wondered what was worse - someone like himself, he couldn’t stop biting, even turning on those who loved him and were trying to help, or a dog that had been through all this and still trusted someone who just walked right up to her, greeting him with such enthusiasm. He wondered what was worse - someone who snapped on everyone who tried to help, or someone who didn’t know when to fight back. 

Pushing all those emotions down, Isaac tried his best not to cry. He pushed out the sound of his father’s voice in the back of his head, calling him an idiot, telling him that they could never have ‘a stupid, smelly mutt’ in their house. He wouldn’t let himself be drawn into horrible memories again. 

Instead, he reached out to Asha again and gently petted his hand down her back. With intention, he used his ability to remove her pain, taking as much of it as he could stand, drinking it up like poison, and Deaton and Scott smiled as they watched it dissolve like a black sickness into his veins. It was something that he could control. His father wasn’t here to yell at him now. And while he didn’t belong to Derek’s pack anymore, and he had no clue what kind of Beta he was supposed to be - he could do this. 

Deaton secured a plastic cone onto Asha, using a plastic strap around her neck to do so because she didn’t have a collar to attach it to. She didn’t have a collar - she didn’t have a home, she wasn’t owned by anyone. And then Scott helped her down off the exam table, using a temporary leash to guide her back to the small cage that she was sleeping in. 

“What animal shelter is she going to?” Isaac couldn’t help but to ask as he watched the sweetly innocent animal waddle away, struggling to walk due to the cast on her leg. 

“My mom will kill you if you bring home a dog!” Scott hollered over his shoulder. 

(Scott would have loved to adopt her too - but between his packed life and his mom’s busy shifts, it would have been a disservice to Asha to bring her home and then not have the time to take care of her.) 

“I’ll get you their card.” Deaton said, winking at Isaac, whispering lowly enough that he knew Scott would still hear him. He knew a connection when he saw one - and even though Isaac technically didn’t have a home either, a family always formed against its own will at the worst of times. 

“You know, this actually reminds me of something.” Deaton noted. He turned around and grabbed a very old looking book off a nearby counter, and placed it in the middle of the exam table. “Do you know how werewolves got their healing powers?” 

“No.” Isaac shook his head. “I guess I just thought it was always like that? I didn’t think that people could grow claws and howl and have glowing eyes. I never really wondered about the details.” 

“Well, often, the details matter.” Deaton replied, opening the book and beginning to flick through the pages, looking for something specific. 

Scott came back then, and looked on in interest as Deaton continued on. 

“You see, when man inherited the ability to transform from King Lycaon and his sons, originally, it was just the ability to shapeshift.” Deaton began to explain. “The ability to turn from man into beast, and the reverse, and the beast-like strength that came with it. Originally, werewolves were just as fallible as humans - they didn’t heal any better or faster, and they did not have the ability to take away the pain of others. According to mythos and any recorded documentation there is from those who have witnessed werewolves through generations, that part came later. Much later.” 

“Why?” Scott asked. “How?” 

Deaton put the book down and turned it to face them, and pointed to a picture - a very detailed drawing of a woman made of flames; distinct feminine curves swallowed up by fire, bright orange and vibrant against the background of a dark forest. Nothing was particularly distinct about her - not a face, not a mouth, not even really any limbs. Just fiery swooshes that seemed so soft and artful, rather than raging or harmful. And her eyes. Sharp eyes that seemed so precise and calm, yet at the same time, seemed to be holding back decades of rage, masterfully keeping it all inside. 

She was a beautiful, unique being. 

Isaac was instantly enraptured by her, somehow entranced by a drawing. 

At her feet, there was a dog. Or rather, a small, skinny, pitiful wolf. He had light brown fur and golden yellow eyes - a werewolf in full shift, sitting at her feet like a pet. He was there, right next to her, loyally, calmly, clearly unafraid of being burned. 

“The Phoenix.” Deaton told them. 

“A phoenix?” Scott questioned. “Like a bird?” 

“Most people commonly know this mythology to center around a bird, but this being is much more like a person. This being originates as a person. A woman, actually.” Deaton explained - and then he flipped the page, turning back a few to reveal another illustration, a picture of what must have been the beginning of the myth. 

It was another gorgeous drawing, and this time, it was a girl. A beautiful girl. She was wearing simple clothing, clearly from another time long ago. Isaac couldn’t help but to notice that she looked like you. Maybe that was just the way his mind worked now - seeing you everywhere. But she had your hair colour, your skin tone, your same kind smile. She was holding a hand out, reaching out to the same wolf from the other picture, who was offering his snout to her in return. Isaac wanted to scream at her, tell her to run the other way. She was playing with dangerous things that she didn’t understand. He had an urge to protect the girl in the picture, just like he wanted to protect you. 

“What happened?” Isaac asked, now utterly engaged with the story because the girl reminded him so much of you. 

Even though it was a myth, not even solidified to be true, some part of him wanted to be assured of the girl’s safety because she reminded him of you. It was insane - but he had to know what happened next. 

“The story goes like this,” Deaton began, giving them a rough translation of what was written on the pages in Old English. “There once was a lonely girl living in a small village. She wandered into the woods one night and came upon a wolf.” 

“A werewolf?” Isaac questioned. 

“I am getting to that part.” Deaton chuckled. “Though it used to be a lot harder to tell the two apart. It was common in older generations for werewolves to live most of their lives Shifted. They lived in the woods among animals - purposefully exiling themselves rather than be hunted by humans. The ability to fully shift was a skill lost as werewolves integrated more into human society.” 

Scott gave Isaac a sideways look at this. They had a silent, well trodden conversation. Isaac believed that perhaps the Old Wolves had a point - that maybe living in exile was a worthy idea, and Scott believed that Isaac shouldn’t have to oust himself from society, because the Argents and his true friends no longer wanted to hurt him. Nobody was hunting him. He was only running from himself. 

“Inside the eyes of that wolf - she saw a boy she once knew.” Deaton recited, and Isaac nodded. “A boy that had gone missing from their village, believed to be eaten by a feral wolf who lived in those woods. Not many knew that due to his own loneliness, and the way the village had shunned him, the boy wandered off into the woods and took on a beasty form, unable to turn back into a person as his heart grew colder and more isolated. So the girl extended a hand to him and welcomed his touch. She was unafraid of him.” 

Deaton motioned to the picture, and Isaac still felt unsure and fearful for the fictional girl in the picture. 

“Over the weeks, she brought him food, visited his den, spent nights howling at the moon with him. When the girl’s mother, the village’s healer woman, found out what she was doing, she warned the girl: ‘do not feed a starving wolf. Eventually, it will bite off your hand’. And the girl replied: ‘I do not fear his teeth, for I know they have never seen blood’.” 

Deaton turned the page, and the next drawing was shocking. It was a picture of the girl - the one who looked far too much like you - laying on the ground with an arrow through the middle of her chest. Through her heart. She was bleeding everywhere, and the wolf stood protectively over her body. 

“One night, when a group of hunters were moving through the woods, they came upon the wolf, and they poised their arrows to shoot him - the girl stepped in front of the wolf to shield him. She was wounded by mistake, and the wolf carried her to the healer woman’s hut. The healer bandaged her wounds, but it was too late - the girl died.” 

Isaac’s insides panged with sadness, even knowing that it wasn’t real. 

“So that’s the lesson?” Isaac huffed, his sadness filtering to anger as it came to his lips. “If you’re friends with a wolf - you die?” 

“You’ve never heard of a Phoenix before, have you?” Scott posed, a smile teetering toward his lips that made Isaac uncomfortably confused. 

Isaac shook his head. 

Deaton turned the page again, and there was another picture, one next to that shockingly beautiful drawing of the woman made of fire. This picture showed the girl, still laying on the ground, still bleeding, still dead. The wolf stood over her, holding orange flowers between its sharp teeth, and strangely - it was crying thick, shiny tears down over its long snout. 

“The wolf brought her thatches of orange poppies and cried tears into her wounds, and somehow, this started a burning fire that brought her back to life.” Deaton told them. 

“And from the ashes, rises the Phoenix.” Scott said, smiling. 

“How?” Isaac asked, still entirely confused. “How can a wolf bring someone back to life?” 

Naturally, he thought that werewolves were only meant to kill. Even with their ability to take away the pain of others - that is what he had thought. 

“That is one of the mysteries of mythology. These things don’t always make sense. And sometimes they are just a metaphor, and not explicit truth. But that is also what was originally believed about the story of King Lycaon.” Deaton explained. “Myths are not always precise. In some versions of this story, the girl is killed by a pack of feral wolves who rip her throat out, or an evil witch who lives in a hollow tree in the woods who cuts her heart out and uses it in a potion to maintain her youth.” 

That was graphic, and downright disgusting. 

“Okay, ew.” Isaac responded, shaking his head as his face curled in disgust. 

“But, no matter how you dice the details, that is the story of the first Phoenix, risen from the dead. And supposedly, she shared her healing powers and her immunity with the wolf. This is the mythos of how werewolves got these powers in the first place.” Deaton explained. 

“So… why is that relevant?” Scott asked. 

Deaton shrugged. “These myths are important to people, whether you believe them or not. In many early botany journals, the California Poppy, our state flower, was originally called The Phoenix Poppy because of this myth.” 

“Wait - those bright orange round ones?” Isaac questioned. Deaton nodded. “Those are Y/N’s favourite flowers. I used to get them for her all the time.” 

“You bought her flowers and you didn’t know what they were called?” Scott questioned. 

“I never said I bought them.” Isaac replied. 

Scott rolled his eyes at this. 

“Well, enough being side tracked.” Deaton sighed, closing the book and putting it aside once again. 

“Wait - this isn’t gonna help us with Deucalion?” Scott asked. 

Deaton shook his head. “No, I had that book out for pleasure reading.” 

Isaac and Scott both laughed. 

…

When Isaac climbed into bed that night, he was exhausted. But somehow, he wasn’t even slightly tired. He was itching with anxious energy - he wanted to go for a run, to work out, to go punch a weight bag. He wanted to put on his lacrosse gear and hit something. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

“You’re not alone. You’re not alone, Isaac. I’m right here.” 

Your voice - your soft, gentle, caring perfect voice would not get out of his fucking head. He couldn’t stop thinking about your smell, about how you had been right under his nose. He couldn’t stop thinking about your soft hand, right in the middle of his chest, cradling his heart like it was something so precious to you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked at him - like you saw past his anger and his fear and saw something truly beautiful. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Asha. Those big, innocent eyes staring up at him. He had taken the card from Deaton, but he knew that Scott was right. He was just a guest in their home and he couldn’t go about adopting a fucking dog. He couldn’t impose that on Scott and his mom. Part of him wanted to call and talk to the people at the shelter just to see if they were nice, just to see if she would be well taken care of, but part of him didn’t even want to know. He knew what it was like to hope for something good and then get the wrong answer. 

Isaac laid on his back, the covers messy at his feet, and lifted his hands above his head, studying them quietly. Any marks that had been left on his knuckles from colliding with Ethan’s hyper-healing skull were now gone. Even though he healed slower as a Beta, he couldn’t expect those marks to stick around. Any evidence of his crimes never lingered like it used to. When he used to beat guys up, the bruises lingered on his knuckles for weeks, leaving him sore every time he moved, giving him harsh reminders, making him feel like he was unworthy of even holding your hand every single time you reached out for him. 

He used to be forced to carry the punishment with him, and now - it was so damn forgettable. It was like he was made to be a monster. Like he was made to be nothing more than a killing machine. 

He turned his wrists and looked at his palms. They were bare and empty also. Any of the blackness from the pain he had siphoned off of Asha was gone, long dissolved into his veins to live with the other pain that he always buried down deep. There was no trace of it left now. 

“Only a little bit. But sometimes a little can make quite a difference.” 

Isaac remembered what Deaton had said to him the first time he had used his abilities to help ease the pain of their patient, a dog with cancer. He wondered how much of his pain someone would have to take away from him for it to feel like ‘a little bit’. 

Then he remembered you smiling at him, telling him that you loved him - how that could take away far more than just a little bit of his pain, and then he was hurting more and more all over again. You were the ultimate pain killer, and he would never get to have you ever again. He didn’t deserve you. 

Tears sprung from his eyes, rolling down his temples and melting into the pillow quickly because he was laying down. He didn’t move to wipe them away. 

He had to wonder if he was truly a monster when he could take someone’s pain away. He had to wonder if his hands - hands that sprouted horrible long claws, claws that had wounded you - were truly meant for destruction if he was capable of helping an injured dog feel a little bit better. 

Maybe he was a fraud. Maybe he did belong off in the woods, away from real people, just like the boy from the story. 

He remembered the last time he had nearly gotten you hurt because of his own selfish desires. Long before he had claws or glowing eyes.  

…

For once in his life, Isaac’s home was filled with laughter. The two of you were baking and decorating two dozen cupcakes for a bake sale - some charity thing about starving orphans. Isaac hadn’t fully paid attention to the details, and he (shamefully) hadn’t fully cared. All he knew was that it was a good excuse to get out of his afternoon classes in order to be in charge of a table, and he was getting to spend more time with you. 

You knew way more about the whole baking thing than he did, so you brought the supplies over to his place, because your mom was currently having the kitchen at your house renovated (she had complained about ugly tiles and outdated appliances) - so your house was currently unfit to cook in. The two of you had a grandly fun time as you guided Isaac through the whole process of making a bunch of chocolate fudge cupcakes from scratch. He mostly just listened to you, and did everything exactly as you said while you directed him with your knowledge and experience. You were the coach here, and he respected that. 

It was a perfect night. He got to lick chocolate batter off a big spoon, you told him that he looked cute in an apron, and you helped him with his English essay while the two of you waited for the cupcakes to bake. 

His father was working late - doing paperwork for some out-of-state body transfer (someone who wanted their loved one buried in Beacon Hills and needed them ‘shipped’ in), so he wasn’t there to disrupt the two of you. It was fun and amazingly peaceful. Isaac couldn’t have asked for a better date night with you. 

“Oh, hey, you’ve got a spot on your face.” Isaac told you. 

The two of you were standing at the table with all of the cupcakes spread out in front of you, trying to get them all coated with the massive amount of chocolate frosting that you had made. 

“Oh, where?” You asked, leaning to face him, looking for clarity. 

Isaac, unable to resist, reached over with his spatula and dabbed a large glob of the frosting onto your nose. 

“There.” He grinned, entirely satisfied by this small prank. 

“No, no! We are not doing that again.” You chuckled - but still, you licked it off your nose as it threatened to drop, and then you grabbed a cloth to wipe the rest off. But still, you didn’t retaliate. “We are not contaminating a bunch of cupcakes that need to be fed to other people with our DNA.” 

“Okay.” Isaac shrugged. “But that means this is my spatula now.” He grinned, beginning to lick it enthusiastically.

“I am gonna love having to explain why only half the cupcakes have frosting - ‘oh yeah, my boyfriend managed to eat an entire gallon of chocolate buttercream all by himself, it was the strangest thing’.” You sighed, rolling your eyes, grabbing another cupcake and actually working on the task at hand. 

“Hey, Coach says I need to bulk more-” 

“What the hell is all this?” 

In a moment, the light, airy, fun atmosphere came crashing down. 

Isaac’s father stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his whole face stiff with anger, entirely upset for seemingly no reason. He glared at both of you as though you were the most putrid pests that ever could have existed, two terrible unwanted things that had somehow appeared inside his home. 

Purely shocked, Isaac dropped the spatula that he was holding, unintentionally getting a large glob of chocolate frosting on the kitchen floor. He would pay for that little accident later, along with everything else. 

You hated how the shift in Isaac was instantaneous - in a blink, he went from happy, bright, joking around, to a shrunken frightened shadow of the person that you usually knew. He looked utterly terrified - you swore that you could almost see him shaking in his skin. 

“This is fucking disgusting! When I left, I didn’t expect to come back to a pigsty!” Isaac’s father immediately began complaining in booming yells, gesturing to the empty packaging from the ingredients you had used, still sitting on the cupboard, turning his nose up at the dirty dishes in the sink. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry about the mess, I’ll clean it-” Isaac rushed toward the sink, almost as if hoping to hide the dishes with his body, his voice incredibly small and terrified. 

You remained frozen, the half-frosted cupcake still in your hand, watching the whole thing unfold in utter horror. 

“Yes you will!” His father boomed. “And look at you, you’re a damn mess.” His father gestured toward the frosting on his face, and Isaac rushed to wipe it off with his shirt. “Now you’re getting your clothes dirty - just - how can you be so stupid? You’re such an idiot! How could I have raised such a thoughtless moron?!” 

Seeing the way Isaac flinched and recoiled at his father’s booming voice, you couldn’t hold your tongue any longer. 

“It’s not like you’re a peach yourself.” You hissed, putting down the cupcake you were holding and taking off your apron, tossing it down as your own rage began to boil. 

“Excuse me?” His father hissed, turning to look at you as though he had just remembered you were there. 

“Y/N-” Isaac called your name in a small, desperate plea, as though begging you not to interfere - but it was too late for that now. You were set on this path and you were not getting off it. 

“It’s not like your home was some vestige of cleanliness when we stepped into it.” You stated firmly, gesturing to a pile of empty liquor bottles in the corner that could have only belonged to Isaac’s father. 

Isaac’s father looked from the bottles toward you, his mouth tightening into a thin line - clearly he felt a wave of shame at his habit being so out in the open, and he didn’t immediately have anything clever to say. 

“Now, you watch the way you talk to me, missy.” Isaac’s father bit back, trying to silence you with the idea that he was bigger than you, the false sense that had authority over you with age and some illusion of power. 

But you weren’t buying it. 

You stormed around the table, stepping in between him and Isaac, instinctively protective of Isaac, using your body to shield him. 

“You can’t talk to me the way that you talk to Isaac.” You hissed. “Even though, if it were up to me, you wouldn’t talk to him that way at all, you piece of shit-” 

“Watch your mouth, young lady.” Isaac’s father bit back, veins popping in his neck as his rage boiled, intensely angered at the fact that you weren’t backing down. 

“What are you gonna do?” You posed, squaring your shoulders, standing tall. Behind you, Isaac slouched back, and everything in him was screaming to grab your hand and run out the door, desperate to escape. “Hit me?” 

The air in the room became grossly tense. This was the first time you had ever made any implication toward Isaac’s father that you actually knew about what went on behind closed doors. During the many (unpleasant) interactions that you had with him when you had picked Isaac up or walked him home, or when you had seen his father at lacrosse games, you had never once been anything less than cordial toward him. You had always tried your hardest to mind your manners toward the man that you hated so much. And because of that, his father believed that if you knew about the abuse, you would have played the dutiful girlfriend and called the cops. You would have tried to ‘save’ him. 

Now, it seemed you were calling his bluff. And - terrified that you would bring up calling the cops - he remained silent. For once, he was the one with fear in his eyes and a deflated posture. 

Brazenly, you took a step closer to him. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You declared boldly. 

“Get the hell out of my house.” He replied, having no other response than these dull words. 

You refused to abandon Isaac, especially not when you obviously had the upper hand. 

“Maybe we should call the cops?” You posed, loving the flash of fear this caused behind his father’s eyes. “I’m sure that would go over well.” 

“Get the hell out.” He repeated, grinding through his teeth. 

“Are you gonna throw me out?” You posed. “Or are you too cowardly to put your hands on a girl?” You added on, pointing a harsh, accusing finger at him. 

He reached out and harshly grabbed your wrist, pulling that finger down out of his face. He dug his fingers into your flesh, hard, and you knew it would bruise. It sent shockwaves of pain up your arm, but you remained completely stiff in your expression, refusing to give him a reaction, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had hurt you. 

Behind you, Isaac was breathless. He was utterly frozen in fear. He was only truly able to move when he caught a glimpse of his father’s grip on you. When he caught a glimpse of your wrist, caught a glimpse of that same grip that had bruised him so many times digging into your flesh, clearly with the intent to hurt you too. He wouldn’t let the bastard hurt you too. 

“Y/N.” He said your name, reaching up and grabbing your shoulder. “Y/N, come on.” 

You forcefully tore your arm away from his father’s grip, and the man continued to glare at you. 

“I’ll walk you home.” Isaac said, frantically grabbing your bag and shoving it into your hands. “It’s getting late.” 

You didn’t want to leave Isaac alone with this monster. You didn’t want to leave him alone with the mess you had created. But you didn’t know what else to do as Isaac ushered you out the door. Isaac’s father kept a tight glare on him, and he only made it as far as the end of the driveway before he was harshly called back inside, and he left you with a sad, puppy-eyed look as you walked away. 

When you got home, you sat with the phone in your hands for a long time. You considered calling the police station. You considered calling Stiles, or his father. But you kept hearing Isaac’s voice in your head, telling you that he could handle it, telling you that he didn’t want to get put in foster care and have to leave you. 

He didn’t come to school the next day. For him, that felt lucky, because he didn’t have to face the shame of telling you that his father had forced him to mush up every single one of the bake sale cupcakes by hand before scooping them into the garbage. Because, as his father said, ‘it was all garbage’. He had then been forced to scrub the entire kitchen by hand. It had been the first rays of sunrise when his father had kicked him into the basement. 

The next day, when you were sitting at your empty bake sale table, waiting for Stiles to return from the store with a bunch of pre-made cupcakes as a favour to you, Isaac was still laying in that unplugged freezer, struggling to breathe through a bruised windpipe and two broken ribs. 

He vowed to himself then never to let you into his father’s house again - and up until the day his father died, he never had. 

… 

When your phone rang, you heavily considered not picking it up. 

You were wallowing in your misery, content to be left alone, ready to cry yourself to sleep as you thought about better days with Isaac and wondered what had gone wrong. But a small part of you considered that it might be someone needing you - one of your friends or even Isaac himself (possibly borrowing Scott’s phone) calling you because they were in need of something or possibly truly in danger. So as your ringtone - a pixelated lyricless version of California Gurls - hummed through your cold, dark bedroom, you eventually worked up the energy to reach over and grab your phone off the edge of your nightstand. 

“Hello.” You hummed into the phone, tired and lifeless. 

“I need help with this English essay. This class is absolutely kicking my ass.” 

You hadn’t bothered to pry open your tear sticky eyes to check the contact before answering, and you were a bit surprised to hear Stiles’s voice on the other end of the line. After weeks of ghosting you, no contact - now he wanted to call you up all of a sudden and ask for help with homework. But you had a feeling that this didn’t really have anything to do with homework (something he either excelled in when he focused and did research on his own terms, or ignored altogether because he didn’t care). Rather, it had everything to do with the cuts on your arm that he helped you patch up earlier that afternoon. He was worried about you, and looking for an excuse to talk to you. 

“We’re supposed to write some theory about what the deeper meanings behind Poe’s poems were - what the hell am I supposed to gather from all this crap, anyway? The guy was probably nuts because he lived in a time of lead paint and no polio vaccines. He was probably sniffing cocaine and having hallucinations.” Stiles ranted. 

On any other day, his theory would have amused you. 

You let out a very obvious sigh. 

“You don’t need my help, Stiles.” You told him blankly, not wanting to play games. 

“Come on, I always need your help.” He replied, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips - you could easily picture the sweet pleading in his eyes, even through the phone. The expression he always used to draw you into things that you didn’t want to do. “Remember that time you helped me cheat on Mr. Harris’s mid-term?” 

You let out a small laugh at this memory, somehow surprised that Stiles was able to get laughter out of you, even when you were in such dyer straits. But he was always like that - able to cheer you up, no matter what.  

He had taken a sheet of paper covered in formulas and other answers copied out of the textbook and taped it to your back on top of your shirt. And then, he had you sit in front of him, and because you had been wearing a zip-up hoodie over your shirt, you had hidden the answers under your hoodie and pulled it down so that Stiles could see, only to conveniently pull it back up whenever Mr. Harris was looking. He suspected something, but he never called you out for it because you had a flawless reputation as a ‘good girl’. And because - as Stiles had pointed out - asking you to remove your clothing to prove something would be far too embarrassing for him. 

“You don’t want my help with the essay, Stiles.” You corrected easily. “You called to check on me because you’re worried about what happened today.”

There was a pause. Clearly he hated being caught, and refused to admit it outright.  

“Should I be worried about what happened?” He asked, his voice nervous. 

“We both know I can’t stop you.” You replied, not truly answering him. “From worrying.” 

“Yeah, well - you’re my best friend.” Stiles told you. “I’m gonna worry about you no matter what.” 

You hummed in agreement, and without even truly meaning to, you gave a sniffle - a very noticeable sign that you had been crying. That combined with the tired, hollow sound of your voice, throttled like your throat had been tight with tears - it quickly gave everything away to Stiles. 

“It sounds like you’ve been crying.” He said. “Please tell me you haven’t been crying over that asshole-” 

“Don’t start again.” You gritted out harshly. “I get it if you don’t like Isaac, but you don’t have to keep mentioning it, okay?” 

“Yeah, but he made you cry-” Stiles argued dully. 

“He didn’t make me cry.” You bit back. “Sometimes people cry about their boyfriends, okay? It’s normal. It doesn’t mean that he’s evil incarnate like you think he is. I would cry sometimes if I dated you, or any other guy. Nobody’s perfect. That’s just how relationships work.” 

Little did you know, those words, entirely random spewing out of your mouth, hit a nerve for Stiles. ‘If I dated you’ - something that he had been imagining for years, just a ‘what if’ example in your mind. 

“Yeah, but if I dated you, I would actually try to fix the problems.” Stiles huffed, his voice sharp with frustration. “I wouldn’t just keep running away. I wouldn’t been hiding at Scott’s house-” 

You let out a snort of laughter, cutting him off. You couldn’t see it, but he rolled his eyes. 

“You? You wouldn’t be hiding at Scott’s house?” You pointed out the irony of the statement. “That’s like your favourite thing to do.” 

Stiles came to a lull, unfortunately unable to argue with this statement. 

“Remember that time you accidentally spent three hundred dollars on that gambling website and your dad found out? You almost had to start getting your mail delivered to Scott’s place.” You remembered. 

“It was two-hundred and thirty-eight dollars, and in my defense, I really thought that the first three spins would be free.” Stiles replied quietly. Of course he still had to correct you about something as dumb as this. 

You let out a gentle sigh, and your mind wandered to something completely different. 

“Poe might have been high off his ass from the lead paint, but he did make some good points.” You said, going back to what Stiles had been talking about when you first picked up the phone. “He was really strong handed with metaphor, but at the end of the day, it does still mean something. It’s not just bullshit. Love is an all-corrupting force, like nature and death. Love is a power that a lot of people don’t take the time to respect.” 

“All-corrupting.” Stiles repeated. “So he believed that love was a bad thing? Like a disease?” 

Of course, he was thinking about his love for you. How it had - in some ways - corrupted his friendship with you. He missed the simpler days when he didn’t find himself kept awake by thoughts of you, hating the guy that he knew kept you awake in return. 

“That’s one way to think of it.” You sighed. “But just because something is powerful, doesn’t mean it’s bad. It just needs to be respected. Poe was a nihilist - he believed that love was an integral part of death and madness. But a lot of his works could be interpreted differently. About love being a pillar of devotion, the source of life itself. A pillar of hope, because hope can’t exist without painstaking, gutting darkness.” 

Stiles sighed. “I’m probably just gonna stick with the lead paint theory.” 

Oddly enough, both of you had the same thought: 

Easier than letting yourself get high off the fumes of hope. 

“Goodnight, Stiles.” You said quietly. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

...

Reminder - as I said at the top, I would really like to reach a goal of 30 Reblogs and 15 Comments on this fic before posting the next chapter. I also include anonymous asks in this if you're shy and you prefer to leave a comment that way.

In general, I just really want to encourage people to comment on and reblog fics - not just my own - because it really does help out fanfic authors by showing us that our work matters. It encourages us, and it's something that you should be going on a regular basis anyway, especially if you read fanfics on a regular basis.

I am gonna try the whole 'reblog and comment' goal thing one last time. I really, really want to encourage people to actually reblog and comment on fics, especially longer ones, and especially with the environment and the way that fanfic culture has been going. I thought maybe if I put that message on top this time, then people would actually pay attention to it and keep it mind throughout reading the fic, cause people seem very capable of ignoring my end notes all the time.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this part of the fic, and I hope you're excited about what's to come!

Happy reading,

speaking of school, it was just right up ahead! just as you were about to cross the street, connie slammed his arm against your chest nearly knocking you over. “we gotta wait for the crossing guard, remember?!” you looked at him in pure confusion before a woman wearing a neon yellow vest approached you both.

“you two ready?” she asked with a sweet smile. immediately you froze up, the stranger danger sirens in your head blaring. “yes, we’re ready! c’mon, y/n, don’t be scared,” connie took your hand in his, his free hand grabbing onto the crossing guards. as you walked across the street you couldn’t help but be jealous at how connie was never shy around strangers, adults especially.

in his eight years of being on this earth, connie has always been a social butterfly. whether it’d be saying hi to strangers at the grocery store or playing freeze tag with a random group of kids at the park, connie was always a friendly soul to be around.

“thank you ma’am, have a happy valentine’s day!” connie beamed at the crossing guard before dragging you up the stairs to the school.

you immediately relaxed at the warmth that greeted you when you stepped inside. “c’mon, i’ll walk ya to class,” connie gave you a small smile, enveloping your hand in his once more. as connie walked you to class, various students from different grades said hello to him, some of the older kids even fist bumped him! it was amazing in your eyes

“lemme help you with your stuff,” he mumbled, setting his own valentines on the ground beside him. as you took off your mittens, connie unzipped your coat and snatched off your hat, grinning when you whined about him messing up your hair. “momma spent a lot of time making sure my hair doesn’t stick up,” you huffed, running your hand over the slicked part of your bun.

after hanging up your backpack and coat on the hooks outside your classroom, you turned around to see connie giving you a toothy smile, spider-man valentine in hand. you gasped, eagerly snatching the small card with a lollipop taped to it out of his hand. “thank you, connie! i can’t wait to eat the sucker!”

“i have something else for you too, but it’s a surprise! i’ll give it to you at the end of the day, i gotta go!” and with that connie gave you a bone crushing hug before literally sprinting to his classroom, which was just a few doors down.

while you were in the first grade, connie was in second. this however didn’t stop him from trying to see you as much as he could! sometimes when his class was in the hall you’d see that bald little head peek from the door, smiling at you while waving. during passing times for lunch or recess, he’d always look for the girl with the greased up face, and multiple bows in her hair—it was usually pretty easy to find you because you were always the line leader.

“come on, y/n! let’s get this valentines party started!” you heard your teacher call out. with one last glance at connie, your grabbed the bag containing your valentines before headlining into your classroom.

being the enthusiastic seven year old you were, you expected to get quite a few valentines from your fellow classmates, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. you got a total of eight valentines out of the seventeen children in your class—apparently they thought it would be funny to skip over your basket.

this just broke your little heart.

by the time the day ended you were a puffy faced, crying mess. getting only a handful of valentines had put you in a sour mood, a frown etched on your lips for the entirety of the day. connie had noticed this, and for some reason it made his chest feel funny seeing his best friend in such sad spirits.

as you zipped up your coat you were startled by a familiar voice behind you. “hey! how was your valentines party?! ours was awesomeeee, i got so many valentines and candy—o-oh . . . why’re you crying y/n?”

midway through connie’s sentence you had burst into tears once more, fat, hot tears running down your cheeks and onto your coat. “i-i *hiccup* barely got any valentines *sniffle* f-from anyone,” you covered your face with your hands, tears seeping into the fabric of your mittens.

connie’s mind was racing. what would an adult do in this situation, better yet how would his mom handle it?

without thinking he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close. his mommas hugs always made him feel better. he just held you for a minute and let you cry, glaring and sticking his tongue out at anyone who stared at you both for too long. “c’mon, let’s go before a teacher comes,” connie mumbled into your hair.

before you could even process what was happening, connie was dragging you away, holding your hand tightly in his. the second you walked outside and saw your mother along with connie’s waiting for you, a fresh batch of tears brimmed your lash line.

“what’s wrong with my baby?” your mother asked, her lips turning into a frown. you didn’t really pay much attention to the conversation, and you didn’t really care now that your momma was there to make things all better. you just jumped into her arms, buried your face in her neck, and cried your heart out.

“she didn’t get a lot of valentines,” connie muttered, grasping onto his mothers hand.

the walk back was pretty silent on your end aside from tiny sniffles and hiccups. connie held your hand the entire way to your apartment, he tried to make conversation but you just weren’t having it. before you knew it you were finally back home.

“this is for you,” connie mumbled, unzipping his backpack to reveal a pink teddy bear, along with a valentine’s day card.

suddenly the world stopped.

you were still as a statue, your lips turning into a pout as connie placed the items in your hands. “f-for me?” you sniffled, hugging the bear to your chest. connie grinned at you, nodding his head bashfully.

“how sweet! say thank you, y/n!”

you were still for a few moments before throwing your arms around connie’s neck, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. “those other valentines were probably lame, you can have some of mine from the second graders.” that had you squealing so loud bystanders had to cover their ears.

“thank you con, you’re the bestest best friend ever!” you hugged the teddy bear to your chest again, snuggling it extra hard.

watching your mood do a complete three sixty made connie’s heart swell. which was weird. it wasn’t until lately that every time connie saw you his tummy erupted with butterflies, but . . . he actually liked it?

he liked being around you. he liked the way you always smelt like shea butter and fresh laundry, he liked whenever you would share your snack with him on the way home from school, but what he really liked was that you never tried to dim his shine. connie was a hyper kid, very talkative too, and kids were mean to him for no reason sometimes about it, but you . . . you were never mean to him. you always welcome him with open arms and a smile.

that night, connie talked to his momma about that strange feeling he gets in his tummy whenever he sees you—come to find out it’s called a crush.

“¿explica lo que significa de nuevo, mami?” connie asked, taking a sip of his apple juice. connie’s mom laughed, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them.

“it means you like her, and you care about her, and that’s good! y/n is probably still a little young to understand this, and honestly you are too, but i feel like you’re mature enough to know about this kinda thing. maybe one day when you’re older you can tell her, yeah?”

“yeah, maybe. that stuff is gross though.”

february 14, 2014 . . .

“c’monnnn, y/n. ¡date prisa, chica, date prisa! we’re gonna be late!”

“i know, i know i’m sorry! i totally overslept,” you called out to connie, securing your scarf around you neck. your nose scrunched at the wind that whipped at your face, your lips already beginning to feel dry.

on the decent down the stairs to the sidewalk you nearly slipped, almost busting your butt. “dios mío,” he chuckled, extending his hand to help you down the rest of the way. you quietly thanked him, ignoring the warmth flaring in your cheeks. connie hooked his arm around yours, “hold on to me, i don’t want you to slip again.”

you didn’t protest, you just nodded and quietly thanked him once again. the walk to your school was silent until connie spoke up, “happy valentine’s day.” you looked up at him, giving him a small smile and little nudge to the side. “happy valentine’s day, connie.”

trying to sound as nonchalant as possible connie said, “did you buy any roses to give to anyone? i heard today at nine is the last time to do it.” you quickly responded with a no, your eyes trailing down to the gravel below you.

“do you think you’ll get any?”

you thought to yourself for a moment before shaking your head, “nah i don’t expect it, but that’s okay.” you weren’t bothered by it completely, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t jealous of the girls who talked about getting roses from their crushes. but all was well, your plan for the day was to bury your nose in the latest romantic novel you purchased. the book was probably a little mature for you, but hey, a little make out scene between two star crossed lovers here and there never hurt nobody.

“what about you? did you buy any? plan to receive any?”

you rolled your eyes when connie burst out laughing, nearly stopping your walk entirely to catch his breath. “you’re so dam—d-dang annoying . . . you’re so annoying,” you huffed, unlinking your arm from his. connie wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side once again. “nah, nah, don’t be like that. it’s not my thing though. i didn’t buy any, and i don’t plan to receive any.”

you hummed, kicking a nearby rock with your foot. as you were walking you couldn’t help but smell a faint musky scent. you sniffed, and then sniffed again, this time you got a stronger whiff when you smelt connie. was he wearing . . . cologne?

“is that you smellin’ like that?” you giggled, stuffing your nose in his neck, and sure enough you smelt cologne. for the first time since you were kids you saw connie blush, it was kinda cute, but in a friend way kinda cute. at least that’s what you told yourself.

connie rubbed his glove covered hand over his freshly buzzed hair. “aish! yeah, i put on some cologne, but only because my mom sprayed on a little before i left the house,” he muttered, clearly lying through his teeth.

the truth was, he had asked his mom to buy him some for today, and after all her teasing and pesky questions she caved and got him some. he told her it was for another girl in his class, but really, it was for you to notice and you only.

as the years went by connie’s innocent crush turned into a full blown one. by the time he was thirteen, he kinda had a holy shit moment as he finally admitted to himself that he indeed did have a crush on his best friend. how cliche.

“well it’s nice . . . makes you smell, uhm, grown? i don’t know, but i like it,” your cheeks felt hot as you spoke, and you hoped connie didn’t notice the slight shakiness in your voice as you finished talking. newflash, he noticed, and it filled his chest with so much pride he felt as if his heart was gonna explode.

you noticed the grin on connie’s face and kissed your teeth, “don’t be weird about it, weirdo.” connie smirked, he pulled you in real close for a side hug, then released you. “you’re the weirdo. talkin’ about how i smell ‘grown’, whatever that means,” he cackled, running a few steps ahead of you to avoid getting a smack on the back of the head.

the two of you continued small talk until you, unfortunately, made it to school. “take my hand again, don’t want you to fall in front of everybody right?” seriously, you were this close to punching him. but nonetheless you took his hand, graciously thanking him inside your head for looking out for you.

“i’m gonna go, but i’ll see you at lunch yeah?” connie spoke softly, nudging your side with his elbow. you wanted to be selfish and tell him that he should spend the morning with you, but you bid him farewell nonetheless with a smile on your face. the second he was out of sight a frown took over your lips. you couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed you were wearing a new gloss today, or you changed your perfume scent from lavender to coconut. boys were so hard to read.

the day went by slow, as usual, but when the last period of the day came around things got a little interesting.

“valentine roses! we have valentine roses!” you heard someone shout from the door of your classroom. you took your eyes away from your book to see three students wearing various pink and red articles of clothing. “mm, whatever,” you hummed, looking back down at your book.

a few minutes passed, and just when you thought the commotion was over, one of the students approached you. looking up over your lashes, you raised a brow. “these are for you, all from the same person,” they said, giving you a small smile before handing you three red roses.

your mouth dropped, unable to find the correct words. there was no way this was real right? there was no way someone bought three roses for you. “w-who are these from?” you questioned, running your thumb along the soft petals of the roses. the girl tapped on a heart shaped card that was tied to the stems with a ribbon, “they had the choice to write a message in here. they either signed it or left it anonymoussss.” the girl gave you a tiny smile before walking away, leaving you completely dumbfounded.

with shaky hands, you opened the card.

‘U R 2 CUTE’ the card had said in bold, pink letters, and at the bottom in parentheses it said ‘for real :)’.

you recognized this handwriting all too well.

you nibbled on your bottom lip, a giddy smile making its way onto your lips. you couldn’t believe connie had done this for you. after all the smack talk and fake gag noises about anything romantic, connie was the last person you expected to receive a rose from. and what did he mean by ‘for real’ ? did he think you were cute, did he think you were . . . pretty?

for the rest of the period you sat there, admiring your roses. you had to ask connie about it, you had to! so when the bell rang you made a beeline for connie’s locker. thankfully he was there, unfortunately his friends were too.

when he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile, but then he saw the flowers you were clutching in your hand. there was nooo way he could let his friends find out he actually participated in the rose giveaway.

“um, i’ll see you guys around,” he muttered, slamming his locker shut before making his way over to you. once you were in reach he gently grabbed your wrist, “vamos a casa, m’starving and need a snack.” without any protests you let him lead the way with tiny, minuscule, little hearts in your eyes.

“you really got these for me?” your voice was tiny, barely audible, and if connie wasn’t so close to you he probably wouldn’t have even known you were speaking. he looked at you and then the ground, his cheeks turning bright red. “well, yeah. i thought flowers would be better than another teddy bear.” he smiled at the last part, remembering his last visit to your bedroom.

you were already into plushies and beanie babies big time, and he did no favors adding onto your collection. each of six teddy bears he got you were lined up neatly on your bed, not a head or paw out of place. connie, being the fourteen boy he was of course, wreaked havoc on the poor teddys, tossing them around and making them do obscene positions much to your horror. they all had names as well, but you have yet to reveal them to save yourself from anymore embarrassment.

“this was really nice of you con, i really wasn’t expecting you to do this,” you couldn’t hide the giddiness in your voice as you spoke, your lips breaking into a shy smile. “ay dios mío, please don’t make it a big thing. let’s talk about something else pleaseeeee!” connie dramatically threw his head back, his cheeks so hot if felt as if someone had placed hot coals on them.

“whatever, weirdo.” you giggled, gently backhanding his chest.

after a few minutes, connie pulled out his phone and headphones. “wanna listen to music with me?” you grinned at him, nodding eagerly before taking an earbud. connie only really listened to songs in spanish, and maybe some rnb on side, but he only listened to songs in spanish with you to help you learn the language better. you caught on pretty fast to the basics when you were younger from hearing him and his mom interact with each other, but as you got older connie wanted you to know more. sometimes he’d quiz you and sometimes he’d just say a whole sentence you didn’t understand over and over until you got it right—he was actually a pretty good teacher for a fourteen year old.

as you were walking you kept feeling connie’s fingers brush against your own. your heartbeat quickened, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip as you decided if you should engage or not. i mean, what if it was accident and he got creeped out? but then again, it wasn’t an odd thing for you and connie to hold hands outside of school.

your thoughts were interrupted when connie hooked his pinky around yours, securing them together. you didn’t say anything, too stunned and shy to mutter even a word, but you did give his pinky a squeeze to let him know the action was welcomed.

“did your mom tell you we’re coming over tonight?” connie asked, referring to him and his mother. you smiled at him, and nodded. “of course she did! it’s like—”

“trying saying it in spanish, chica!”

you hummed, racking your brain for the right words and pronunciation. “uhm . . . okay, uh, es como nuestra tradición?” connie tapped on his chin and hummed, he had the most unserious serious look on his face it almost made you laugh.

“¡correcto! i’ve taught my student well,” he smirked, giving your pinky a rough squeeze.

before you knew it you were outside your apartment building. “here’s your card, i’m happy you like the flowers.” there was a slight shake in connie’s hands as he held the card out, thankfully you didn’t seem to notice.

you took the card, an eruption of butterflies swarming in your stomach. without saying anything you wrapped your arms around him, and as you pulled away you left a tiny peck on his cheek. connie’s eyes widened, his body tensing. “t-thanks for the roses n’ the card. i’ll be sure to take care of them and, uh, i guess i’ll see you later!”

“b-bye y/n! prepare to have your butt kicked at mortal combat when i see you!” you laughed on the your way up the stairs, you turned around to give connie one last wave and smile before heading inside.

the second the door to the building shut connie exhaled a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “was that my first kiss? nah, nah, can’t be . . . well, it counts a little bit,” he giggled to himself, turning on his heels to make his way home. the whole walk home all he could think about was the peck on the cheek you gave him.

he took off his glove and pressed his fingers against the spot on his cheek you kissed, he was intrigued to find out the area was a little sticky. he brought his fingers to his nose, senses immediately overwhelmed by the scent of strawberries. ‘strawberry lipgloss . . . nice,’ he thought to himself, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

the second connie walked in the door of his apartment, he made a beeline for the only person worthy of knowing this information: his mom.

he found her in the kitchen, the smell of her famous pollo guisao wafting into his nose. “estoy casa, mami,” he mumbled, giving her a quick hug from behind. “one sec, hijo, i’m almost done with this. feel free to grab a snack, i bet you’re starving.” connie didn’t need to be told twice, his stomach growling at the thought of some kind of greasy snack.

“alright, that should be good,” she hummed, dusting her hands off on his apron before making her way over to connie, who was munching on a bag of chips. “¿cómo estuvo la escuela?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch next to him. connie hummed, popping another chip into his mouth.

it was silent for a few beats until she smacked him on the back of the head. “w-wha? ow! what was that for, ma?” he whined, rubbing the back of his head. “boy, you know what i wanna know. did you buy the flowers for that girl today?” connie nodded, not being able to fight the grin creeping up on his lips.

“it was y/n, wasn’t it? she’s also the one you wanted to wear cologne for, right?” connie’s jaw dropped, his fist unintentionally crushing the bag of chips he was holding. she smirked at him, reaching a hand over to gently run over his hair. “una madre siempre sabe cuando su hijo está mintiendo, mi amor.”

connie sank further into the couch, his brows furrowing in annoyance. how was she able to read him so easily? “whatever, mami, but yes, it was for her. the b-best part though was when he got to her house she kissed me!—well, on the cheek, but still.”

all connie’s mom could do was smile at her son—ah, young love. “you two are so freakin’ cuteeee!”

“mami pleaseeee stop!” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. her pesky teasing went on for a few more moments before she gave him a serious look. “i have something for you, wait here,” she spoke softly, getting up from the couch and going into her room. when she came back out she was holding a rectangular shaped box.

she sat next to connie and slowly opened the box, revealing a gold cuban link chain. “it was yours dads. i scrounged up every penny i had, and bought it for him on our two year anniversary. él llevó esto a todas partes.” she laughed at the last part, her lips turning into a sad smile.

connie took a closer look at the chain, his lips turning into a frown. “you sure, mama? i know his stuff is important to you,” he whispered, but his mom shook her head, letting out a little sniffle. “i want you to have it, mi cariño . . . he would’ve wanted you to have it. just promise me one thing.” she took the chain out the case, and gently placed it over connie’s head.

“excuse my language when i say this, amor—wear this shit with pride, just like your dad did. he was a good man, with a great life, n’ a good family and i want all the same for you, okay?” she chuckled when she saw a stray tear roll down connie’s cheek. “no tears, amor, no tears. just promise me that one thing.” connie sniffled and nodded his head—

“i promise, mami.”

february 14th, 2018 . . .

“this fuckin’ girl,” connie groaned, his head tilting back to look at the cloudy, grey sky. he had a card in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other for none other than you, his lovely best friend. he settled on a bouquet of pink tulips this year, deciding to switch it up from the usual roses he gave you.

his ears perked up when he heard the sound of someone coming out of your apartment building. there you were, looking cute as cute as ever in your oversized baby pink coat, along with a hat and mittens to match. “i know, i know, i’m sorryyy,” you giggled, taking careful steps down the slippery stairs.

“yeah, yeah whatever,” he smirked, looking you up and down before holding up the card and roses. you gave him a toothy grin, happily accepting the gifts from him. “thank you con, eres tan dulce.”

connie tongued the inside of his cheek, “ah, it’s nothin’. c’mere.” connie reached an arm out, tatted hand gently grabbing your coat to pull you in for a hug. the smell of his cologne had you relaxing into the hug, your arms tightening around him.

if any stranger were to see you two right now, it would obviously look like you two were together, but unfortunately for connie, that was not the case. it gets worse, you actually have a boyfriend. some motherfucker got to you before him, and he gets mad about it everyday because he had so. much. time. to make you his. you’ve been with the guy for nearly seven months and connie’s jealousy never dimmed.

“alright, alright, let’s get going before we miss the bus,” you mumbled into his jacket, ever so slowly detaching yourself from his embrace. connie huffed, but nonetheless followed after you.

you didn’t link arms anymore, and he didn’t wrap his arm around you—apparently that was a big no no for your boyfriend. connie kinda understood him in a way, if you were his and anyone laid a finger on you he’d go ballistic. at least you were able to listen to music together on your walk to the bus stop, and on the ride to school.

you whipped out your phone and headphones, passing one to connie. “man, no you’re always listening to those korean guys. i can’t understand shit they say,” his chest puffed up if faux annoyance because he knew he’d listen to whatever you played anyway. “well, i don’t care about none of that so here.”

“mmcht, fine. una niña tan mimada . . .” he grumbled, playfully side eyeing you. he loved getting on your nerves.

“i’m not spoiled.”

“yes you are.”

“okay and what about it, constance.”

“woah, my government name? my bad buddy, didn’t mean to strike a nerve there!” he chortled, raising his hands in surrender. if you weren’t connected by a pair of headphones you would’ve pushed him. “anyways . . . how did it go with your mom last night? i’m sure she was so pleased to see the new ink on your hand.”

connie’s shoulders slumped, “bro, you would’ve thought i killed someone the way she reacted. she was saying shit in spanish that i didn’t even know existed, shit was terrifying.” you doubled over in laughter at this, your hand slapping against his arm for stability.

“tch, it’s not funny, y/n. my head still hurts from how hard she threw her sandal at me,” he whined, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. he was expecting his mom to get a little upset about the tattoo, but figured maybe she’d show a little mercy because it was a tribute to his father—that was not the case. my mans got a very stern talking to, and a sandal to the back of the head.

“tuh, well that’s what you get! you know how she feels about tattoos.”

with a huff, connie waved you off, choosing to tune into the music blaring in his right ear instead. you didn’t have to wait long for the bus to come, though you didn’t mind the comfortable silence. when connie found two seats, he allowed you to go first. he always sat on the outside of seats, or walked on the side where the street was—he was a gentleman through and through.

“are you and your mom comin’ over tonight? i convinced my mom to take your favoriteeee.” you snorted, and looked over at him, “but, connie . . . you hate salmon.” connie shrugged, nudging your elbow with his own.

“i don’t mind it too bad when i know you like it so much.” his heart clenched at your smile, but the feeling soon faltered when you frowned, your teeth pulling your lip back to pick at the skin. he made a noise of disapproval, “hey, don’t do that. ¿por qué te ves así? ¿qué pasa?”

your lip popped back into place, and connie’s frowned deepened seeing a small speckle of blood. “well, like, my mom will be going over there, just . . . not me. i’m gonna be out with—”

oh.

connie’s lip twitched, and then slowly turned into the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. “that’s . . . fine. it’s fine. i probably won’t stick around for too long anyway.” your eyebrow perked up, “oh?”

he adjusted in his seat, his knee no longer touching yours. you didn’t understand why it bothered you so much, but it did. it bothered you a lot, actually.

you poked his shoulder, “did you have other plans tonight?” connie shrugged, his focus now on plastic wrapped about his healing tattoo. “jean and ony were talking about this party goin’ on tonight, and you know, since you ain’t coming tonight i might as well join em’.”

“yeah, i guess.” you mumbled, shrinking into your seat. connie noticed the change in your body notice immediately. you thought he was mad at you, it was written all over your face. it couldn’t have been further from the truth, his anger lied with your boyfriend, the dickhead breaking your tradition for the first time since you were kids and stealing you away from him for the night.

connie grinned at your pouting lips. he tapped your chin, taking it between his fingers. this was probably crossing a boundary, but you surely weren’t in a rush to pull away from him, at least that’s what it looked like to him.

“no te veas tan triste. nestoy enojado contigo, así que deja de hacer ese puchero, ¿sí?” you hated when he did this, his eye contact was always so intimidating. your nod was slow, like you were still unsure if he was telling the truth or not. he hummed, releasing your chin. “i promise,” he spoke softly, grabbing the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “that i’m not mad.” thankfully you seemed to relax after that.

connie was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. he took pride in being an honest, good man, much like his father was. but sometimes people, and by people he means you, are stubborn and not so easy to convince, so he started this little thing that whenever he grabs his his dads chain it means he is telling the honest truth, and nothing else.

your eyes lit up the tiniest bit, your frown replaced with a small smile. “te creo, connie. te lo prometo.”

“ooo, look at you using your spanish. una chica tan inteligente,” connie smirked, patting your head three times. oh, how connie loved the the language sounded rolling off your tongue. he noticed you sounded more confident nowadays, and it made his heart swell with pride. “heh . . . thank you. now move your behind, this is our stop,” you grumbled, nudging his knee with yours.

when you got off the bus you were elated to see your boyfriend, eren yeager, waiting at the steps for you. you turned to connie, “i’ll see ya later, thanks again for the flowers! i’ll leave them with ms. jones for the day, she’ll watch them for me.”

“i’ll see you at lunch, okay? we’ll get sum to eat, unless your boy toy already has plans with you.” connie’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette behind you, his lips curling up in distaste. he didn’t care for eren if wasn’t obvious. he had a reputation, and not a good one, and you were too sweet to deal with anything of that nature, but somehow the boy swept you off your feet and you were smitten.

when the most popular boy at school asks you to be his girlfriend, you don’t say no, it’s a clear no brainer—connie thought that logic was bullshit, but he kept that comment to himself.

“well lucky for you he didn’t mention any plans about a lunch date, although he didn’t mention dinner plans either . . . but i’m sure it’s just a surprise.” bells went off in connie’s head when you mentioned that, but he stayed silent. you always found the bright side in things, he admired that about you.

“mm, well, i’ll see you later then. have a good rest of your day, princesa.” he squeezed your shoulder tenderly before walking off. he side eyed eren as he walked away, and ugh, the boy just pissed him off so bad. his face looked entirely too nonchalant for having the most beautiful girl in the city all for himself.

the day went by painfully slow, and then it was lunch. connie waited for you in the foyer, already having a place in mind lunch, but you were nowhere to be found. when he checked in with your favorite teacher, ms. jones, he was shocked to find out you had went home early. apparently you weren’t feeling well.

he decided to text you and check up on you, only to find out your phone was on do not disturb. now this was odd. you were never the type to keep your phone on silent, unless absolutely necessary, afraid that you might miss an important call or message.

leaving school early? phone on do not disturb? connie did not like where this was leading.

he opened instagram to look at your profile, and sure enough, his suspicious were confirmed when he saw the highlight you had dedicated to eren was no longer there. connie’s grip on his phone tightened, he was pissed. this man had the audacity to break up with you on valentine’s day? absolutely not.

i’ll spare the details, but just know it was a very eventful lunch period for paradis high.

forty five minutes later . . .

“use this to ice that,” the nurse treating connie muttered, her tone filled with annoyance. connie huffed, slouching back. this folding chair was really starting to hurt his ass.

the door opened and there revealed connie’s very angry mother, her lips balled up so tight it had connie shivering in fear. “Levántate ahora,” she hissed, clenching her fist at her side. connie let out a long sigh, the knot on his head throbbing harder by the minute.

the walk out of the office was very humbling to say the least, his mother wasting no time cursing him out in spanish, and it continued like that until they got home.

“i mean . . . what were you thinking getting into a fight at school?! you know that stays on your record, tu idiota!” connie’s head fell in his hands, an exasperated sigh slipping past his lips. he really didn’t feel like talking about this. he just wanted to see you.

“imagine how y/n will feel knowing you started a fight with her boyfriend, she already must know you don’t like—”

“¡ya ni siquiera están juntos, mami! . . . he broke up up with her.” it was silent for a few beats. “¿lo sabes con seguridad?” connie shrugged, doing his absolute best to explain the situation with you leaving school early, your phone being on do not disturb, and his missing highlight from your instagram. all his poor momma could do was sigh. “this is absolutely no reason to get into a fight, and get suspended over, constance. i’m very disappointed.”

before connie could respond, there was a knock at the door. his mom looked at him and then the door, “yo lo conseguiré, tú quédate aquí. this conversation is not over.” connie slumped back into the couch, his heart stinging at that word ‘disappointed.’

he didn’t pay too much attention to the visitor at the door, until he saw who it was. there you were in your pink and red, heart patterned sweater, the jeans you were once wearing now replaced with hello kitty pajama pants. “i have to run to the store, so i’ll give you two a minute, but make it quick please, y/n. he’s in big trouble.” and with that you two were left alone.

you slowly walked over to his spot on the couch, taking a seat next to him. you sniffled, “ . . . why’d you do that?” he was silent, that only frustrated you more. “do you realize he’ll probably never talk to me again? he already thought i was cheating on him with you, this only made things worse! i know you don’t like the guy, but connie, i like him a lot, i-i think i might even love him.”

this had connie gritting his teeth, and balling up his hands.

“dios mio, y/n, give me a fucking break. you don’t love eren, you don’t even know what love is, you’re seventeen.” this had you scoffing, how dare he try to turn this on you? “and what the hell do you know about love? you’ve never even been in a relationship for goodness sake!”

“i may not have been in a relationship, but i can tell you whatever you and eren had goin’ on was not love. he never took you out, bought you gifts, i mean shit, the only reason the guy posted you online was because you begged him to, and it was only twenty four hour stories. don’t even get me started when he forgot your birthday—”

“that’s enough!” you cried, jumping up in front of him. connie followed suit, his chest nearly touching yours. you two have had your fair share of fights, but this is by far is becoming the most serious one.

“what? can’t handle hearing that your boy toy was a shitty boyfriend?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at you. your hands balled into fist, your french tips pinching the skin of your palm. “w . . . w-why do you even care so much huh?! why does him breaking up with me effect you so much, con, it’s getting exhausting!”

“¡porq ue estoy enamorado de ti, chica estúpida!”

your body tensed when connie pressed his lips against yours. it was fast, and awkward. it was his first kiss.

when he pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel small under his intense gaze. his cheeks were as red as tomatoes, and his nostrils were flaring—he was breathless. your lips started to wobble, a fresh batch of hot tears brimming your eyes. “connie, i—”

suddenly the door opened, and in walked his mother. he looked at her and then to you. “deberías ir,” he muttered, taking a step back from you. each movement he made was like a hammer to your heart, shattering it slowly with each step.

“m’kay *sniffle* i-i’ll see ya,” your voice cracked at the last part, and it had connie’s heart clenching. this wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was. when he pictured himself confessing his crush to you, him sending you out of his house a minute later was not apart of the vision.

that night you and connie both cried in your mothers’ laps, hearts aching and yearning to text the other, but too scared to at the same time, afraid it would make things worse.

“lo arruiné todo, mami. probablemente esté muy enojada conmigo,” he muttered, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt her nails scratch at his scalp. she tsked, and shook her head. “you didn’t ruin anything, amor. y/n cares about you so much, you two will work it out. te lo prometo, mi amor.” he muttered out something that she couldn’t quite hear, but she just let him be, allowing him to peacefully fall asleep on her lap.

while connie was asleep he received two messages.

new message from day one : i’m not mad at u, but i think we need to have a talk tmmr about what happened today

new message from day one : i hope you’re okay, ily

you and connie did talk about it, and after a conversation that lasted four hours, you both came to an agreement to not date. connie mentally beat himself up the entire way home afterwards, because that was in fact not how he felt, but just from your tone he figured you weren’t interested. little did he know you were.

after he graduated you two still talked, but not as often, until you just didn’t talk at all. by that time you were freshly graduated, and preparing for a summer full of fun before starting college. you decided to choose one in your city, too scared to leave your momma alone, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

connie took an interest in selling weed, and has since moved out of his moms apartment, where to? you had no clue.

february 14th, 2024 . . .

“girlllll, let’s go! you got thirty seconds to get down those stairs before i leave you!”

“you better not! it’s hard to get down these stairs with heels on!” you cried out, clutching onto the stair railing as you carefully went down. a sight of relief blew past your lips when you made it down safely. before getting in your friends car you tugged your skirt down, not that there was much to grab onto anyway.

“this skirt is entirely too tiny,” you grumbled, hopping in the passenger seat. anytime you made any sudden movement it was riding up your thick thighs, and you almost took it off, but you knew you’d be crucified by your best friend if you didn’t go through with wearing it.

you were heading out for a night at the club, and since it was valentine’s day, this certain club was allowing ladies to get fifty percent off all drinks.

the entire way there you were fiddling with your skirt, afraid that you were showing too much skin. “don’t worry about your outfit, ‘kay? you look good as fuck, y/n,” you friend grinned at you from the side, giving your arm a tender squeeze. “yeah, you’re right . . . i do look good. really good.”

before you knew it, you had arrived, your stomach doing somersaults when your friend turned the car off. she undid her seatbelt, and turned to you, she set her hands on your shoulders, and looked dead in your eye. “we’re gonna go in there and come out with some cuties, got it?” you let out a shaky breath, nodding your head.

the club was loud, and packed, but nonetheless there were some cute faces in the crowd. luckily your friend found two open seats at the bar, she was quick to secure them and immediately ordered a lemon drop for you. “i feel bad you won’t be able to drink since you drove,” you pouted, resting your arms on the bar.

your friend waved you off, insisting that she wouldn’t need the liquid courage like you would. it was shady, yes, but she wasn’t lying. you weren’t the slickest when it came to men, so it was a good thing you were a pretty girl.

“how’s your mom?” she asked, swiftly thanking the bartender when they set your drink in front of you. you hummed, tapping your fingernails against the glass. “she’s okay, we’re not out of the woods yet, but hopefully she’ll be in remission soon.”

a couple days after your twentieth birthday you had found out your mother was ill, and although you were willing to take a break from college and take care of her full time, she insisted otherwise. ‘this is your time to find yourself, and maybe someone special,’ she had said with tears in her eyes.

your friend gave you a warm smile, “that’s amazing, y/n. i’m really happy for you guys. now where are all the cute . . . guys, ” your brows pulled together as her sentence trailed off, her focus on something, or someone, behind you. “you see somebody?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

she nodded with a smirk, “there’s one right behind you. the one in the gallery dept. hoodie. he’s gonna be mine tonight.” you giggled, pushing your hand against the bar to get a look at the mystery man. your eyes widened when you realized it was onyankopon.

“oh . . . i—i know him. i went to school with him,” you muttered, turning your seat back. “were you two high school sweethearts, or something?” she teased, pinching your side. this had you scoffing.

“please. we were never together, but he was friends with my bes—um, ex best friend, connie.” her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “right, right. i remember you mentioning him. do you know if they’re still cool? *gasp* maybe they’re here together! i’ll call him over.”

“n-no, no no no. there’s no need to do that forreal,” it was hard to hide the nervousness in your voice. your friend hummed, tapping on her chin in faux thought. “you’re right, let’s go over there instead,” and with that she was hopping off her seat, her hand wrapping around your forearm.

you were stunned to say the least, your body stiffening as she tried to pull you from the bar stool. “but wait, wait, what if they actually are here together? y’know i haven’t seen connie in years and i just—”

you were silenced by a hand being placed in your face. “my dear y/n, no one on this earth go ahead in life by sitting in their behind, not come onnn.” you whined and protested when pulled again, spluttering out something about how you haven’t finished your drink. it took some serious convincing, and tugging, but your friend eventually got you up, wasting no time making a beeline for ony.

his back was facing you, but that didn’t stop your friend from tapping him on the back. “what’s good—oh, y/n! what’s up, girl?” ony grinned, pulling you in for a hug. you awkwardly hugged him back, giving his back a few gentle pats. “o-oh nothin’ much,” you were very grateful the music was so loud that he couldn’t hear the shakiness in your voice.

“what are you ladies up to tonight?” he asked, beckoning you more into his section. there were a couple other guys, and some girls taking up seats on the lounge couches, all immersed in their own conversations, besides one man. he sat on the farthest end by himself, a blunt perched between two tatted fingers. he was scrolling on his phone, his foot tapping along to the music every now and again.

“oh, you know, just a girls night out. i was actually hoping we could hangout with you? you seem nice . . . really cute too.” you couldn’t help but snort as your friend turned on her charm, ony immediately turning to putty in her hands. “why don’t you go mingle, y/n? i’ll have ony order you another drink, and don’t panic if you see you know who,” she gave you a sly wink before waving you off much to your dismay.

you decided to take a seat next to the loner with the blunt, wondering to yourself if he was even allowed to smoke that inside. your eyes drifted to the rings on his fingers, all coated with tiny diamonds. you leant to the side, close enough to where he could hear you, “i-i like your rings!”

and suddenly you were met with a pair of very familiar brown eyes staring back into yours. “connie . . ? !” you said his name as it were forbidden, your chest tightening. he looked at you for a moment, his brows pulling together as he examined your face, you figured it all clicked for him when he started grinning at you like the cheshire cat.

before you could say another word, he stood up, his reaching down for yours. “uh i—” you looked over at your friend who was already looking right at you. she had a giddy smile on her face, her hand waving in a not so subtle way to tell you to go with him. with no excuse left, you took his hand, the warmth from it sending shivers up your back.

as he lead you out of the section he passed the blunt he was smoking to ony, yelling something about how he’d back right back. while he lead the way, your eyes were focused on the way his hand grasped yours. it felt comforting, familiar.

when you got outside the cool, city air felt like heaven, but it didn’t stop goosebumps from forming on your skin when connie leant against a blacked out vehicle, his eyes zeroing in on yours.

“wow, s’really you.” his head tilted back in a laugh, giving you a small peek at the grills on his teeth. “¿cómo has estado, princesa?” his head tilted, awaiting your answer.

you wanted to speak, you really did, but the words would not leave your mouth. you were stunned to say the least, not only from seeing connie after years, but also how different he looked. he was way buffer, and now had a bit of facial hair, his signature buzzcut stayed the same. what caught your attention the most was the tattoos that covered his arms and neck. his few pictures on social media didn’t do him much justice.

“hello? anybody home?” he chuckled, waving his hand in front of your face. you blinked three times, your mouth opening, then closing.

“hi.”

you sounded strained, almost like you were in pain, it made connie laugh. “hi, y/n.” the way he smiled at you made you feel . . . weird. he was looking at like you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“sorry, it’s uh, it’s been a minute since we’ve seen each other in person. you look . . . different, i-i mean you look the same, but, not? i’m sorry—”

“hey, hey, relax. it’s just me remember? no need to be nervous, even if some time has passed.” he leant forward, grabbing your hand in his, he pulled you closer then let go, your hand twitched at the loss of contact.

he had a point. it was just connie, your childhood best friend, someone you’ve known longer than you haven’t.

you cleared your throat, clasping your hands behind your back. “well, i’ve been good. i’m sure you’ve seen that college is going well. met some new people, had a few failed relationships, you know, typical stuff.”

“thas’ wassup. i heard about your mom, i’m real happy for you y/n. ustedes dos no merecen nada más que bendiciones en esta vida.” warmth spread through your cheeks at his words.

“did that translate, or have you been lacking on your spanish, hm?” he teased, secretly hoping you have in fact been continuing to speak spanish. you giggled, waving him off. “i understand, and i really appreciate it. deberías visitarla algún día, le encantaría verte.”

his grin widened, “yeah? i figured she’d hate me after what happened with you and my mom. i’m sure you’ve heard some awful things from her about me.”

he was correct. whenever his mother did visit his name would somehow come up, and then it would lead to the same speech about how she felt like she failed him and how she hated his life choices. you agreed about the drug selling part, you weren’t very fond he chose that as a source of income, but when it came to the other awful things she spewed about him, you found it rather hard to believe. there was no way she was talking about your connie.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes drifting to the gravel. “i don’t blame her though, like at all. i gave her hell for months about . . certain things. i thought it was just best to keep my distance after i moved out. she hasn’t reached out to me, and vice versa.” this made you frown, and without thinking you wrapped your arms around him.

“oh, uh, thanks,” he stiff at first, but eventually relaxed into the hug, “feels good to hug you again.” you slowly nodded, sighing with content. it really was nice to be in his embrace again. his smelt different though, more mature, more expensive.

“you know, even though she says all that, she still misses you like crazy. momma told me so herself.” connie squeezed you a bit tighter, his chin finding place at the crown of your hair. “your momma has never been one to lie, so i’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled, leaning back against the car, taking you back with him.

your nose bumped into his sturdy chest, you looked up at him, giving him an apologetic look. he gently squeezed your side, “don’t worry about it.”

it was silent for a few beats. he cocked his head to the side, giving you his signature smirk, “why’re you lookin’ at me like that hm?”

“it’s just really good to see your face . . . i missed you connie. in case you don’t remember, you kinda stopped talking to me the summer i graduated.” connie licked his lips, the feeling of guilt slowly trickling over him. you looked like you had more to say, but as always you cut yourself off, your teeth picking on your bottom lip to stop yourself.

you nearly whimpered when his hand cupped your face, his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip out. “veo que todavía tienes ese hábito. termina lo que ibas a decir, usa tus palabras.” you melted in his arms. his touch was so gentle, as if he was petting a week old kitten.

you took a deep breath, “well, it hurt connie. it hurt a lot, and like, i felt guilty, but i shouldn’t have felt guilty because . . . well, because i didn’t do anything! you kissed me, and then you ask me to leave like i did something wrong, a-and then when you agree to talk to me you acted like a fucking zombie, just nodding along to everything i said, not explaining literally anything at all. you completely ghosted me after you graduated, and then i have to hear from my mom that you’re fucking dealing?! i mean, what were you even thinking? and i don’t believe the bullshit about it ‘just being weed’, l-like y-you were an actual *sniffle* —

you hadn’t even noticed you were crying, you also hadn’t noticed you stepped three paces away from connie, too wrapped up in your anger. connie let out a shaky sigh, “sigue adelante.” connie was stunned. you were never one to raise your voice at someone, let alone yell at them. in a world full of people who ran over you your whole life, him included, he was more than happy to receive all the pent up anger you had built up.

you sniffled, lips wobbling as you choked down a sob. you probably looked crazy right now, but then again this probably looked like a normal situation seeing as you were outside a nightclub.

“you just left me hanging . . . friends don’t do that connie, n-not best friends that you’ve known longer than you haven’t. there was so much stuff i wanted to talk to you about, but i didn’t even know if you would give me the time of day.” by now you were close to hyperventilating, all the emotions you had been setting aside for years hitting you at once.

connie pushed off the car, outstretching his arms towards you, he pulled you in for a tight embrace, whispering little things in your ear to calm you down. “it’s okay, it’s okay, i’m here. i’m so sorry, you have no idea, cariño.”

“then explain yourself,” your muttered, words muffled by his shirt.

well, here we go.

“i wasn’t . . . i wasn’t being completely honest when we had that conversation. i didn’t want to be just friends, i wanted to be more, but then i thought ‘well, what if things don’t work out?’ so, i pushed you away. you have to believe me when i say dealing was the last thing i wanted to do, but if you want to live a good life as quickly as possible you have to do things you’re not proud of. you gotta understand, i was around some bad people for a while, the kind of bad people that would hurt someone i care about. i didn’t want that to happen, and my mom was already giving me enough shit so i left. i’m so sorry y/n, i wanted to explain but it was just too much, pero estoy aquí ahora.”

you didn’t say anything, so he continued. “el universo nos volvió a reunir por alguna razón, verdad?”

“yeah . . . i guess.”

“so stop those tears. y’know i hate seeing you cry, ‘breaks my heart,” he muttered, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. “do you hate me?” he whispered, and his chest filled with relief when you shook you head.

“nunca podría odiarte, connie”

connie inhaled deeply through his nose, his face moving another inch close to yours. your lips parted, but nothing came out except a weak ‘please’. he hummed, brushing his nose against yours, before softly pressing his lips to yours. it was slow, but desperate, which was expected since he’d been waiting years to do this.

what connie didn’t expect was for you to deepen the kiss. your lips parted, tongue swiping against his bottom lip in urgency. a chuckle rumbled in his chest, how cute.

he grabbed the fat of your hips and switched your positions, your back now pressed against the car. he cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing down on your chin. connie’s tongue traced over your lips before pushing into your mouth, earning a squeak from you.

“heh, te gusta eso?” with a gulp, you nodded. since when did he learn how to do that? it kinda irked you knowing some girl, that wasn’t you experienced these kinds of kisses from connie.

“get outta your head, we’re supposed to be kissing, not thinking,” he muttered against your lips, pushing his front against yours. the cogs in your head started turning when you felt something hard. was he worked up just as much as you?

connie cradled your jaw in both his hands, desperately kissing you with every fiber of his being. “c-con—”

“lo sé, cariño, lo sé. y’have no idea how much i’ve waited for this. from the moment you kissed me on the cheek ten sum years ago, i knew i didn’t wanna feel anyones lips on me, but yours.”

you whimpered. “and as much as i wanna bend you over my car, n’ take you right here, i have a friend who needs to get home safe, and so do you.” he pulled his lips away from yours, a thin line of spit connecting you. he was right, unfortunately.

“i wanna see you again . . . tomorrow, i wanna see you tomorrow. can you make that happen?” you were clutching onto him so tight, afraid he’d slip right through your fingers. connie smirked, his fingers dancing down your hips, and to the tops of your tights. he pulled the material forward before letting it snap back into place, earning a squeak from you.

“i can make that happen. should i roll us a little sum?” you shook your head, “eh, i don’t really like smoking, it makes me paranoid.” you laughed at the last part, and god, it was so nice to hear your laugh. your eyes trailed down to his lower half, then back to his eyes. with a slow bat of your eyes you said, “i like wine though . . . cuanto más dulce, mejor. do what you will with the information.”

connie’s dick twitched. “noted. very much noted, princesa.”

as happy as you were to know you’d be seeing connie again real soon, something kept crossing your mind. “um, connie?” you whispered, playing with the hem of his shirt. he noticed your eyes were avoiding his, you were nervous.

“those people, the bad ones, do you still deal with them?” it was a valid question, connie had a feeling you’d bring it up sooner or later.

“no, i don’t, i got outta that months ago. i found me a new supplier through a friend and now i sell a lil weed on side, nothing big. n’ then once i finish this apprenticeship at this tattoo shop i’m at, i’m done for good. no estaría haciendo todo esto si supiera que tu vida estaría en peligro.”

your eyes fluttered shut when he lips pressed against your forehead. he wrapped his fingers around the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “you can still be skeptical, i don’t blame you, but just know i treasure your existence too much to play with it like that.”

“i believe you, con,” your voice was small, but connie was still able to hear. he kissed your forehead a final time, “c’mon let’s go inside, it’s cold.” your fingers laced with his, and a warmth that you’ve never felt before coursed throughout your body.

when you got back to his section of the club, you sat in the nearest open spot, your heart beating a mile a minute. after all these years wondering where you two had went wrong, you finally got a little clarity. you still had questions, but decided not to pry. as connie talked about his experience with those certain individuals, you could tell by the strain in his voice that it was a hard topic.

“by the smile on your face, i’m assuming it went well?!” your head whipped to the side to see your friend, a proud smirk on her lips. you nibbled on your lip, your eyes flicking to connie who was sitting by himself once again, blunt in hand. you would definitely call the conversation a success.

february 15th, 2024 . . .

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : i hope you like stella rose black bc that’s what i got

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : send me your addy, ima leave in 20

your stomach twisted in knots as you texted connie your address. you didn’t know what to expect from your hangout, all you knew was that there was going to be sexual tension and wine, a very dangerous combination.

with a shallow exhale, you stood up, quickly making your way over your full body mirror. you examined your outfit carefully in the mirror, it was cute, but something was missing. “ . . . i need a headband,” you muttered, scrambling to find the perfect, pink headband to complete the outfit.

before you knew it, connie was texting you that he was outside your apartment.

“momma! i’m gonna go out with connie for a while, i’ll be back soon.” you pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, and she mumbled something about how you looked like a doll.

when walked outside connie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you, flowers and card in hand. “lemme help you down, lord knows what’ll happen since you’re in heels,” he snickered, extending his hand out towards you.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” you grumbled, taking his hand. you let out a tiny gasp when he pulled you close, his body pressing against yours. “mm, you look cute. i like . . . whatever this is,” he chuckled, pulling at the soft material of your jacket.” you mumbled out a thank you, your eyes drifting to the pink roses he was holding.

he held them out to you, his lips lifting into a sly smile. “i know i’m a day late, but these are for you.” the roses were the prettiest shade of pink, and the card had some cheesy pun about sushi on it. “gracias, connie. they’re beautiful.”

“you’re very welcome, amor. now c’mon, i got your seat all warmed up for ya.” he literally had the seat warmer up full blast, already knowing you were probably freezing your ass off in your skirt.

his car smelt like weed and pine scented air freshener, it was oddly comforting. “feel free to adjust the heat to your liking, it won’t take long to get there though, only like fifteen minutes.” you hummed, placing your hands neatly in your lap.

the ride was pretty silent, but you didn’t mind it because his hand was glued to your thigh the entire time. “m’not making you uncomfortable being too touchy am i?” he spoke softly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. you answered with a quick ‘mm mm!’ and eagerly placed both of your hands on top of his.

you were so cute, and you didn’t even know it, you were practically killing the poor guy.

“good . . . good. y’know i’ve come to realize i’m really hands-on when i want something, ‘specially if it’s a pretty girl.” your lips parted, then shut, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t make you sound dumb. when did he become such a flirt?

“eh, i guess it just came naturally as i got older.” connie chuckled, and you just about fell out when you realized you had in fact said that out loud. “sorry i didn’t meant to say that out loud, b-but it’s true! you keep leavin’ me flustered it’s annoying!” this had connie laughing so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled shut. “you want me to stop?”

“ . . . no.”

twenty minutes later . . .

“make yourself comfortable and—ah, don’t mind her. she loves meeting new people,” connie chuckled, patting the grey pitbull, that had started sniffing you the second you walked inside, gently on the head. you become quickly enamored with the dog, bending down and cooing at it excitedly. “what’s her name?”

“her name is kali, i got her a few months after i moved in here. she makes good company, very sweet, and very snuggly as you can see.” snuggly was indeed the correct word to use, and you were loving it. “she’s too precious, con, i’m sooo jealous,” you giggled, scratching underneath kali’s chin.

connie’s apartment was very . . . him. dark brown, leather furniture covered the living room, along with a sixty five inch tv mounted on the wall. his windows were huge, giving you a pretty view of the entire city, and along with them was a big glass door that lead to the balcony.

“this is . . wow.” your hands were clasped behind your back as you looked around, what caught your attention next the various pieces of art along the walls. “you’re into buying art?” you giggled, turning around to look back at connie, who was still by the front door. he pursed his lips, a hand coming back to scratch at the back of his neck.

“i dabble in it every now and again. shits way too expensive to have a whole collection,” he chuckled, finally making his way over to you. “which one do you like the most?”

you nibbled on your lip, taking your time to examine and admire each framed piece.

“i think i like . . . this one. the eyes look so real, it almost looks like a picture, and it looks like there’s some emotion in them, but i can’t quite pinpoint it,” you muttered, and connie hummed in agreement. he went on to explain that it was his favorite painting as well, and that it was the cheapest one of the bunch.

“this older guy was having a viewing, and barely anyone was there so he walked me through the whole exhibit. these eyes? they’re his wives, shit, everything he painted in there was of his wife. the day the viewing was held was the anniversary of her death, i thought it was kinda . . beautiful, so i bought it. only cost me fifty bucks, can you believe that?”

your jaw dropped the tiniest bit, you stepped closer the painting, taking in every little detail once again. “so i’m assuming the look in her eyes—it’s love?”

connie nodded, taking a step forward as well, he was behind you now, you could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. “he said when he was painting this he was picturing the look she gave him on their wedding day, said he saw a spark in her eyes that day that he’d never seen before, and never saw it again. cool as hell right?” he whispered, leaning over to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“y-yeah, s’really cool,” you turned your head, your nose bumping into his, “it makes sense you’d have something like this it, uh, suits you?” connie grinned at your words, now standing up straight.

“thank you, y/n . . . you want some wine?”

you were quick to nod, your feet swiftly turning to follow him to the kitchen. he rummaged through he cabinets and pulled out two glass cups, “now i don’t have wine glasses, so these’ll have to do.”

as he poured the wine, you went ahead and made yourself comfortable on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. your feet slowly swung back forth, and when connie slid the glass over to you, you wasted no time taking a long sip. “s’good? es lo suficientemente dulce para ti, linda niña?” he asked, leaning on the island.

you felt your cheeks get hot, recalling your comment from last night. “yes, it’s sweet enough, thank you.” you made brief eye contact with connie before looking back down at your glass, twirling it carefully in your hands.

suddenly you blurted out, “you have a lot of tattoos now.”

connie smirked, taking a sip of his own wine. “yes, yes i do. you wanna see them?” you nearly choked on your spit, breaking into a fit of coughs. see connie’s tattoos? you didn’t know if your heart, or your pussy, could handle that, especially at the rate you were drinking this wine.

connie took your silence as a yes, and before you knew it he was shedding his hoodie, leaving him in thin tank top. he was completely jacked now, the swirls of ink around his arms and chest only adding on to his attractiveness. he looked like a completely different person.

“wow, you really wasted no time taking your clothes off huh?” you giggled, raising two fingers to beckon him closer. connie kissed his teeth, he tried his absolute best to look annoyed, but he couldn’t! not when your laugh sounded like the prettiest of symphonies.

“man, whatever. now you wanna see just my arms, or do you want so see everything?” his eyebrows raised up mischievously, and you knew right then and there you were absolutely done for . . . and you were gonna need more wine. “um, i guess everything since you’re already stripping, but gimme some more wine first!”

after a topping off your wine, connie removed his tank top, revealing more inked skin. you eyes were as wide as saucers, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “oh my goodness, connie! didn’t this shit hurt?!” without thinking you extended your hand, you ran the tips of your fingers over his chest, shuddering at the thought of a needle piercing his tan skin all over.

connie’s breath hitched. “y-yeah, it hurt like bitch. took two sessions to finish too, but it’s hard right?” your head bobbed up and down in a mindless nod, your hand still glued to to his chest. “this one didn’t hurt too bad,” he grumbled, pulling the waistband of his sweats down slightly to reveal a tattoo that said ‘muérdeme’ right on his v-line.

“bite me . . ?” you mumbled, fingers trailing down to trace over the letters. connie let out a low hum, goosebumps rising all over his skin. “you like it?”

you blindly reached for your glass and took a small sip of the wine, you looked into his eyes while you swallowed before nodding. “i like it a lot, i love all your tattoos, s’making me a little hot actually,” you giggled, leaving connie stunned, and a little turned on. the wine was definitely giving you a little extra confidence.

he took a step towards you, and then another until your knees were touching the tops of his thighs. he didn’t lean down, no, he waited for you to tilt that pretty head up and look him right in his eyes. when you did you wanted to look right back down at the floor. he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you whole.

“should i put my shirt back on, or do you want me to keep it off?” he didn’t laugh, he give you that signature smirk, he looked more serious than you’ve ever seen him. his thumb tapped against your bottom lip, “¿me oyes, linda chica? ¿on o off?”

you let out a shaky breath, “o-off. off please.”

connie was quick to grasp underneath your thighs, and pick you up, his hands moved downwards to cup your ass for a better grip. “if you want me to stop you better tell me now,” he spoke lowly, setting you on the island. before even kissing you the first thing he did was nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling your familiar, but now slightly different scent.

your hand gently cupped the back of his neck, “you still like me?” yes, you completely ignored what he said, but that question had been burning in your brain since the second you locked eyes with him the previous night.

he lifted his face out of your neck, now standing at his full height. “um . . . did you not see how quick i was to kiss you last night? or how quick i was to start taking off my clothes just now? c’mon, y/n, usa esa linda cabecita.”

your lips pushed into a pout, “don’t be a dick, just confirm it for me so i can have peace of mind.”

“yes, y/n, i do still like you, love in fact. i’ve only ever loved two women in my life, you and my momma, and that’s how it’ll be until i’m in my grave.”

“b-but connie, you’re only twenty four . . . don’t you think you might love another before your time comes?” he quickly shook his head, not even bothering to give your question any thought. “you and my momma. that’s it, that’s all—well, kali too, but you know what i mean,” you both laughed at the last part, but you were soon interrupted by connie smushing his lips into yours.

“mmph! w-well i have no other questions so please continue,” you panted against his lips, you shakily reached your hand down to tug him closer by the waistband of his sweats. your panties were starting to feel uncomfortably sticky, the soft cotton sticky lewdly to your folds.

connie wasted absolutely no time lifting you up once more, he mumbled something about taking you to his bedroom before making the slow, but successful journey there. his lips never once left yours, happily swallowing up every whine and moan you let slip out.

you eventually had to pull away for air, though he did not make it easy, his lips chasing yours each time you pulled away.

“i—i like your room!” your lips parted in a squeal when he dropped you on the bed, your headband flying off somewhere behind you. “not cool, eres tan molesto,” you huffed, sitting up on your elbows.

connie’s chest rumbled with a laugh, you were really too cute.

“what, you think just because i’m in love with you i won’t give you shit? estas muy equivocada, mami.” connie softly grabbed your ankles, pressing a kiss to each one before pulling you forward. “you mind if i peek up under there?” he chuckled, slowly getting on his knees.

“n-no go ahead, just . . . be nice. it’s been a minute since i’ve gotten a wax, m’goin’ for a more natural thing you know?” no, no he didn’t, but he truly didn’t care if you were bald down there or not, he was gonna eat it regardless.

his hand reached up to the button of your skirt, “i don’t care if you got a little hair down there, y/n. we’re both grown, yeah?” as he was speaking he undid the button, then the zipper. you didn’t say anything, instead you just nodded and lifted your hips up, allowing him to slip your skirt off.

connie slowly ran his hands along the insides of your thighs, his mouth watering at the sticky silhouette of your pussy. you gasped when he pulled your panties to the side, your dripping pussy on fully display for him. “dios mio . . . she’s prettier than i thought,” he mumbled, his fingers brushing over the small tufts of hair on your mound.

“constance. don’t p-pet it . . . that’s . . . w-weird . . .” your sentence trailed off into nothingness the second you felt his tongue circle around your clit. he was going soft, so soft you barely felt anything, and then he licked a fat stripe up your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

your elbows eventually gave up, and you flopped back on the bed with a soft thud. connie hummed against your pussy, his fingers tugging your panties to the side more to get his proper fill. when he felt your hand nearly smack on top of his head it gave him the biggest fucking ego boost.

“f-faster please,” he heard you sigh out, and he was more than happy to give you what you wanted, except your panties were starting to become a bother. “no problem, gorgeous, i just gotta—”

RIPPPPPPP

you picked your head up to see if your ears were deceiving you, and unfortunately they were not. connie had completely torn your panties in half, he tossed the garment aside like it was nothing and looked back up at you, a dopey smile on his lips. “you have absolutely no manners,” you panted out, too embarrassed to even glance at your torn, discarded panties.

he kissed the inside of your thigh, mumbling something you couldn’t decipher into the skin, probably something snarky knowing him.

“spread your legs mama, i’m gonna take my time with you—unless you have somewhere to be after this?”

you shook your head, grabbing the back of your knees to open them as wide as you could. “i texted my mom not to wait up on the way here, she’ll call if she needs me. now no more talking,” the last part came out rushed, barely audible to connie as you pushed his head between your thighs.

despite the well rounded man he had become, connie was still a little shit at heart, always teasing you even during moments like these. every time you’d moan, he’d moan just as loud, every time your hips raised the slightest he’d push them right back down, rewarding you with a nice pinch on the thigh.

he was a messy eater, not ashamed in the slightest at how sloppy he sounded, but at the same time it didn’t help that you were practically leaking like a faucet either. each time his tongue swiped over your clit another gush of wetness dribbled out of you, waiting to be lapped up by connie.

his cock throbbed in his sweats, tip drooling at the thought of you wrapped around him.

“o-oh connieee,” you gasped out, your head tilting back into the mattress. you were so wrapped up in your pleasure that you hadn’t even realized he pushed you further up the bed, making just enough room to lay between your thighs. the pressure felt sooo nice on his dick—now he could really enjoy this.

“te sientes bien, baby?” he asked, spitting on your clit, earning a shy whine from you. his hips started to rock into the bed, and with each movement it had him moaning into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

you moaned out a weak yes, your hips circling around his tongue. he gave you full control now, allowing you to move your hips, and fuck his mouth as you pleased.

you nearly fell out when you suddenly felt him push a finger in, curling it almost instantly. he let you adjust at first, making sure you weren’t hurting at all before adding another finger.

shlick! shlick! shlick!

you were so close, he could feel it. you were dripping all onto the sheets, creating a creamy puddle beneath your ass, and if connie weren’t as pussydrunk as he was, he would’ve definitely teased you for it.

“i-i’m—!”

suddenly a hand wrapped around your throat and connie was towering over you, his chain dangling right over your nose. “do it, i wanna see your face when i make you cum for the first time. ven en mis dedos, princesa, déjame ver esa cara.” your eyes rolled back, hands grasping at connie’s wrist as you came a cry.

“there it is—mierda, such a pretty girl,” he groaned, slowly sliding his fingers out of your pussy. he rubbed three fingers between your folds, simply feeling you up now. “mm, i like your pussy. she’s cute n’ soft, just like you, i can’t get enough of either of ya.” your back arched into his chest when he pinched your clit, “you’re so responsive too.”

“t-thank you, can we—can we do some more?” you could spot the huge print in his sweats from a mile away, and you were just about done waiting to see what was underneath. you cupped his bulge gently, giving it a soft squeeze. “lemme see, con.”

“m’kay, baby,” he muttered, giving your lips three kisses before getting off the bed. with shaky arms you sat up, giving his lower half your full attention.

wow.

“what?”

“what?” you asked, blinking multiple times. he was looking at you like you had sprouted a second head. “you said ‘wow’ and i couldn’t decide if it was a good wow or a bad one, so i’m asking . . . duh.”

you kissed your teeth and scooted closer to the edge of bed, you couldn’t help but internally cringe at the wet sounds your pussy made as you moved. “come closer,” you whispered, moving to sit on your knees. he took two steps forward, his palms feeling clammy when you leant forward, nose nearly touching his cock.

he was hung, thick too, almost intimidatingly thick—but you were no bitch, and you liked a challenge. he let out a small breath through his nose, it sounded like a laugh. “¿crees que puedes manejar eso?” he mused, raising a thick brow. you looked at him through your lashes, “yes.”

your tongue poked out, giving his drooling tip an experimental lick. oh, you liked that.

connie’s head tilted back, his adams apple bopping with you wrapped your lips around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock. “d-don’t do too much, i don’t w-want to—fuck, bust in your mouth so . . . soon.” all thoughts, or any concept of one were wiped from connie’s brain when you started to suck, little droplets of drool spilling from your mouth and down his shaft. he was too far gone.

you made a noise around his cock when his hand cupped underneath your jaw, the other finding purchase on top of your head. he found a grip on your hair and slowly started to move his hips. you moaned around his dick, and relaxed your jaw, allowing him to sheath more of his cock down your throat.

“good fuckin’ throat,” he grunted, pushing your head down as low as he could get you. your hands smacked against the bed, hot tears brimming your lash line. you choked around him, and that earned you a very deep groan from connie, his head tilting forward to get a good look at you. you looked stunning with a mouthful of dick, his dick specifically.

he yanked you back by your hair, allowing you to gasp for some very much needed air. “you’re— you’re good at that *pant* so fuckin’ good at it.” he slapped his cock against your lips and cheeks, smearing any excess pre and spit on your lips and chin.

“how do you want it?”

you already had a position in mind. “f-from the side, please.”

that’s how you ended up on your side, stark naked, with connie behind you, his chest feeling scorching hot against your back. “im’a go slow at first, but after that i can’t tell you what’ll happen,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. he took your hand in his, mumbling lowly for you to hold your leg up for him.

despite being on birth control, you both decided it was best for him to still use a condom, but that logic slowly faded away when you felt his dick slip between your dewy folds, fat tip nudging against your swollen clit. “goddamn, y/n,” he groaned into your shoulder, shallowly his hips back before pushing them forward.

“t-that feels nice,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into his pillow. connie tapped his tip against your sticky clit three times before aligning himself with your entrance, “you ready, mama?” you nodded, moaning out a pathetic plea for him to hurry up.

when he finally pushed inside you both gasped. you could already feel your arm getting weak from holding your leg up, and he wasn’t even fully inside you yet. “i got you,” you grunted, putting his hand over your own.

he started slow at first, real slow, making sure that you felt every vein and ridge that he had to offer you. it didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust, and before you knew it he was giving you slow, but swift thrusts. “joder, eso está apretado,” he all but growled, his fingernails digging into the fat of your thighs.

“y—you don’t know how long i’ve waited for this, to be close like this. eres un sueño, amor.” all you could do was moan, and nod along to his praises. you wished it was possible to be even more physically closer to him than you were, but this would just have to do to.

your hips suddenly had a mind of their own, moving back to meet connie’s swift thrusts. “yeah . . fuck me back, c’mon mami.” his eyes flicked between your bodies, your hips moved back against his with so much desperation it was almost too precious.

“c’mere.” his arm slipped underneath your head, his hand snaking around your throat. he hiked your leg higher, and pulled you closer, fully sheathing his dick inside you. “o-oh!” you squeaked out, hand coming behind you to cup the back of connie’s head. he let out a pretty moan right into your ear, his tongue lolling out to lick over the shell of it.

his pace had changed drastically, he was now fucking you like he hated your guts. his strokes were quick and shallow, his pudgy tip slamming against your g-spot each time he pushed in. you couldn’t help but think how nice this would be raw . . . fuck it.

“c-connie,” you whined, patting the back of his head softly. connie’s thrusts halted, he still deep inside you, cock throbbing almost painfully at how tight you were gripping him. “what’s the matter, mi cariño?”

“off . . . i wan’ you to take the condom off, if that’s okay.” it was silent for few beats, the only thing being heard were your labored breaths. “look at me,” connie whispered, not moving an inch until your eyes were on his. he slowly pulled out, gauging your every reaction as he did so. he quick to rip and condom off, blindly tossing it in the nearby trash can by his bed, and he was even quicker to thrust inside you once more, your mouths dropping in synch. you finally got feel him, all of him.

connie resumed his brutal pace, his grip on your throat tightening the tiniest bit. “h-harder,” you choked out, resting your hand on his. he snickered, squeezing your neck roughly before releasing it, “you like that? you like getting choked by me?” you head shook furiously, a raspy ‘uh huh!’ slipping past your kiss bitten lips.

the squelching of your pussy got louder and louder, alerting connie of your oncoming orgasm. “shit, you’re about to cum—aren’t you?” his question ended with a squeeze to your neck, and that’s what triggered your second orgasm of the night. your eyes crossed and your body spasmed, your pussy was clenching around connie so tightly it almost had him cumming.

“f-fuck yeah, get that nut out, baby. feel good f’me.” connie milked your orgasm as long as he could, even going as far as pushing down on your lower tummy to make sure you got it all out.

your body trembled in his arms, and to soothe your whines he whispered praises left and right into your ear, some in english, some in spanish.

it wasn’t long before that fluttery feeling in your tummy came around again, and just like that you were all over connie, your lips smushing against his sloppily in a clash of tongue and teeth. “l-lets go again, i wan’ you on top,” you words were muffled by lips, but he understood loud and clear.

he wanted you to feel him as deep as possible, so that’s why he had you hanging halfway off the bed, your knees pushed to your ears while he beat your guts in. each clap his thighs against yours had your skin tingling, your nerves feeling as though they were on overdrive.

“ohhh f-fuck,” you sobbed out, tears free falling from your eyes. connie’s thighs were practically shaking. he’d been holding back his load for so long there was no telling when he’d lose it. “tu coño es tan bueno mami, tan tan bueno, me encanta.” his eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy struggled take his cock, your folds were all soaked n’ puffy, you looked divine.

“m-me estás follando tan bien, connie, vas a hacer que me corra otra vez!” your hand smacked against his chest, fingers nails digging harshly into the tatted skin. that had connie pulling out with a hiss, a stray spurt of cum shooting from his tip and onto your tummy.

his head dropped pathetically, chest having as if he just got done running marathon. “can’t say stuff like that, baby, y-you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he grunted, pushing his hips back so his cock was laying directly between your chubby folds. he slowly pushed inside, his eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that enveloped him.

his head drooped down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. “we got all night, con, jus’ do it. i won’t be going anywhere, don’t worry.” you words brought him bliss, a feeling of relief washing over him when he realized you weren’t going to allow him to slip from your fingers ever again.

he rolled his hips forward, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip so hard he was sure to draw blood. his hand found its rightful place around your neck, squeezing it roughly every now and again. “that’s that fuckin’ shit, so damn wet for me, mama,” he cursed, pressing his body into yours. he was so deep now, you could practically feel him in your tummy.

the air was suddenly pushed from your windpipe when connie squeezed your neck, his hips stilling as his orgasm washed over him. he wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from finishing inside, but still he pulled out nonetheless, jerking himself off until the rest of his cum covered your pussy.

connie wiped his forehead slowly with the back of his hand, his body feeling almost completely numb. he smirked at the white substance dripping from your hole, and without even thinking he scooped some up and brought to his lips.

“ugh, connie, don’t be nasty,” you whined and shut your thighs, only for them to be forced open by connie. he swiped his fingers over pussy again, this time he was offering you some. “c’mon just a little taste, you almost begging for some before, so here,” he pushed his fingers closer to your lips. with a huff you wrapped your lips around the digit, your eyes not once leaving his.

he smiled down at you, giving your head a soft pat, “buena chica.”

sometime later . . .

after a much needed shower, and some hot tea to help your sore throat, connie had you bundled up in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. an episode of friends was playing quietly in the back on his tv, but you were more interested in watching the man laying next to you.

“con?” you whispered, poking his naked chest gently. his eyes slowly drifted to you, his lips lifting into a small smile. he had smoked before joining you in bed, the smell of weed still slightly attached to him. he raised a brow at you, “yes?”

“what are we?”

“y/n.”

“yes?”

“you wanna be my girlfriend?”

your lips parted then shut again, too stunned to speak. you couldn’t wrap your head around the situation at all, you went from speaking everyday, to not speaking for years, and now after just reconnecting he was asking you to his girlfriend—literally what the hell.

“yes . . . y-yes i’ll be your girlfriend connie. just stay out of that shit, i want us to be happy, lavish lifestyle or not,” you mumbled, brushing your nose again his. connie gentle stroked your jaw with his thumb, “you don’t gotta worry about me getting back into that, i got too much to lose now.” with a dreamy sigh you nuzzled into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.

But isn’t he just a disappointment anyway?

“Am I having fun watching you with another woman at my engagement party?” You ask softly, shaking your head. “I get it, I’m not your type. I knew that from people telling me so.”

He pauses, right in the center of the dance floor.

“Yet I expected some decorum, I expected you to at least be respectful, not to show the world how unappealing you find me,” you whisper, biting down on your lip, shaking your head now. “I wanted to at least try here, with you.”

Satoru can’t speak.

Until he spins you, and catches you, his big hand taking over your waist, thumb pressing under the swell of your breasts. He almost falls then, from just a look, yet he holds himself back, he stops every insane thought and action, laughing easily, like he’s amused.

Satoru is good at hiding.

“Ya thought we’d have some story book romance, huh? Oh… you’re a fairy princess and I’m from another kingdom? And oh…” He leans down, so low to you, lips a breath away. “I fall for the princess, she’s just so beautiful, how can’t I?”

“Gojo…”

“News to you, perfect little fairy princess, I’m not interested in marriage, or any of this shit, this show, I fucking hate it,” his words are harsh, as he squeezes you too tightly, so tightly you’re shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Your prince from another kingdom just stuck his fingers in a waitress. That’s reality, sweetheart.”

You tremble in his hold, and he knows then.

He hurt you.

Good, he thinks, shit will be easier that way, safer if you hate him, if you smack him, tell him to fuck himself. Yet you tilt your chin up and spin as the dance calls for, giving a little curtsey as he steps closer, not showing a hint of emotion aside from your tears that you seemingly can’t stop.

“I see,” is all you say then, stepping back into his arms, as the crowd of gossiping families speaks of it all, you hold all of your composure, even as he raises a brow, looking down at you. “Maybe I am foolish, to have thought it that way. Yet I still don’t understand why you’re…”

“What, little princess? So mean?”

You just look down again, quiet, swallowing visibly, you smell too good, invading his fucking senses. “I didn’t think you were mean when I met you as a child.”

“As a child?” Satoru pauses, and you sigh, shaking your head.

“Of course you wouldn’t remember, I’m not very special.” You step back as the song ends, and your tragic eyes meet his, before lowering them and bowing a little bit. “Have a good rest of your evening, I’m feeling a little…” You look at the girl he’d just kissed. “Sick.”

When you rush off, politely excusing yourself, Satoru feels this sinking in his heart, questions simmering under the surface – what if he just was kind to you? What if he at least didn't make a fool of himself?

But he doesn't go after you, no that would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. The thing is, you're much better off without him. So he's dancing with women who make his family furiously whisper amongst themselves, and he just knows -

You will hate him, and you’re better off for it.

*****

You

You didn't expect a fairy tale marriage. Even marrying the man who is basically the ‘prince’ of all the families, all of the clans, the Gojo heir. You may as well be the ‘princess’ of your own, both of you promised as children to each other, knowing no love or match would come to anything.

This was it, your future, but you met him when he was just a little kid, he's two years older than you. His blue eyes and spiky white hair were enough to make your heart race, but mostly you noticed how sad those blue eyes were.

He wasn't mean then, he was kind and reserved, not boisterous, laughing and acting a fool. He was cautious more like you are, both of you not wanting to disappoint your very harsh parents who had so many expectations. Satoru had given you his hand, holding it tightly, pressing a little kiss on the back of it.

So you'll be my wife some day

Yeah…

You're um… pretty.

That was it, just a moment and then he'd had to run off. And you only saw Satoru in bits and pieces, here and there from afar, watching and knowing he didn’t notice you. Yet that moment gave you hope. 

Just to fucking crush it all.

It's your wedding night, and his staff is carrying all of your luggage inside the expensive mansion. Satoru is drunk, you notice he is around you, as if that helps with the pain of having to be married to you, stumbling just a bit and chuckling darkly when you try to help him.

“I'm fine,” he yanks your hand off like you burned him. Your tummy is in knots, you feel sick. “Let me show you your room. Princess.”

He says it always mockingly, tonight you know he was with someone again, he's made no attempt to hide kissing others. You're sure he probably does more, but you're innocent yourself so you don't exactly know what's what. Your parents pounded innocence and propriety in your head.

You'll be Gojo’s wife, you must be pure for him.

What a joke, really, to be pure for someone who will never want you, to watch him kissing on necks in the gardens, laughing until he sees your face. You never have been a very confident girl, but everyone has always told you that you're pretty, lovely, so you sort of didn't think your looks were an issue.

Then again, it could just be you. Maybe you're boring, maybe you're too proper. Your mind wracks with doubts as he leads you up the winding staircase of the Gojo mansion up to a dark hallway. He opens a door and you pause, breath catching in your throat at how beautiful it is.

“This is our room?” You ask softly, the blue silk bed and gossamer canopy snug in a room of soft whites and blues. He chuckles, making you look at him.

“They had it made for us, pretentious isn't it?” You blink a bit.

“I think it's beautiful,” it's quiet when you step in, still in your beaded and saying white wedding gown. You slip off your veil and take a breath. Looking in the mirror.

You look gorgeous today.

No matter what he says or doesn't say, you see it in that reflection. In your lashes, in your eyes, in your lips, painted a pretty crimson. Your body is showcased to perfection, modest but still sensual, just hints of your lines and curves outlined, the material glinting in the soft light.

“Your room,” he says at the doorway, and you pause, making him smirk. “You didn't think we were fucking did you?”

You blush furiously, looking down nervously at your hands entwined in front of you. “I did think we would… make the marriage official even if you don't find me attractive.”

It's dead silent, lingering in the air – your insecurities rampant.

“Why? Because our duty?” He asks, stepping inside, his dress shoes echoing on the floor, coming to stand behind you, reflection in the mirror making you tremble.

“We will need to have babies, it's expected of me. Or I'll be… a failure as a wife.” Your voice breaks, and for a moment you see blue eyes soften, you feel fingertips slipping over your straps, yet they halt, and his eyes narrow. 

“I won't fuck you, not for duty or expectations, fuck them and fuck that.”

It's like a slap to the face. You take a breath, trembling now. “Gojo, am I that displeasing really? I tried so hard to look-”

“Nothing will make me fuck you,” he murmurs coolly. “We will ride this shit out till I find a way to end it somehow.”

“End it?” your brows draw together, eyes swimming in unshed tears, his fingers slip off now, going to your back, slowly undoing the little rows of buttons methodically.

“An annulment, divorce, whatever… fuck this shit, I'm not staying married.” he is casual as he helps you out of your dress, knuckles tracing up your spine, then he smirks. “Oh shit. You want me? Hah… that's cute.”

“I… um… you…” You're flushed, reflection in the mirror blushing, as you look at him, his cruel smirk, his mean eyes. “Am I not supposed to want you?”

“Of course you do, I am Satoru Gojo,” he presses those straps down, pausing when he gets a view of your breasts as you hold the dress against them, your back exposed and bare. “You can always touch yourself and think of me, who am I to deny that? But I will never touch you.”

It's like he just stabs you in the stomach. You turn, facing the cruel, tall man now, on the night you hoped for something, anything, but you're just met with a mean curve of his lips. “So what, you'll just… fuck anyone but me?”

“You can cuss?” He laughs a bit, fingers curling along one of the carefully coifed ringlets.

“Yes, I can. I just don't usually,” you take a breath. Trying to remember. 

Obey him.

Treasure him.

For your family

“You don't know me and you won't even try to, will you?”

“You want dick that bad, huh?” You gasp, slapping him as hard as you can then, he winces and rubs his cheek, glaring at you. You falter, looking at his pink cheek and gasping.

“I'm sorry. I…”

“Let's get one thing straight, princess,” Satoru Gojo leans over you, an arm on either side, tilting his head as you grip your wedding dress tightly to your chest. “We can do our own things. I get it. You have to live here for now.”

For now.

“But don't you dare fucking hit me,” he grips your wrist, bruising with his long fingers, you gasp out at the pain, tears falling. “Not used to men not wanting you, huh?”

“What!?” You're blinking in confusion, his grip tightening, your heart sinking.

You feel so sick.

“Never been turned down because you're the family princess, aww. So cute,” he leans down, touching your cheek, eyes a cruel bluee. “Everyone after that money, after a chance with you, so special. Well you're not fucking special to me, we are just the same.”

“I don't think I'm special or anything!? I never said that.”

“Don't have to, I can just see it.”

You're shaking in his hold. “I just thought we could try, you don't even know if we have anything, a connection or-”

Gojo laughs at you.

He laughs. 

“Try what, fucking you? You want my dick real bad.”

“No!? Just if we could feel a connection? I… like you haven't kissed me, how do you even-”

Satoru grabs your face, leaning low and pressing his lips against yours, capturing them and making you lose your breath. You melt when his plump lips work yours, when a hand comes to entangle in your hair, your hands slipping off your dress so that your nipples hit the cool air.

His tongue slips in your mouth, exploring the recesses with far too much finesse, hot and drooling as he presses you against the hard wood of the dresser.

You've never kissed.

You try to move your tongue back, knowing you're awful at it, your arms slipping around his neck. He's mean, he's cruel, but you want to try, you want to have this. Feel whatever this dizzy sensation is, one of his hands gripping your breast as he pulls back, lips glossy, eyeing them now.

“I'll give you this,” he murmurs softly. “You have perfect tits.”

“Um…” You're stammering again, whimpering when his thumb brushes your nipple. 

“Perfect posture, pretty face, nice little body. It's not enough though sweetheart," he pulls back now, grinning and crossing his arms as you just stand there. “There, your kiss, and there's nothing between us. Is there? Enough to shove that fantasy out of your head?”

Nothing!?

“You think keeping your tits out will make me hard?” You gasp, covering them up, blinking back more hot tears.

He wipes his lips with his thumb. As if to remove the kiss from his memory. You look down, pain making you dizzy – deep pain.

“I just… you’re so sure that this won’t work that you’re not trying!” He laughs softly, without humor.

Charming. Handsome. Cruel.

Satoru’s two fingers brush down your collarbone and across it, a mean smile on a devastatingly pretty face as he watches goosebumps dance across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"

"I just…" you cover yourself with your arms now, suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a kid turning you down, on a night you felt so beautiful. "I just thought we could try to find some common ground, to maybe make this work. Become… more?"

He leans down, his sweet breath against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glitter, cold like the most beautiful sapphires, and just as hard, there’s no emotion in their depths. So cold you shiver, swallowing nervously.

"Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground, and them with it.”

“Burn it to the ground?” Your whisper is soft, his lips curve mean when he grips your chin.

"You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you. That's the most you're getting from me.”

Not. For. You.

"What is so wrong with me?” You hate how desperate you sound.

Was this who you are?

Do you know yourself outside of becoming Satoru Gojo's wife?

“It’s not…” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You just don’t seem to get it, little princess. It’s an inconvenience, this entire thing.”

Great.

You’re just a fucking inconvenience to your ‘husband’.

“We will let them think we're good for a year, maybe two. Then I'll get out of this, you should thank me really, it's not like you chose it either.”

He turns now, leaving you close to collapsing, with the pain, with the casual cruelty. “Satoru…”

“Don't fucking call me that,” he snaps, looking back at you. You step back and bump into the elegant dresser, shaking as he looks at you with such hatred. “You don't get to call me my first name.”

“I am… I am sorry if I messed something up. If I did something wrong…” You're sniffling your tears, trying to keep it together. “I haven't even kissed before and I probably am just bad at it. Just give me a chance to-”

“Stop trying,” his voice is softer, like he fucking feels bad for you. That's worse than his cruelty – pity. “Just keep to yourself and I will too, until I find a way out of it. It's useless to try.”

“Useless to?”

“Sweetheart,” his tongue is honeyed, a lilt to his voice. “I'll never want you.”

The knife in your heart?

Twisted.

“Oh, I see…” You take a breath, just nodding then, hands gripping the beaded material so tightly they ache.

Obedient.

Sweet.

Serve your husband.

It's what you were trained to be, a traditional wife who follows her husband's orders, even your stinging palm was beyond what you're used to. How can you serve a man that doesn’t want you, how can you obey someone when their only order is for you to quit trying?

As he walks out, with just one look over his shoulder before he shuts that door, leaving you alone in the room on your own in tears on your very wedding night… how can you act like that kiss meant nothing to you? How can you not sink down on that bed all alone, and sob.

The boy you fell in love with doesn't remember you.

Doesn't want you.

No, he hates you.

And you'll have to endure this and be a failure to your parents, the worst of all your fears.

You don't stop sobbing until dawn breaks into the windows.

*****

Gojo

It's been a month of having you in his home, you're trying to be so perfect too. Dinner ready every night, you sit there and wait for him, smiling so pretty, wearing some new outfit as if he will ever touch you again, trying to talk to him, to get to know him.

Satoru can't stand you.

All you do is make him want to end it quicker, so that he has no feelings in this. No amount of slutty little slips or lingering before bed time is getting him to consummate the marriage, to give in to what his family and elders shoved on him, controlling his entire life.

Nah fuck that.

Satoru is balls deep inside his secretary right now, condom dripping with her cum as he lets her bounce up and down his latex covered cock. He leans back and moans as she works him like a pro, bouncing her ass and letting it jiggle under the shoved up pencil skirt.

Of course he thinks of you, fists his cock to images of those tits, imagines those lips around his tip. All the more reason to not fuck you, imagine if he did? You were a virgin, probably would lay there and not know how to do shit, you could barely kiss him back.

He'd have to be all gentle, not slam you down and bottom out like he could right now. She's moaning, too loud, he has to slam a hand on her mouth, lips against her ear.

“We're at work,” he reminds gently.

“Sorry Mr. Gojo. Mnh!” Satoru's big hands work her up and down, bottoming out as she cums, covering her own mouth as she screams out.

“Hah, so messy,” he taunts, she's squirting all over his Armani slacks, right when the door opens.

Fuck.

Did he not lock it?

He pauses, and its…

You.

You quickly shut the door and turn away, as his secretary gasps, panicking and lifting up. Satoru drags her back down, eyeing you.

“Wife,” he teases, you turn to look at him, lunchbox in your hands. “Didn't expect you at my work. Can I cum real quick, then we can talk?”

You say nothing, obedient little thing that you are, not an ounce of fire in you aside from a little smack. He supposes that's how you were raised, how boring really, but he shoves the woman down once more. Toying with her clit and making her moan in front of you, right as he busts in that condom, groaning softly.

“Fuck, there we go,” he taps her and she hops off, giggling when she tugs her skirt down, rushing past you.

“Mrs. Gojo.” she says, you just step back and nod.

“Hello.”

‘Hello’ is what you say, to the woman who'd been riding your husband's cock?

He tosses the condom in the trash under his desk, sighing and smirking over at you, when you turn and see him, still hard and covered in milky seed, turning back around again.

“I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry?” He demands, slipping his boxers up now. “I was fucking someone and you're sorry?”

“I should have called first,” you turn back again, as he zips up, cheeks tinged pink.

You look beautiful today.

He wouldn't tell you. But you do.

“I was just… I learned to make sushi? I was so bored lately. Then… they kind of look ugly? But they're um… yummy and-”

“Just stop, fuck,” you look at him, tears in your eyes, clenched fists at your side when he takes the bento box. “Stop trying so hard, it's not gonna happen.”

“Gojo-”

“Stop, don't hurt yourself more.”

“But why am I so… why would you never ever want me?” you whisper brokenly then. “I am not trying to be mean but her? She's not even… attractive!? I don't-”

He laughs at you again, shaking his head. “You are a spoiled rich girl, a mean little thing. Because she's not drop dead gorgeous I couldn't want her? Looks mean nothing really, little princess. It's just you who I don't want.”

Your breasts heave up and down, finally a glare on your otherwise sad little pretty face. “I am trying!”

“I don't want you to fucking try, constantly acting like the perfect wife. I don't want it. Don't want you, how clear can I fucking make it!?”

You step up to him then, tilting your head to look up at the tall, cruel man, lipstick on his fucking neck, smirking at you. “Well maybe I don't want YOU, but I fucking TRY.”

“Oh. You want me,” he tilts your chin up, grinning at you, feeling your skin hot to the touch. “Bet you're so desperate you'd lick her pussy off me. Wouldn't you? For a chance.”

“I would never,” you shake your head. “Fine, you win. I won't try anymore.”

“Good. It's for your own best interest,” he pats your cheek and smiles. “What's on your plans today, hmm little perfect wife?”

“Not making dinner.” he smirks at you again. “Not trying for you ever again.”

You rush out of the door, dejected, shoulders slumped, when you look back at him though?

That look.

Heartbroken, devastated, done for. Like you just lost all your goddamn will to live.

That one hurts.

Satoru was not cruel before you. Sure he was a dick, he played a lot, he was conceited, but to make you give up trying made him have to push you away. If even fucking in front of you didn't he had to push it further, and he thinks that's the moment you gave up on him.

It's for your own best interest to end this when he can, to be strangers.

Your eyes are burned in his brain as he opens your dumb bento box, and sees these pretty little Sushi. Shaped like little hearts with pink paper instead of the traditional.

He swallows down his guilt when he sees them laid out with a cup of soup, rice, a drink even. And a little note on pink paper.

He hates himself more when he opens it. 

Gojo, I know you don't want me, don't want this, but if we could just try… I think there could be something, truly. When we kissed I did feel it, somewhere buried under the surface. 

I know I'm not who you chose, or who you want, but I hope one day we could grow to like each other. I am trying my hardest and I just hope that it can be enough.

Have a great day at work, I will see you at home.

Tears slip onto the note, bleeding the ink through the paper, he looks at the shut door you'd walked out of, remembering your eyes..they'd always fucking haunt him. That look of defeat written all over them.

You were bringing him lunch and love notes when he was letting a secretary ride his cock.

“Mr. Gojo?” his assistant opens his door, and he pauses, looking up at her. “You have a two a clock.”

“Right…” He just stares at the sushi, at the note, before shutting his eyes, swiping off tears he hasn't cried since he was a little kid.

That night, no dinner is made by you. No it's the chefs as it should always be, but it's a sign, as is you not in that dining room waiting for him. He walks around the mansion, looking for you, for any sign that you're in his home.

Why does he care?

He hears your sobs from the room you are supposed to share, and rests his door on it.

Why did you have to try so hard, when he told you not to?

“He will never w-want me…” You're sobbing and hiccuping. “Never enough.”

He swallows down his own self loathing, resting his head on the door, wondering at just who he is. Is this Satoru Gojo, or is this Satoru Gojo trying to be anything else but what he's always been pushed into?

He walks off to his own room, shutting the door. He'd have to end this marriage soon as he can, in whatever way that meant – to get you the fuck away from him. You may hate him for it, but at least you'd have a little bit of a choice in your life.

*****

You

You come home from an event with Satoru, a press junket where you have to act like a happy newlywed. And you do just that, you play your role, giggling with his hand on your waist, the most contact you've had since that kiss – the one where he felt nothing for you. The one that you felt shaken from, suddenly fucking delusional, in spite of the fact of one thing.

Satoru Gojo made sure to let you know there was no chance, he didn’t mince words, didn’t lead you on, it was your own hope that made you keep trying that first month, that hope that even after seeing him with his dick inside a woman, maybe he’d feel anything. Fuck, he made sure to cum before she got off of him, didn’t even stop mid fuck.

That’s how unimportant you were.

Yet even then you tried, until he made that disgusting comment – licking another woman off him? Calling you pathetic?

Well, you were.

You were not going to be cruel to him despite the rage in your heart, however, you just no longer try, it’s quiet when you take off your heels at the door, and he slips off his dress shoes. You both say nothing, but you feel his eyes on you at times, as if he expects some word out of your mouth.

You no longer say good morning, good night, you just live your life with Satoru for another month like this, he’ll have a girl over in his room, but you keep to yourself, living so alone… yet, with him.

Your few friends you have get worried for you, every time you get to see them over the next couple months you look more tired, you don’t look like you’re eating, you have dark circles under your eyes, the eyes that don’t glimmer any longer. They share their concerns quietly, over a nice brunch, but you act like everything is just fine.

Tonight your mother had pulled you aside, making sure to dissect your looks to a fault, including said dark circles – As if you didn’t have enough insecurities just being married to Satoru Gojo, a man who’d fuck anyone but you.

“You have to keep yourself together, look he’s all over those women,” she whispers, you would laugh but you know better, the woman who beat submission into your head was right here. You just look down, nodding.

“He always is.”

“So you need to get his attention,” you sigh, wanting to explain how hard you tried, even in lieu of him fucking that secretary in front of you, but you merely nod once more. “Get yourself together, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, your hair is oily even. What’s wrong with you!?”

What’s wrong with you?

You peer over to your tall, white haired husband surrounded by women in the ridiculously extravagant event, glamorously dressed when you chose a thin silk number, not caring anymore. You didn’t do your makeup, what did that matter? It’s not as if he’d ever look at you anyway.

“You’ll make him look bad, make us all look bad, you must gather yourself together and try more. Have I not raised you to be the perfect wife?”

The perfect wife.

To a husband who hates you.

“You did indeed Mother,” you manage to say, clearing your throat that night, feeling the eyes of so many curiously flit between you both. “I shall try not to disappoint you and father.”

Yet you are done trying, as he asked you to be, walking up the stairs now with him slowly trailing behind, as if to make sure there was enough space between the both of you.

Try a gym!

Or a spa day?

You need self care babe!

Yeah, your friends advice about self care was not enough for what you’re going through, but they ring in your head, as you head to your room, and reach around to try to unzip your dress. You curse, moving your hand in every which way, you then try to tug it up off you, but it’s half stuck with the tight material.

Fuck, you’re gonna have to ask him.

“Gojo…” You say, standing by his door, he’s up typing away on the laptop, shirtless, his body cut and chisled, muscles moving as he sits up straighter, eyeing you carefully.

“You, coming to my room?” You flush furiously, looking down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll never, ever ask to be intimate again,” you whisper, the pain still piercing your heart, your soul. He just looks down. “I just really can’t get out of this dress, and I swear to god it’s not a hit on or seduction.”

“Ah,” he doesn’t gloat like usual, standing up now, his sweats falling down his hips, you wish he didn’t look so good like that, coming up to you carefully, everything flexing as he walks. “Zipper stuck?”

“I think so, and it won’t go up over my damn hips,” you grumble, when he comes closer. “I’m sorry.”

“You apologize constantly,” you just nod again. “Turn around.”

You do that, lifting your hair off the nape of your neck for him, two of his fingers grasp the metal zipper, slipping it down achingly slow, the noise loud in his quiet room, mixing with his own catch of breath. It’s quiet, a few tendrils falling against the nape of your neck, as the zipper jams just a bit, stuck in the middle.

“Hang on…” He mumbles, clearly irritated, holding the dress tight together and then grasping it, jerking you just a bit as he finally gets it down. “There.”

“Thank you, Gojo,” you say softly, as he looks at the smooth expanse of your back, and for a moment neither of you move, you turn to face him, still holding your hair up. “I didn’t mean to bug you.”

He doesn’t say anything, knuckles brushing down your spine lightly, enough to make you ache in your core, something you’ve never really felt before this moment. You swallow nervously, blushing and looking away, you can’t make a fucking fool out of yourself again.

You will not push something he clearly doesn’t want, it’s just not right – even in the name of ‘marriage’ it should be Satoru’s choice too, and he so clearly would never choose you, in any world. You turn now, straps slipping down your shoulders, his bright blue eyes get dark and lidded when his gaze hits your tits, the tops of them showcased with the little dress half off.

“I’ll let you um… sleep.” You say, he just blinks a moment, clearing his throat now.

“Yeah.”

You slowly walk out, wondering if it is just you looking for something, anything, the way you damn near begged him to notice you, to want you, it was as he said – pathetic. Even knowing he’s fucking women actively, that he doesn’t have the time of day for you at all, you still crave it, you still don’t retaliate.

His phone rings, and you hear him murmuring while you’re in the hallway – 

Hey sweets, hmm… I bet you do miss me.

You feel your feet get heavy, you’ve been barely eating because you’re just fucking miserable, but hearing that as his door shuts and you walk to your lonely room sinks in. The miserable realization that he doesn’t care about you, that even if he gave you a glance, it was nothing, you were nothing to him.

You slip that dress off when you’re in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, even just his proximity always put a blush to your cheeks, as if your body was betraying your mind. You remember what your friends told you the other day, their concerned gazes, and the way they tried to be supportive when they barely know the half of what you endure.

Having to hear your husband jerking it on the phone and talking another girl through it when he has never touched you?

You are tired of crying, so tired.

You look up gyms in the area, sure that’s not really going to help a damn thing, but it might be enough to keep you busy, considering you can’t even work as a Gojo wife, and you’re left alone too often in the quiet, thinking too much. You pick one and map it, while laying in your bed and snuggling, yawning a bit as sleep starts to drag you under.

“All right, let’s see if self care will help me at all,” you say to yourself quietly, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, as you have been.

What’s there to dream about anymore?

*****

Sukuna

His knuckles are aching from hitting the big heavy black bag, punching it over and over, his class is done but Sukuna always loves to blow some steam off, and the best way is to beat the bag to a pulp. His ruby eyes are locked on the target, exhaling and controlling his breathing.

One, two.

One, two, punch.

Cross, jab, hook.

It’s methodical, it’s easy, even as his muscles ache – that ache is sweet, it’s so perfect to feel, he grins as he imagines beating the fuck out of so many people then. Start with his shit father – his mother gets a pass only due to being a woman – and then, all the little pretentious shits he went to college with.

Sukuna was supposed to be training to become a CEO, to take over his father’s position, and be a nepo baby like the rest of those damn men he partied with at the frat in college. Yet, he never, ever wanted that, and he built something for himself – several gyms, he’s trained pro boxers, national champions.

This was what Sukuna wanted to do.

Mostly, he loved to box, he cared just a little bit enough not to join those matches himself – oh, what would that look like!? The Sukuna heir going into a boxing ring!? Yet, at the same time, he had dreams of it. Of being in a ring and knocking everyone out, pushing that ‘family disappointment’ name even further.

For now, however, there is peace in the quiet gym.

That is, until you walk in.

Tired and fucking beautiful, these dark circles that sit under your eyes, a shy little nervous smile, about five minutes before he closes. You stand at the door and look around, frowning then and staring at your phone, wearing some pretty little yoga outfit and a big sweater, like you were getting ready for pilates rather than kickboxing.

“I’m sorry, first off for coming so late, second… ugh I thought you were a regular gym! Where is my brain…” You smack your forehead, turning, when he literally runs up to you, stopping you before fully thinking of it.

Sukuna, running.

You really are that pretty, when he sees a giant rock on your finger he curses internally, sighing.

“I do other things here, a whole room of workout machinery,” he says then, his voice just a little gruff, when you turn and look up at him, so shy, you look right back down at your feet, hugging yourself a bit. “I can show you, just need to lock up.”

“You probably want to get home, god I’m sorry, I slept all day like a miserable… oh… so sorry.” You have said sorry again, rambling now, making Sukuna wonder.

Just who has you this down? This shy? This clearly hurt?

“I meant to come earlier,” you blink back tears, looking up again with them swimming in your pretty eyes, so pretty he can’t decide what color they are, but the way they look at him almost takes him out. “I set an alarm, and promised I would make myself do something, then I just… hit it over and over. And now I’m rambling.”

“And crying,” he smirks a bit, swiping off a tear. “Rambling, crying, coming in late too, huh?”

“I know I’m so-”

“I’m teasing,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. “If you want to do any sport, you need eye contact. Even when they’re all red and bloodshot.”

“Well your eyes are red too! I mean, oh my god!?” You cover your mouth, he laughs again softer this time. “I’m sorry, I like their color, they’re beautiful. Not to say I am hitting on you! Oh dear god…”

“Will you take a breath?” You shut your eyes, nodding. “A deep one, in… there you go, and out.”

Your breasts rise and fall, the sweater slipping further off a shoulder, as he takes in the mess that’s come to his doorstep – a beautiful, tragically broken mess that does something he can’t explain. When you swipe your cheeks and try to give a tremulous smile, you break whatever heart Sukuna has in his chest.

Who fucking hurt you like this?

Damage recognizes damage, but this…

“Don’t apologize a fourth time, yeah?” You nod then, sniffling a bit and attempting a better smile.

“I really just want to… apparently I need self care, my friends say, and I thought a gym might… help. But I can’t box, or kickbox.”

“Why not? You've got a lot of pent up tension," his hands brush down your shoulders softly, feeling the tenseness. "Bet you’d kill it."

"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow, leaned back a bit in the quietness of his gym. "Kickboxing, huh?"

"Think you can't?"

You shake your head, and he sees it all over your face –

You don’t think you can do anything.

“Why not? Husband wants you all girlie or something?” He addresses the ring with a glance, you laugh without humor, your face darkening then.

“He doesn’t give a shit what I do, no, we’re not,” you trail off, shaking your head. “I dumped enough trauma on you just walking in here. What’s your name?”

“Sukuna,” he takes your hand, feeling yours just a little sweaty in his grip. “What do you mean doesn’t give a shit?”

“He doesn’t like me.” He blinks at that. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Let’s say he’s done more with his secretary than me so far,” Sukuna frowns at that, raising a dark brow. “It’s okay, really don’t feel bad for me. I just need something to get my mind off it.”

Who the fuck wouldn’t want you?

He almost says it, but he holds back, nudging his head now. “Lemme show you around the gym.”

He locks the door behind you so no random people try to come after hours, and you follow him through, looking up at the ceiling – it’s high, wooden beams running across it, it was once an old factory before Sukuna bought it off the guy. The walls are all red and orange brick, some of it is painted white, with graffiti art.

“That’s so cool,” you murmur, walking up to it then, touching it gently. “What is all of this?”

“Some of the guys like to come tag it,” he says, there are all sorts of images scrawled, along with Sukuna’s name in big red letters, little demon horns over the U. “I think they’re callin’ me the devil.”

“No!” You laugh, the sound so foreign to your own ears, he can just tell when you sober up a bit, smiling gently now. “You, the devil?”

“Mmm, you don’t know shit about me yet,” you blush a bit at the insinuation. “You’d run out if you knew what I was thinking.”

“You don’t have to be so… nice to me, okay? Because you feel bad.”

Sukuna blinks his pink lashes. “Huh?”

“I can tell, you’re a really good person,” you walk up to him, touching his hand now, sucking in a breath at the contact, fingers tracing his calloused, beat up knuckles. “Thank you though.”

“You think I’m pretending to find you attractive?” He almost can’t take you serious, but your face says it all. “Yeah, no, I’m not that nice. Now follow me before I say something real fucking dumb.”

You’re a flustered mess, letting your hand fall and nodding.

“This is where you’d like to be,” he mentions, toward the room with all of the normal equipment – treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, all sleek and black. “So you can just do your normal little workouts. Yoga mats and all.”

“Oh! I see,” you’re just a step behind him, he can inhale that perfume, he doesn’t know what scent it is but it’s driving him insane, when he stops and you bump into him. “Ah!”

He catches you quickly, frowning a bit at how weak you seem, assessing you. “You eat anything today?”

You blink a bit.

How'd he notice?

“No.”

“It’s six?”

“Yeah, not for a couple days,” you mumble. Sukuna glares at you, far, far too attractive and you’re not even fucking eating.

“If you have some… problem, you gotta tell me if I’m gonna train you, yeah?”

“No, nothing like that, just can’t eat when I’m sad,” your words are soft, barely over a whisper, running your fingers along the arm of a treadmill. “It’s been a few days I guess.”

“A few days, the fuck?” What sort of husband lets his wife just not eat?

He supposes the kind that makes her an unconfident, sad girl that cries the moment she enters a gym. Sukuna knows damn well he shouldn’t get involved in the shit, but just looking at you hurts him, in a way he’s not sure he’s felt, recognizing a version of himself so long ago, when he was young, when he wanted that approval, when he craved it so badly.

But more than that.

“If you don’t eat tomorrow I’ll be shoving food in your mouth,” you laugh at that, covering your mouth again. “I’m serious, the fuck you mean days?”

“I will make myself eat before I come.”

“And you’ll come at a decent time, yeah? Not before I close. Do I need to set three alarms to get your bratty ass up?”

“Bratty!?” you laugh again, shaking your head, the sight so fucking cute it destroys him.

God he’d drop to his knees just to kiss up those thighs, fucking lick you right over those leggings, the ones just a little snug against your puffy lips. And he can tell when you’re close how excited you are, the way your pupils blow out, the way you bite down on that lower lip, the one already chapped from likely biting it to death.

“No one has ever called me bratty,” you muse softly. “The opposite, actually.”

“Well maybe they don’t see it buried all in there, under a cute little fucking yoga outfit,” he brushes your hair back. His mistake, his undoing, and not kissing you is maybe the hardest thing he’s done.

You’re married.

He’s trying to give a fuck about that.

“C’mon brat,” you giggle again. “Here is the ring.”

You pause, looking at the huge rectangular boxing ring, surrounded by mats, boxing bags hanging heavy and worn all over, red and black ropes surrounding it. “Is this where you all practice?”

“Mhm,” he leads you over to a bag, touching it, old and black and hanging, one of his big hands touching it now. “Tomorrow you’ll punch it, today you didn’t eat so you don’t get to.”

“Mean,” your lips twitch though, the color to your face just brighter, your eyes glittering. Fuck you’re pretty sad, and happy, he can only imagine more. “All right, I promise, full breakfast.”

“Eat some dinner, too, then I’ll let you kick it.”

“The bag?”

“No, me.”

“What!?” You laugh again, Sukuna snorts and rolls his ruby red eyes, those pink lashes fluttering. “You’re joking, oh!”

“Yeah, a joke,” he tugs on that pony tail your hair is thrown in. “Two pm, don’t be late.”

When you’re gone he’s locking up, watching you slip into some bmw, waving a bit before you back up, wondering what’s this feeling in his heart, in his gut.

Sukuna loves women, he loves being inside them, pleasuring them, but he’s never just enjoyed making someone smile that much. Knowing you’re married should be a hell of a deterrent, whether he’s clearly a dick or not, Sukuna can’t just swoop in and be with married women.

Right?

Yet when he’s in bed that night, he finds himself throbbing, thinking of seeing your pretty face in pleasure. And he knows damn well whatever ‘morals’ he should have about it aren’t going to help him not make you feel good, in just any fucking way you need him to.

*****

You

“Never seen you eat so much,” Satoru murmurs when he walks in, lipstick across his neck, you’re downing some soup, realizing just how starved you were. “Have the chefs make something.”

“I just haven’t eaten in a week,” you say softly, Satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow a bit, while you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I guess I’m hungry.”

“A week? What nothing here good, they can order anything.”

“I was too depressed,” the honesty is something you’d usually hold in, but something about meeting Sukuna today…

Everything about him.

The way he looked at you, that smirk was teasing, not cruel – he listened to you, he seemed to care, him a stranger. You know it’s nonsense, a man trying to be kind to a crying woman, but it meant a lot, even if that’s all it was. You’d walked in with a smile you haven’t had since you married him.

Satoru Gojo.

“A week? You can die from that shit,” he glares now, and you laugh, but this time it’s a mean little sound. “You think you can’t?”

“Sure, but what would you care?” You take a sip of the wine you’d poured, Satoru’s finest vintage, letting it dance along your tongue. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I did?”

His lips part, brows drawing together. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay? Fuck.”

“You wouldn’t care,” you swirl the wine around, leaning back in the seat, eyes locked with the man you’ve tried so hard to make like you. To just come near you, to give you a chance. “I’m nothing to you.”

He says nothing in the quiet of the dining room.

“You didn’t notice.”

“Well, no I don’t eye your every move, figured you eat before I get home or some shit,” he runs a hand through his silky white locks, eyeing you carefully. “Do you want them to order something specific? Just because me and you will never be anything, doesn’t mean I want you to starve in my fucking house.”

“Nah, I like everything they have here,” you finish the wine in a gulp, an unladylike one that makes Satoru raise his brows, standing then, sighing. “It’s hard to eat when you can’t stop crying, when you constantly feel sick to your stomach knowing the man you live with hates your existence.”

You walk up and he says your name, you pause and look back at him. “I never said don’t eat, yeah?”

“No, you didn’t. But her lipstick is all over your neck, and up on that collar,” he touches it then, looking at the crimson on his pale fingertips. You step up to him, so close you inhale that scent. “Can you buy your sluts some decent fucking perfume, aren’t you rich?”

“What the fuck!?” You smile, you’ve never cussed, but it feels amazing in that moment, seeing him sputter. “What are you going on about, and what’s got your ass so fucking peppy?”

“Their knock off perfume, it’s all over you, every night. Buy them some Chanel or something, yeah? Not like you have to buy me anything, I have my own money. The scent makes me nauseous,” you turn again, Satoru grips your wrist, making you pause for just a moment, shutting your eyes.

Nothing, he feels nothing.

“Thought you didn’t cuss?”

“You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”

He lets you go, no argument, just quiet.

“I’m starting training at the gym,” you mention quietly. “I’ll be going there tomorrow.”

“Some yoga class?”

“Boxing.”

Satoru blinks, you just smile, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “You? Boxing?”

“Mhm, good night Gojo.”

You head up the stairs to your room, falling back on the bed, shutting your eyes, feeling good for the first time since that engagement party, for the first time in months there was something brimming under the surface. Some sort of hope.

Tonight you don’t hear him moaning, or talking to his girls, it’s quiet, and you’re thankful, shutting your eyes and falling into a deep sleep.

You’re haunted by two sets of eyes, two sets of hands, blue ones that are glaring, red ones that are hungry, long thin fingers choking your neck, suffocating you, thick ones painted black freeing you. Torn between them, claustrophobic in the darkness, where all you can see are their eyes. 

You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, holding your racing heart, thrumming against your palm, before you fall back asleep, and there is only one pair of eyes.

And they’re red.

Tysm AGAIN for 30k my loves <3 this will be a doozy

abby could sum up your boyfriend in three words: piece of shit.

she’d known you for years—long enough to remember the way you used to laugh without covering your mouth, and how your eyes used to glow. but ever since you started dating him, all of that faded. 

abby noticed it all. he didn’t bring you flowers. didn’t hold open doors. didn’t even bother to drive you home after a date, leaving you alone to take taxis at midnight. when you chose to prioritize college over him, suddenly you were a “bad girlfriend.” meanwhile, he followed thousands of girls on social media, hid his phone whenever you were around, and refused to post a single picture of you.

the worst part? he wouldn’t even step foot in your apartment. “don’t want anyone to see me there, and that girl is always around,” that's what he said.

“that girl”—was abby, who he refused to name. abby, your best friend. abby, who paid half the rent, who shared her space and her life with you.

abby saw the way you made excuses for him. saw how you cried when you thought no one heard. and it made her blood boil. so she did what he never did. she picked you up after a night at his place because she couldn’t stomach the thought of you in some stranger’s taxi. she made sure you ate, made sure you had someone to talk to, and let you sleep in her bed when you couldn’t sleep.

abby knew you deserved better. everyone knew. you knew. jealousy ate her alive every time she heard you sigh through another excuse. 

but what killed her most was that she knew she could give everything to you. she could treat you like you were the only girl in the world. make you feel safe, wanted—worshiped. she could put her size, her strength, her everything into showing you what it was like to be loved.

abby made herself a silent promise: if she got the opportunity, she’d make you forget about him. every touch, every kiss, every single time she pressed you down into the mattress—she’d remind you exactly who you belong to.

friday night, the apartment was a mess of clothes scattered across your bed. you kept pulling dresses out of your closet, holding them up against your body, frowning at your reflection in the mirror. 

everything felt wrong—not because of you, but because of him.

“he’ll think this is too much.”

“too short.”

“too tight.”

“he’ll say this is too plain.”

abby sat cross-legged on your bed, watching you with her jaw clenched. she hated the way you dressed for his temper instead of yourself—hated that you cared what he thought at all. 

finally, you settled on a light blue dress, the fabric falling to your knees, paired with those sweet black doll shoes and lace socks. you looked delicate and beautiful.

“you look so pretty,” she said.

“thank you,” you smiled softly, but it seemed sad. like you couldn't let yourself fully enjoy the compliment, not when you knew your boyfriend wouldn’t approve.

abby drove you there in her truck—her pride. the leather seats smelled faintly of pine as you climbed in, adjusting your dress nervously.

when she parked outside the house, she turned to you, one big hand braced on the steering wheel. “i want you to have a good time, okay?”

“i’ll try,” you gave her a small, sad smile—like you already knew you wouldn’t.

abby got out first, circling the truck to open your door for you. you let her help you down, her hand steady around yours. 

inside, the house was loud and packed, bodies pressed together. music drumming against your ears. the air reeked of cheap beer and vodka. everyone was already drunk, voices raised in laughter, gossip, and shouts. she stayed close at first, hovering protectively as you scanned the crowd for your boyfriend. when you spotted him, she couldn’t stand the sight of his face, so she muttered something about finding manny, and slipped away toward the kitchen. 

you reached him with a hopeful smile on your lips—nevertheless, he rolled his eyes. “what the fuck are you wearing?” he muttered, looking up and down at you like you’d embarrassed him. “what were you thinking wearing a slutty dress in front of everyone?”

“huh?” your jaw fell open, wide-eyed. “but… it’s long?” you protested, weakly smoothing the fabric down. he scoffed, shaking his head, and took a swig of his drink without another word.

across the room, abby saw the whole thing. she didn’t need to hear it; she could read it on your face. her grip tightened on her beer, jaw flexing as her eyes stayed locked on you. manny was talking at her side, but she couldn’t hear a thing. all she could think about was walking over, grabbing him by the shirt, and breaking his nose right there in front of everyone.

because she’d never seen anything uglier than him trying to make you feel small.

abby had stood like a sentinel at the edge of the party, scanning faces, watching doorways, more tuned to you than anything else. she’d told herself it was because she wanted you to have a good time—but the truth was uglier: she couldn’t stomach the idea of you being alone with him. 

at some point, she saw you walk away from him with a folded-in look. something in her went cold when she couldn’t find you anymore. abby asked around, but nobody knew where you’d disappeared to. finally, someone shrugged and pointed upstairs—“saw her go to the bathroom. she looked like she was crying,” they said.

the world narrowed.

abby walked upstairs until she was in the quieter hallway, the muffled music left behind. she could hear the muted tap of a faucet before she knocked once. nothing. twice. harder this time.

“angel?” she called, tender under the anger. “you in there?”

the door cracked open enough for you to peep out. mascara trailing down your cheeks, lips swollen from crying. when your eyes landed on her, everything that had been held together snapped.

your body was exhausted, as you wrapped your arms around her. “i saw him,” you hiccupped into her chest. “saw him flirting with some random girl. when i told him off—abigail, he laughed, and said, ‘so? she’s hotter than you.’ then, he said we were over because i was being a dramatic bitch.”

abby’s first reaction was physical—animal and immediate. “i’m going to beat the shit out of him,” she spat—her hands going to your back. "i swear."

“no,” you clung to her, palms now flat against her chest. “no—no, don’t,” you begged. “don’t waste your time. stay with me.”

her mouth softened at that, but the anger didn’t leave her body—it simply shifted into something more lethal: protection. she steadied herself, breathed in slowly, and closed the bathroom door behind her, blocking the outside noise.

then, she looked at you properly. abby shrugged off her jacket—the expensive one she pretended she didn’t care about—and slipped it around your shoulders, the fabric swallowing you in pure warmth. she grabbed a tissue from the bathroom's cabinets, and with efficient fingers, she wiped away the mascara from your cheeks and under your eyes.

“look at me,” she ordered.

you blinked up at her. “yes?”

“how are you? do you feel better now?” she asked, her voice pleading with the wish of you being okay.

“lighter,” you took a shaky breath, leaning into the warmth of her palm. 

for the first time since you’d walked into the party, you felt air in your lungs that wasn’t bitter with humiliation. 

“i know it sounds stupid, but… i feel lighter. like a stupid weight i was carrying finally fell… he’s such an idiot,” you said.

“good,” abby smiled softly. “you should feel lighter.”

you let go of abby, smiling at her. “wanna go home.”

abby grabbed your hand, her large callused palms cradling your desperate hand. “let’s get you home then.”

on the walk back through the house, her face was set—not violent, not loud—but unforgiving. she walked you to the truck, buckled you in carefully. as she drove, you tucked your face into her jacket you were wearing—occasionally glancing at abby at red lights when she looked to check in on you.

“don’t worry,” she said once, voice reverent. “i’m not letting him near you again.”

you didn’t have to ask what she meant.

back at the apartment, you slept in abby’s bed, pressed to her ribs. she let you—tucked you under her arm, staying up until she was sure you were sleeping peacefully. when you woke in the morning, you noticed that for the first time in weeks, you slept through the night. abby was still sprawled next to you on top of the covers, one arm draped across your waist lazily, her breath steady and warm against the back of your neck. 

you felt safe. lighter, like you told her last night. 

then the buzzing started. it was faint at first—your phone rattling on the nightstand. then again. again. again. and again. and it wasn’t going to stop. you stirred, groaning, while abby shifted with a grumble, reaching to grab it. her eyes cracked open to see the screen light up to his name. 

“jesus christ,” she muttered, voice rough from sleep. “he’s blowing your shit up.”

before you could grab your phone from her hands, there was a new sound: pounding on the front door. both of you froze. your heart climbed straight into your throat. 

“what the fuck…” abby was already sitting up, hair messy, shoulders tense, walking toward the door.

he never came here. that was his golden rule—not at your place, not where abby is. it was part of his shitty arsenal of excuses. which is why the sound of his fist against your door at 9:00 a.m. made your blood run cold.

you pushed yourself up, tugged abby’s jacket that you were still wearing closer around you. “i’ll see what he wants,” you whispered, feet bare against the floor.

abby looked back at you as you were reaching toward the front door. “sure?”

“yeah,” you nodded and walked in front of her.

you cracked it open just an inch. his face was red, clothes a mess, his phone still clutched in one hand. “why did you leave yesterday?” he snapped. “you just disappeared. made me look like a fucking idiot. everyone thought you left with some random fuck instead of me.”

you blinked, mind cloudy in the haze of sleep. your tongue felt clumsy, your brain unable to catch up to the venom spilling from his mouth. 

abby came to stand right at your shoulder, her presence grounding. “why did she leave?” her voice cut in, and she wasn’t even raising it. “because you were too busy trying to fuck someone else instead of being with her.”

his head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “why do you care so much?” he sneered. “do you want her or something? want to fuck her yourself?” 

the words landed in the air between you three like a lit match.

abby’s jaw flexed. she leaned into the doorframe, not threatening in the obvious way—but you could feel the power rolling off her, and the restraint it took not to knock him down right there.

she tilted her head. “yeah, and what about it?” she said, lips curling. “i do. and i can promise you—i’ll treat her better than you ever fucking did.”

your stomach flipped, heat rushing to your cheeks, and for a second, you forgot he was even there. 

he reeled back, licking his lips—attempting to walk closer. “you—what the fuck—”

“get the fuck off our doorstep,” she warned.

his face twisted, rolling his eyes. “she’s not even worth it—fucking bitch—” his fist twitched upward, like he was stupid enough to think about raising it.

instantly, abby moved with no hesitation. she stepped fully in front of you, shoulders squared. she was bigger than him in every way possible. “don’t you fucking try it.”

you didn’t feel scared. not for a second. because standing behind abby, your cheek brushing her back, all you could think about was how massive she was compared to him—how she didn’t even need to throw a punch to dwarf him, how she didn’t even need to stand fully straight to make him look weaker. 

the sharpness of her words was barely caught by you. but you were sure that whatever she said hit its mark—his face paled, he sneered, and then he turned, muttering curses as he stomped down the hall.

abby turned, and you walked back inside. she shut the door with one firm hand, locked it, and then looked at you. “sorry,” she muttered, eyes darting away. “sorry for saying what i said out there. i shouldn’t have—”

“abby,” you cut in softly. “it’s okay. really. no worries,” you smiled, before brushing past her. “i’m a bit stressed—i need a hot shower. when i’m done, we can talk, yeah?”

her throat bobbed as she nodded, watching you disappear into your room. she leaned back against the door the second you were gone, dragging a hand over her face. 

fuck. her pulse was hammering. not from the almost-fight, but from the fact that she might have made you uncomfortable. 

she showered too, fast and restless, the water doing nothing to wash away the nerves. her mind replayed the look on your face, the softness in your voice when you told her it was okay. she tried to calm herself as she tugged on a plain white tank and a pair of sweats, but she felt unsteady.

a knock broke her thoughts. 

shakily, abby opened her door and nearly lost her breath. you stood there, damp hair dripping onto your shoulders, drowning in one of her shirts—gray, worn, hanging off your frame, not even allowing her to see what you paired it with.

“look—” her mouth parted, an apology rushing up her throat. “i shouldn’t have—”

without a word, you interrupted her, stepping close, both hands sliding to her right arm—squeezing her bicep gently. under your palms, the heat of your hands grounded her. then you smiled. that bright, soft smile she hadn’t seen in so long. the one he’d dimmed. the one she’d missed so badly.

she froze, stunned. her chest went tight, her whole body pulled taut under your smile—the one she thought she might never see again. it simply broke her wide open.

“god, i missed your smile,” she whispered, shaky and rushed. 

you tilted your head, like you knew the way it wrecked her. like you wanted to. “abby,” you murmured. “you don’t have to apologize. not for caring. not your saying what you said. i know you mean well.”

her throat bobbed, and she swore she’d melt under your touch. abby didn’t even realize when you steered her gently, guiding her backward until the back of her knees brushed her mattress—having no choice, she sat down, breath stuttering when you stepped into her space, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of your shampoo.

you stood there, right between her knees, looking down at her with that smile she’d kill to protect. abby’s big hands hovered for a beat, uncertain, before finding the back of your thighs, spreading warm and heavy over you.

“fuck,” abby dropped her head forward, groaning as she pressed her face against your stomach. “i missed that smile so much.”

one of your hands came up, your fingers brushing through her damp hair. “yeah?” the corner of your lips tugged up, easing down until you were sitting on one of her thighs.

immediately, her head tipped back. a sharp inhale caught her lungs, her hands sliding to the top of your thighs. 

“then make me smile, abs,” you leaned close enough to tease.

that made her groan. undone by nothing but the sight of you perched on her and your cooing words. 

“i don’t…” she swallowed hard, jaw clenching. her eyes were earnest as she searched your face. “i don’t want you to regret this. or—fuck—do this just because of what i said. i’ve wanted you for so long, but i want to make it right, and i’m willing to wait. i want it to mean something.”

the idea of taking you too fast, too messy, was destroying her. no matter how badly she wanted you, she wanted to make it right.

nevertheless, your hands came up to cup her jaw, pulling her gaze to yours. “abby,” you breathed, voice low and desperate. “i want this too. please.”

something in her unraveled at your plea. she didn’t even notice her own body moving until your lips were against her.

the first kiss was careful—so carefully sweet—and abby was holding herself back. her mouth moved against yours reverently, one of her hands moving up to trace the curve of your jaw, the other sliding up your thigh to feel the warmth of your skin.

however, the second you sighed into her mouth, the second she felt how small you were straddling her thigh, her restraint cracked down the middle. abby groaned against your mouth, and the kiss shifted—turning greedier. her hand grabbed your hip, dragging you closer as if she couldn’t stand a single inch of space. 

“fuck—” she said against your mouth—kissing you messier now, her tongue brushing against yours. abby broke only for a second, chest heaving. “do you even know how long i’ve wanted this? how many times i’ve dreamed about you—”

you cut her off with a kiss. now, her hunger was palpable, spilling over. every drag of her lips made you realize how starved she was, and you were the only thing that could sate her. as an involuntary reaction, you whined against her mouth—she tilted her head, swallowing every sound you gave her like it was hers to keep.

abby had promised herself she’d be good—gentle, slow, and patient—but the reality of you, warm, soft, and so much smaller in her arms, obliterated every line she swore she’d never cross. and still, beneath that greed, there was a tenderness in the way her hands touched you.

carefully, abby laid you back against her bedsheets, her hands braced at your sides. her mouth kept finding yours, greedy and desperate—and every time you sighed into her, she had to pull back slightly to see you, to make sure this was finally real.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” she whispered as her hands slid lower, to the hem of the shirt you wore, and her restraint wavered.

she tugged it up with careful slowness, her knuckles grazing your skin. when the fabric cleared past your thighs and chest, and she threw it to the floor, she saw what you were hiding underneath. 

a lacy, delicate matching lingerie set. something that was meant to be seen.

abby swore under her breath, head dropping to your throat, kissing, biting softly. “that’s why you wanted to shower, huh? mhm…” her teeth grazed your pulse point, her tongue soothing the mark after. “you planned this, right?”

your back arched under her, a loud whine spilling out before you could stop it, your fingers fisting in her tank top.

“nah,” she pulled back to look down at you, her eyes sharp and demanding. one hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing insistently until you looked at her. “answers, angel.”

“yeah…” your lips parted. “i… i planned it. i saw you this morning—standing in front of him, and you were so much bigger, abby, fuck… you were—you’re on my mind a lot…”

your confession tore the last threads of restraint out of her. her hands roamed lower, palms spreading wide against your thighs, pushing them apart like they belonged open for her.

her voice dropped. “tell me the truth. did he ever fuck you right?”

immediately, you shook your head, your cheeks growing red. abby tilted her head, hand sliding higher, her grip possessive—thumb brushing dangerously close to where you needed her. 

“did you have to pretend with him?” she asked.

“y-yes,” you whimpered.

“angel…” she leaned down, kissing you hard, almost punishing—as if she could erase every fake moan you’d ever given him, every second you’d wasted on someone who didn’t deserve you. her kiss broke for her to rasp against your lips. “you don’t ever have to pretend with me.”

you could feel the war inside abby—how badly she wanted to take her time, and how much hungrier and desperate she actually was.

“abigail, please—” you pleaded, brows furrowing. “stop holding back.”

whatever fragile leash she’d had on herself—it was gone. her mouth was everywhere at once—down your neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin of your collarbone, her teeth grazing the swell of your chest to hear the pitch of your breath change. her hands couldn’t stay still—spreading your thighs wider, gripping the flesh like she wanted to leave her fingerprints there.

when her palm pressed against you, over the panties you’d put on just for her, she groaned. the lace was soaked through, damp against her fingers.

“fuck,” she rasped, her hand rocking against you until you gasped. “he didn’t make you whine like this, right?”

you tried to grind against her hand, and abby grinned—hooking a finger under the lace and dragging it down as you kicked your panties off, baring yourself to her. when her fingers slid through your slick, she smiled.

“look at you,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

she had been starving for this sight.

her thumb circled just right, one finger dipping lower, pressing in slow to see how tight you clenched. “look at how wet you’re for me, baby.”

you couldn’t utter a single sentence. your voice broke into moans as your hips chased her hand, her fingers reaching deeper and better than your now ex-boyfriend’s ever did.

abby licked her lips, her fingers pumping slowly. “tell me, angel. did he ever get you like this? i don’t even have to try to be better, huh? i’m doing nothing and you’re still a fucking mess.”

“he never—” you whimpered. 

“of course he didn’t,” her jealousy flared, hot and merciless. her pace quickened, the heel of her palm grinding against you just right as she pushed another finger in.

lost in the bliss, you reached for her other wrist, dragging her hand up. abby followed your lead, confusion flashing for a second until you pressed her palm to your throat. her pupils blew wide, and she had to bite her lip to hold back a moan—even if she wasn’t the one being touched.

“so pretty,” she pressed down, slightly, just to feel your pulse hammering under her hand. “so small under me, baby.”

you moaned, eyes fluttering. “you’re so fucking big, abby… your fingers… fuck.”

her mouth crashed against yours again, her body pressing you deeper into the mattress—every ounce of her size, strength, and hunger caging you in. 

“mine,” abby whispered against your lips, her hand squeezing lightly at your throat while the other worked you ruthlessly. “all fucking mine.”

it seemed like abby already knew the rhythm you needed—like she’d studied it in her head for years—by how she had you unraveling faster than you could even process. it was embarrassing how quickly you were about to cum.

every thrust was sharp, every drag of her palm against your clit was cruel in its precision, and the sounds she dragged out of you were utterly obscene. 

your head tipped back, mouth hanging slightly open. “abby—oh god—fuck—” you gasped, thighs trembling as the tension built too fast.

she leaned down, smiling at the sight of you. “he never had you like this. never made you feel good like this, yeah?” her jaw clenched as you tightened around her. “say it, angel. say he couldn’t give you this.”

you couldn’t respond—you were gone, brain mushy under the flood of heat curling inside you. and then she pushed—curling her fingers just right where you needed, her thumb pressing in merciless little circles until you broke with a high-pitched whine, pleasure spilling over in a hard, messy wave.

abby didn’t stop. she held you through it until she felt your body go pliant and weak—then, she acted, flipping you onto your stomach like it was nothing.

you were pressed against the sheets, gasping, your arms trying to push yourself up, but abby’s hand was at your back, her body caging yours down.

“stay down,” she ordered, pressing your ass to her hips with rough hands—one of them sliding under to keep working you relentlessly. “you think he could fuck you like this? hold you down like this? make you moan like this?”

her jealousy cracked through every word.

you whimpered, fists tightening in the sheets as another moan was ripped out of you. “abby…”

abby’s lips brushed against your ears, her chest heavy against your back. “answer me.”

“he—he won’t get this anymore… just you, abigail…” your breath came ragged, a few warm tears slipping onto the pillow from pure bliss. “just you.”

abby’s groan was guttural, primal. she pressed her palm harder against you, pinning you tighter into the mattress with her body.

she needed you to feel her strength. her jealousy. her claiming you.

“that’s right, baby,” she cooed, kissing your spine, then to the side of your neck, her teeth dragging hard enough to make you whimper. “just me. only me.”

and she didn’t let you up—not even when your body shook, not when your voice broke. abby made sure you felt every ounce of her hunger, every bit of what he never gave you and never would again. she had you trembling, your body shuddering with every drag of her fingers.

your face was buried in the sheets, muffling your cries, but abby wasn’t having that—not when she wanted all of you. she groaned, gripping you by the waist and dragging you upright, holding your body against her chest with an ease that made your stomach flip.

you were small in her arms, weak from pleasure. one of her hands wrapped around your ribs, pressing you back into her body, while her other hand—her fingers were still buried deep inside you. 

her head dripped down, lips brushing your ear, tone laced with condescension. “there you go,” she murmured, forcing your head back with her own, so you had to look at her. your lashes were wet, cheeks flushed a deep pink, your lips parted in a dazed smile. “such pretty eyes. such a pretty smile. but not a single thought in that head, right?”

“abby—” you whispered, closing your eyes as her thumb circled your puffy clit.

“such a sweet girl,” she pressed a kiss to your temple. “you just needed me to make it right. to make you feel so good. yeah?”

you nodded frantically, grinding helplessly against her hand. your shame was so long gone that the words ended up spilling out between gasps. “wanted you, abs… wanted you for a long time—but i couldn’t—i couldn’t cheat—” your breath hitched, back arching as her fingers curled inside you. “fuck, i thought about you when i was with him—i thought about you when he was—”

guilt burned through, making you stop mumbling. but abby wasn’t letting you off the hook. her hand at your ribs moved up to grab at your tits enough to make your eyes snap open at the new sensation, to make you clench around her fingers. 

“no shame now,” abby ordered, tone sharp. “you don’t get to stop there, angel. tell me what you thought about, or i stop. right now.”

your eyes went wide, panic and need crashing through you. your hips bucked against her hand, desperate to keep the rhythm, desperate not to lose it, but she stilled her fingers.

“don’t be mean—a-abby, please—” you pleaded. 

“now i’m mean? i can be so much meaner if you don’t speak,” she clicked her tongue, her hand flattening against your tits, making you keep still. “say it. tell me.”

you couldn’t resist, couldn’t take her holding back. “i thought about… about you when he was fucking me—he didn’t make me feel anything, i just thought how much better you’d fuck me. i thought about your hands—fuck, about your arms around me, about you holding me down, about how strong you are—i’m pathetic.”

her head dipped, teeth sinking into your shoulder as she slammed her fingers deeper, her pace picking up again. “that’s it,” she smiled, your head tipping back. “that’s my good girl. thinking about me even when you were with him. thinking about me fucking you. you were always mine, angel.”

abby wanted to fuck the last of him out of your memory. until there was nothing left but her.

she didn’t let up. not when your voice cracked, not when your legs trembled, not even when your nails dug half-moons into her forearm. she was gone—consumed by jealousy, and by years of wanting you.

her fingers pumped into you so mercilessly, you didn’t register her free hand moving to pin you tighter—palm firm on your throat, harshly forcing your head back so she could watch your eyes rolling back.

“say it,” abby’s breath was hot against your ear. “say it was always me.”

the sound of you soaking her fingers was obscene in the otherwise quiet room.

“always me,” she repeated. “say it or i don’t let you cum.”

humiliation and need burned hot inside you—you wanted to bury your face in her neck, but her grip was so strong you couldn’t do anything but moan.

“it was—abby—it was always you,” you cried, words spilling out messily. “always wanted you, wanted you so bad—oh god—i always thought about you, about you fucking me—fuck, i was so stupid for being with him.”

“my sweet girl. mine. all mine,” she groaned.

she ruined you. her fingers were so expertly moving you could barely think straight—it didn’t take long before you came, as the combination of abby allowing you to grind against her rough palm and her fingers deep inside you became too much.

you collapsed against her arms. it was messy—slick dripping down your legs and her hand. however, abby held you through it, not letting go, making you ride the wave until you were limp in her hold.

immediately, abby’s grip softened, her hand slipping from your throat to cradle your jaw, pressing soft kisses to your damp cheeks, your temple, your shoulder where her teeth had marked you.

“hey, hey,” she murmured, her voice suddenly gentle, almost guilty as she pulled out. “easy, angel. i’ve got you. breath in—and out—that’s it.”

you whimpered weakly, your head lolling against her chest, turning slightly in her grip. abby looked at the state of you—sweat, tears, your messy thighs, your bitten skin—and huffed a soft laugh, pressing her lips to your hair. 

“i think you’re gonna need another shower. sorry about that, baby,” she whispered.

“abby,” you let out a broken little laugh. “i can’t even stand right now.”

“i never told you you had to do it,” abby smiled. “that’s fine—i’ll carry you. i’ll do everything. you don’t need to move a muscle.”

and you believed her, because abby always cared for you. even when you didn’t ask her to. abby carried you into her bathroom like you weighed nothing. you were pliant against her body—your cheek pressed to her throat as you were still dazed.

gently, she set you down at the edge of the bathtub—reaching to turn the water on, her big hand testing the temperature, the sound of rushing water filled the room.

“let me,” she said, abby’s palm brushing your knee.

she unhooked your bra off, her fingers skimming your skin in a way that felt reverent—her gaze lingered, but she was focused on her task. abby guided you into the steaming bath once the water was high enough—the heat wrapped around you, coaxing a sigh from your lips.

abby didn’t climb in—she rolled her sleeves, her eyes fixated on you with an intensity that wasn’t lust anymore, it was pure devotion. she dipped her hands into the water, scooping some to wet your hair, then reached for the shampoo. the way her fingers worked through was slow, careful, meditative, and you leaned into her touch without thinking, closing your eyes as she massaged your scalp.

“i want you to know something,” she said softly. “i don’t want only that from you. i don’t want your body, or for you to think i’m a jealous, crazy mess. i want to love you. i want to worship every part of you. i want to do better for you. i want to treat you right, okay?”

your eyes snapped open, and she froze for a moment, afraid she’d said too much. but then you smiled brightly. “abby,” you giggled, soapy water dripping down your temple as you leaned your head back into her hands. “you don’t have to worry. i know you. i want this too.”

the words lit her up in a way you’d never seen. her face softened, her shoulders relaxed, and her thumbs brushed tenderly against your temples. she rinsed the shampoo from your hair carefully, pouring water down in even streams so it never stung your eyes. her fingers were patient, gentle, combing through every strand until the suds were gone.

“i’m sorry,” she murmured after a while, her voice hushed. “for the jealousy. i shouldn’t—it was not my place to say stuff like that—”

“shh,” you interrupted, tilting your head so she could look at you. “it was hot, abby. and it was true—he was a piece of shit and i wanted you just as badly. you don’t need to be sorry for that.”

her lips parted, as if to argue, but she saw the ease in your expression, the playful tilt of your mouth, and she let herself believe you.

she helped you out of the tub when the water cooled, wrapping a towel around your shoulders and patting you dry herself. you didn’t fight her for control—she wanted to take care of you, and you let her.

in the bedroom, she eased you into the softest, comfiest clothes she found—her own oversized tee and loose boxers. then she sat you down on the edge of the bed, squeezing lotion into her palms and warming it before she smoothed it over your skin. her touch stayed slow, working the almond lotion into your arms, your legs, your shoulders, finishing with a kiss pressed to each place she’d touched.

last came your hair. she sat behind you, carefully brushing out the damp strands, her large hands steadying your head when you swayed with exhaustion. the rhythm of the brush through your hair, the faint sound of her breathing, the ghost of her lips pressing against the crown of your head—it all felt like heaven.

“you’re so beautiful,” abby whispered, almost to herself, as she set the brush aside and wrapped her arms around you from behind. “thank you for letting me do this.”

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.

Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.

You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”

“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.

“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.

The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.

Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.

And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.

So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.

As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.

You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.

Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”

But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.

He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.

“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.

“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”

“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.

The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.

You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.

“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.

“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.

You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.

You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.

"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.

As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.

Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.

You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.

In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.

"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”

He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.

"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."

He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.

"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."

"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.

You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."

“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.

“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”

“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“To be forgotten,” you whisper.

He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.”  He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.

Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.

He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates. 

Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.

 But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.

But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."

"I know," he replies curtly.

Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"

“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.

There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.

Lyla, for once, remains silent.

3 months later…

Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.

 For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.

The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.

The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.

He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.

Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.

In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.

As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.

His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.

“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.

“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.

“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."

"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.

“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.

“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.

“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.

“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.

The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.

You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”

She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."

You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.

"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.

You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.

"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."

Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."

You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.

"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"

Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.

"Strange how?" you prod.

"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.

"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.

"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”

Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.

“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.

You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.

Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”

4 months later…

Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.

“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.

“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.

Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.

“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.

“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”

You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.

You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."

Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”

“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.

“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.

“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.

You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.

Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him. 

“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.

Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"

Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."

“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”

With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.

1 year later...

One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.

At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.

Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 16-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.

Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;

Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.

“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.

Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”

Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.

Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.

“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”

You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.

In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.

“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.

“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.

Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.

Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.

“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.

Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.

Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.

Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.

Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.

Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”

Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."

Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.

"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."

Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?” 

Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."

Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”

Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.

Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.

You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.

"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.

“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.

Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.

Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”

Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”

Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.

As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.

The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.

Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”

Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”

Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.

Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.

Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.

The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.

“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”

Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.

“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”

a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.

Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM

P.S I still can’t reply to your comment but if I missed your tag or you want to be tagged for Part 3 please comment and I’ll add you.

@ieatmunson @buggiecrawls @strawberriesareprettycool @lux-thebimbo @hk-4ever @invaderzim13 @hannah-goulll @arivh @alwayslegendarymoon @deputy-videogamer @560ria @myconglomerateromance @mateihavenoidea @alwayslegendarymoon @shibble @pagesfalling @kurooyy @regretfulmoth  @crazysandwichlady2p04 @ poet-dae @rev-hellfyr @suya-x-syx @daimiyu @lazy-idate @jenniferdixon05207 @lostprince @amplsblog @eternalsams @cubinhodegelo @ prvttystvr @dabi-hawksbrainrot @noxiousfeline @maeplayscello @everyoneluvsvane @vinskyspuff @snazzajazz @yuuuumii @loreleis-world @fuckub @shugrcrush @fandomsinthegalaxies @vladersira @greatstudentbird @avengersinitiative2012 @therealnekomari @xiangping-28 @tanchosanke @tulipsc @tonystank1011 @la--figue @pingpongfingfong @ash-tronomicall @spardaenjoyer @venuswash3re @sofi786 @ranpuwo @sayonaratoyou @fuckthatfeeling @k7a4 @mxjss @rizahawkeye1380 @sinnamongirl @soosheee @cheezit-luv3rr @ransbatonowo @azurerose010 @azestar12334 @muertethekid @jay-joy @staronus0buttercup @mashiromochi @iseizeyourmom @salty-sister @aryjai @surhii @sinning-fae @gel0517 @hinata7346 @princessfuckyou @danyisawesomedontdenyit @typicalife-101 @arabell13 @thekinghazzastyles @sockears @perfectprofessorloverapricot

 @mkissad @spiritndrain @melovetitties @ihateuguys @honeycriess @pinkbearddragon @yrlocalsimp @savagemickey03 @beiroviski @vanilla-sweets @autismsupermusicalassassin @itsjstz @wifeofnatasharomanoff @alleo-i @jxsoook @saint-chlorine @novausstuff  @canary58143 @amal31 @belle643 @ellahlour @akyino @give-me-cats-or-give-me-death @daemonlover @jiminling @forever1kay @chixkencxrry @nessrin @noelsilly @crispmarshmallow @rfvuhhvbin @johfaam @cenkisabibl @rosseyblog @pixiepaintt @pissboyazzy @couchpotato2006 @youcantseem3

@chuckle-nuts @trashybebe @cowabummwerdude @fresa-luna @fjordg @perkip3nguin @randomficlover @skylarlyn823 @prettysbliss @sajova @xxtipherethxx @yeahnotf @pendeja4bts @shoxji @mysingularitybts @moon-alexys00 @szaplsdropthealbum @kibo-ichiro @ace-mothman

@burningfishkidlamp @hellsingalucard18 @mimooyi @riverflowsanywherebuthere @desmanchaprazeres @dorck26 @seasaltjackal  @cupcakeandkisses @lost-in-thevoids @starlightaura @stained-tea-cup @yarri0 @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @rizzie-lovee127 @shirasakai @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @hiptobesquare13 @iloveplayboicarti @cosmoscoffeee @spaceemeeatt2 @bblouifford @aisyakirmann @xdarkcreaturex @lotustv @fenrysashryver @bri-loves-sunflowers @azrealbanerstark @lostaudfound @ithechipmonk @bby-lupin @mortallyscrumptiousmilkshake @hxlytrin @laennetargaryenskywalker @angi531 @namjooningera @stevenknightmarc @vr00m-vr00m @itsmadamehydra @blep-23 @alastorhazbin @bluevenus19 @bxdbxtxh15 @mrs-ohara09 @strangetrashblog @embersfae @animez96 @thekidscallmebosss @missdragon-1 @navyyoo @harmonics0537 @1206kju @chiharuundead @ahleeyuh @amyg1509 @kiruoris @rvnd0m-th1ngs @vallaufeyson @roses-and-grasses @enalofi @janeety @ash-aragami @peachycreamysmut @saltyllamakidwombat @3zae-zae3 @soupinacan444 @thepassionatereader @lukasdreamland @miracleangel19 @blackqueengold @yosistairl @adv3rs1ty @walkingtravesty97 @girlbloggingisamentalillness @rocketstyx @joined2023lol @whatdudtheysay @thatshouldgoonahat @eileen201804 @nuhteyam @panassbitch @ahoeformyself @abyemayiamay @stevenandmarcslove @froginmygarden @yunamaii @polireader @st0rmyt @delusional505 @enesitamor @groovycass @teamowolverine @blueoorchid @ausara23 @cyberv0dka @danika1994 @rawegggohan @mysteriousmeaning @defiance749 @rinx35 @tamales78 @saucypeanuttt @mitskistannn @shinydragoneagle @rorytrusov @shoyosdoll @sleepycow21 @urdads-gf @okgenic @nim360

The one constant across the world was sunsets.

Whether it be inside the walls or on the other side of the sea, on clear days such as this one, the dying rays painted the sky in the same hypnotizing palette, and you and Jean had the chance to bask under it as he walked you back home.

The silence was comfortable and felt fitting after an entire day of engaging and heartfelt conversation. You saw no need to fill it, but Jean couldn't help but comment, "It's so pretty."

Looking up at him, you meant to agree—the sky was pretty—but his gaze was on you instead of the scenery overhead. The cheeky smile tugging at his mouth at the sight of your widening eyes proved the compliment had indeed been intended for you, and you quickly glanced away.

Still overwhelmed by the burn of his attention on your face even after your surprise had been overcome, you struck up, "That restaurant was very nice. You didn't strike me as the type who liked such fancy places."

"I don't. I just wanted to impress you."

So much for regaining your composure—you cleared your throat. "You didn't have to go that far to impress me. It must've been expensive."

The way his lips twitched to suppress a grin didn't escape you. "It's okay. A friend of ours works there; he treats us well."

"Is it the blonde chef?"

"Niccolo, yes."

"He looks nice."

"He is. He's a Marleyan."

"Oh, well, I guess there are good people everywhere."

"We hope so," Jean sighed, and only a few moments later you were climbing the stairs to your house. "Actually, I meant to tell you earlier, but we're traveling to Marley soon. So with the preparations and all, I might not be able to stop by as much."

Now feeling more like yourself, a dash more confident even, you leaned against the doorframe and unabashedly stared up at him through your lashes. "That's okay. Good luck with your trip. I hope it goes as planned."

Your tone must've snapped something inside of him because, as he awkwardly towered over you, the narrow front step door barely giving him room to stand a few inches away from you, it was now his turn to get all rattled. His cheeks were soon dusted with a light pink, and all he managed was a nod and a muttered, "Thank you."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. It was simply adorable and most appealing how he could go from being so mischievous to nervous in a matter of minutes.

"What?" he mumbled defensively.

With a shake of your head, you asked, "Isn't there something else you forgot to tell me?"

One of his brows quirked in confusion.

"It's your birthday today."

Shock instantly overtook his traits. "How did you know?"

"The cake Sasha and Connie got you last night was from our bakery."

"Fuck," he quietly cursed as he rubbed the back of his neck, reaping yet another sweet laugh in response. "It's just I didn't want to make our first date about myself. But yeah, that's why Commander Hange agreed to give me the entire day off."

Reaching inside your purse, you handed him a small box. "Happy birthday then."

"You shouldn't have," he whispered, guilty despite the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"I wanted to impress you," you countered, watching as he unwrapped his gift. "Thought it'd go nice with your suits."

"It would. Thank you. I'll wear it in Marley," he smiled, carefully folding the tie and putting it away in his pocket.

At the meeting of your gazes, Jean felt all the nervousness flood him again. You, on the other hand, didn't seem to be all that bothered, eyes shining with unfamiliar anticipation as you pressed your back against the door and sank your teeth in your lower lip.

Dates etiquette wasn't his forte, nor were ladies in general. His life choices had never allowed him to explore that scope. But what your body language screamed now even the most inexperienced of men could easily read.

Before he could form a coherent reply, however, his mind was thrust into an even bigger mess at the feeling of your hands on his chest and a soft peck on his chin.

"You're so tall," you chuckled, still pressed up against him, palms sliding to his collar. "And this is where you're supposed to kiss me."

A shriek escaped you when his arms winded around your waist, effortlessly lifting you to meet his lips this time in a chaste and mellow kiss. Once on your feet again, you brought him down to you for a proper one. The taste of the coffee you had with dessert greeted your tongue as it swept along his lips and dipped inside. making him all the more intoxicating. His labored breathing and harsh gripping of your hips as he allowed you to guide him through what you could tell was his first kiss made him all the more intoxicating, and reluctantly you pulled away to inquire between pants, "When do you have to get back?"

"Not for another hour."

The next day, you woke up a little earlier and asked your sister to help you write one back. “Who’s the prince charming?” she asked, unbeknownst that it was the prince himself. “Oh, it’s the son of a farmer that sells milk to the castle.” you lied. It was better to keep this secret for yourself, you thought.

You hid the response on the tray of breakfast you were supposed to give to Wakatoshi, under the bigger plate so no one would see it. He couldn’t contain the smile on his face while he was reading it, it wasn’t as sophisticated as the one he sent you, but he could see that his feelings of admiration and interest for you were reciprocated.

The Prince ran to tell his father about it and the King was more than happy to know his son’s crush liked him back, why wouldn’t they anyway? The only issue now was to not let the Queen find out about the two love birds, and King Utsui was more than willing to help them.

When you were fifthteen you found yourself eager for the weekends. Wakatoshi’s mother always went to her homeland on Saturdays and only returned Sunday evening, so not only the castle’s workers had way less work but you could meet with the heir of the throne for longer than usual.

You would sit with him in his father’s office since no one was allowed to enter without the King’s permission. You had many activities planned for your encounters, but your favorite was when he would read for you while you rested your head on his lap, both laid in the big comfortable couch. Sometimes he would brush his fingers through your hair or hold your pinkie with his, the gestures made both of you flustered and your hearts beat fast. It was a simple thing, but it always made your week.

Utsui could hear your giggles from his room - that was connected to his office -, even though the walls are thick. It surprised him how you could always make his son laugh freely. Wakatoshi was collected and stoic while you were cheerful and clumsy, the difference might be shocking but you completed each other. While he was your calmness and you were his turmoil, a getaway from all the responsibilities and boring classes of the heir life.

When you were sixteen he took you to the garden and asked you to be his girlfriend. You obviously accepted, and by the presence of the full moon he took your face with both hands and pressed his lips on yours. It was a simple, gentle kiss, but it was enough to send butterflies to your stomach and make your legs numb.

Wakatoshi had read books about love to you before, and as you reciprocated the kiss you realized that all those pretty words and cliche stories were actually true.

Sneaking out at unholy hours to sleep and cuddle with him and coming back to your room before everyone wakes up, stealing kisses in dark halls, passing love notes to one another, it all seemed like a fantasy.

However, life is not a fairytale.

When you were seventeen, the King died, and with him, the security and faith you had on your relationship. He was your biggest supporter and had embraced you warmly, giving you his blessing on the affair. With him by your sides, you knew that someday you would be able to live the rest of your life with the Prince.

Wakatoshi was devastated, and more than ever, he needed your support and presence to get through such a hard time. It broke your heart to see him trying to hide his tears and puffy eyes, he wanted to look strong, he was the next king in line after all, and with his eighteenth birthday coming up it was only a matter of time before the throne was his.

His mother was always strict and cold, while his father was gentle and welcoming. The lack of affection from the Queen was always replaced by the endless love the monarch had for his son, but now that the latter wasn’t there, Wakatoshi knew everything would change.

You would have to be extra careful since the ruler would keep the Prince close and busy. Your encounters on the weekends became rarer even though seeing you was the only thing that kept him going.

When you were eighteen, reality hit you. Rumors of a princess from a close kingdom coming to visit started to flow throughout the castle, along with a little chit-chat about her becoming the Prince’s wife soon.

Deep down you knew it was all too good to be true, there was no way a no one like you would actually have a future with him. And now that you can’t see him so often, your insecurities only grew.

You found yourself slowly distancing yourself from him, after all, if he was going to leave you to marry a princess, it was better to keep your distance so it wouldn’t hurt as much when it happens.

Wakatoshi didn’t understand why it was so hard for him to talk to you, he needed you more than anything and you weren’t there. He became more impatient every time you said you were busy or didn’t respond to his notes anymore.

Unfortunately, the said princess arrived at the castle, which meant he was also busy, being obligated to spend time with her so he - his mom - could decide either to marry her or not. But just the thought of being in the same room as she made his stomach turn, it didn’t feel right, it seemed as if he was cheating on you.

So, one night he walked out of his room and went to yours, fully aware that both of you might have been caught. Imagine your surprise when you saw him standing by your door in all his seriousness, you could see there was no escape for you at that time. Before you could even protest about him sneaking out so relentlessly, he took your hand and started dragging you through the halls.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asked once you reached his room.

“I’m not avoiding you, I’m just busy, you are too.”

“We always made time for each other.”

You looked down, embarrassed. He took a few steps closer to you and cupped your cheek with one hand. You couldn’t help but gather tears in your eyes, he held you so gently, as if you could break at any given moment, and you couldn’t find it in you to push him away again.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Love. That’s what you felt for him. It seemed wrong, it felt like you weren’t worthy of it, but you did love him, you always did. That’s why you couldn’t lie to him. When you were together, titles didn’t matter, you were you and he was he, actually, you were his, and he was yours, nothing could truly change that.

Yet, you couldn’t be selfish. You couldn’t, and wouldn’t, ask him to give up on his kingdom to be with you. He was raised to be a king ever since he was born and he loved his country, you just had to get over the fact that you were never meant to last. Life is not like the stories you read growing up, there wasn't an end where the Queen would approve your relationship and let you become his wife. Still, your heart was telling you to be selfish, to fight for what’s yours.

Tears started streaming down your skin, shining in the dark by the light of the moon that came through the window.

“I don’t want you to marry her.” You cried. “But you have to marry a princess and I can’t bear to see you with someone else.”

“What? What makes you think I will marry her? I love you.” He took your face fully in his hands, lifting it so you would face him.

“I love you too. I love you so much it hurts.” You yelped, tugging at his shirt.

“You’re the only one for me. I already told the princess I’m not interested in marrying her.”

“But, you know we can’t be together-”

He shut you up with a deep kiss, and although it felt wrong, forbidden, you kissed him back.

“I’ll find a way.” He assures you. “I don’t care what my mother or anyone says, I’ll make you mine.”

You kissed him again, more passionate and desperate than the previous one. Stumbling in your feet, Wakatoshi led you to his bed, laying you down so gently, so carefully.

“I love you more than anything.” He stated. “I would do anything for you.”

There was nothing more than sincerity in his words, and that night you had hope again. Your insecurities were washed away as he dragged his lips along your skin, mumbling more ‘I love you’s through the night.

Your heartbeat so fast you thought it would jump out of your chest. Those three words weren’t enough, even actions weren’t enough to describe what you felt for each other.

There was love and admiration stamped in the way he touched you softly, the way he kissed you, the way he held you tight against his chest. There was devotion in every move, every sound. Maybe it wasn’t enough, but just by the way you looked deep into each other’s eyes, you knew that everything you felt was reciprocated.

When you were nineteen, the Queen was impatient. Wakatoshi declined every princess and royalty member his mother invited to meet him. It was past the time he became the King, yet, she didn’t want him to take over the throne without a wife.

He was prepared for this day, you, on the other hand, were almost shaking in fear. It was certain she would throw a tantrum when she found out her precious son was having an affair with a servant, you knew that from the beginning, but you still feared her.

“Mother, I already know who I am going to marry.” She sighed in relief.

“Oh, finally! It’s Inarizaki’s Princess, right? She is lovely.”

He cleared his throat and took one glance at you, who stood in the corner of the room as always. He was nervous, but being in your presence always made him calmer, you were his safe place after all.

“She’s not a Princess, Mother. At least not yet.”

“Huh?” The Queen narrowed her eyes, confused.

The Prince extended his hand your way, indicating for you to join him. With your head down, you walked up to him and he intertwined your fingers together, giving your hand a little comforting squeeze.

“This is Y/n, my fiancée.”

The Queen laughed.

“As much as it’s funny, this is not a joke, Wakatoshi.”

“And it isn’t. I’m going to marry Y/n and make her the Queen.” He said with his head high.

The ruler’s smile faded as she understood her son was serious about it.

“She’s a maid.” You flinched slightly as you felt the disgust in her voice. “She’s probably just seducing you so she can get the thr-”

“Don’t you dare talk about Y/n like that.” He said harshly.

No one had ever talked back to the Queen, not even her husband. Her blood boiled as the Prince stood before her stubbornly, unwilling to follow her orders.

“I will not allow you to become King if you marry her.” She said proudly, sure her words would make him change his mind.

You look at him wide-eyed. He loved his Kingdom, he loved the people, he wanted to become King. What you didn’t know was that he wanted to be your husband more than anything.

“Then you better find another man to take the throne.”

Now, at age twenty-four, you wait for your husband to return from the field every evening. You didn’t have the luxury of the castle, but after working various shifts in different places, you managed to buy a small farm.

Wakatoshi comes home tired, but with a big smile plastered on his face. He never regretted abdicating his title or his kingdom. He was more than happy with the modest life you two built.

He loves coming home to you, eating a simple yet delicious meal you prepare for him, then sitting on your porch with you in his lap, reading love stories to your couple of twins while caressing your big baby bump. He wouldn’t trade his family for anything.

prince daichi swept you off your feet that night, and it was definitely not just the dancing

you tried not to compare him to the dreamy love interests of the romance novels your friends had been lending you, but he easily ticked off all the important boxes

his leadership, his protectiveness, his humility, his dedication... you could only imagine how thankful his parents were to have him as their first son

with the way he always inspired you, always kept you on your toes, could you truly be faulted for falling in love much faster than you'd ever admit?

Despite an easy and comfortable life growing up, you would have never considered the "perfect moment" ever possible.

Until, perhaps, that night.

That night when the entire ballroom fell silent, when the herald called out, "Announcing the arrival of His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of Karasuno, Daichi Sawamura!"

When he appeared at the peak of the lofty staircase, bowing gracefully amidst the clapping, and when his eyes swept over the crowd, somehow choosing to lock onto yours.

Your heart thumped over the music, muffling out the rich notes of the orchestra. The crowd parted to make way, each of the prince's painfully slow steps bringing him closer to you.

Stopping short of your lavish gown to briefly bow, Prince Daichi smiled at you, eager and genuine. "Your Highness," he said, offering his palm, "may I have this dance?"

That was surely your perfect moment.

You swallowed down your lightheadedness and smiled back. "I'd be honored to."

prince!kageyama x lady!reader

at every seasonal gathering for the royal family and the noble houses, prince tobio was only ever present for the banquets, nowhere to be seen for the other activities

according to the gossip, he spent all—and really, all—his time horseback riding, but considering that he kept winning international races, it was likely true

you inevitably decided to investigate and kind of, maybe, just a bit, sneak into the stables to skip the jousting event and instead look for him

sure enough, prince tobio was there, utterly dumbfounded by the fact that a noble lady like you would be there to watch him

like? really?? watch him???

it took a while for him to realize, but your genuine interest in his passion was irreplaceable, and he couldn't imagine training the same way ever again without you to support him

If the deafening creak of the stable doors opening wasn't embarrassing enough, the prince's stare definitely was.

He didn't miss a beat. "What are you doing here, My Lady?"

You struggled to word out a casual response. What were you to say? That you wanted to see him?

"I was curious about horseback riding, Your Highness," was what you decided on, surprisingly close to the truth. "Would it... be okay if I watched you practice?"

You couldn't help but notice how all the horses seemed so accustomed to him. The riding uniform fit him so well, too; not to mention the reigns of a spotted steed that looked so right in his hands.

"You..." Prince Tobio started with a frown, making you wince. This was going to be a no. "You wouldn't get bored?"

Oh?

You shook your head earnestly. "Of course not, Your Highness! I'd love to learn from your work ethic."

"That's... I see," he said, visibly trying to wrap his head around your words. He led his horse out of its stable. "Come on. I'll show you where to sit."

prince!oikawa x witch!reader

long ago, your mother thought it would be fun to curse the newly-born prince, tooru oikawa

it was a cunningly subtle curse, too: he could never succeed at something, no matter how small, unless it was his hundredth time trying

that's why it shocked her many years later to learn of the prince's countless accomplishments

so she sent you, her daughter, into the kingdom to make sure her precious work hadn't gone in vain

but the more time you spent there, the more you warmed up to him

you told yourself that it might have been easier if his face wasn't just so fucking pretty, but you knew it was much more than that

you weren't sure how to explain to your mother that prince tooru had bested her yet again—except this time by stealing her daughter's heart

It had been three days since the prince started to pick up archery. You had been keeping distance around the practice grounds while counting each shot, ready to intervene when—

An arrow struck the target's outermost ring with a thwack.

Shit, had you lost count? The last miss should only have been eighty-seven!

"Ah, so that was the hundredth," Prince Tooru mused, voice carrying throughout the clearing. He turned to stare right at your hiding spot. "Am I right?"

You flinched from behind the thick tree leaves. You were caught, but also... He knew of the condition?

"No need to fear," the prince chirped out again. "I don't bite... even if you may be here for malicious reasons."

What else was there to do? You silently urged your broom to hover down into view, keeping multiple feet between you and him.

Prince Tooru looked you up and down, then smirked. Something as small as that really shouldn't have done things to you. "We can talk later. For now, darling, you're welcome to watch."

He returned to position, knocking a new arrow. "I want you to see exactly how I plan to hit that bullseye."

prince!iwaizumi x huntress!reader

prince hajime of aoba johsai was known for his combat prowess as much as for his royal blood

jousting, sword fighting, dragon taming—you name it, he could do it

but that didn't mean you expected to run into him one day as you were hunting late in the afternoon for fresh dinner meat

who would have thought you were chasing the same deer as the damn prince, right?

that encounter may just have been the luckiest thing to ever happen to you, though, because you're sure the prince didn't just randomly decide to constantly return to your local woods after that

guess who gained a permanent hunting buddy and mentor? and a big fat crush

In the moment it took you to process the spear that was definitely not yours in the deer's abdomen, a man's cloaked figure emerged from the bushes. You gasped.

Even under the gradually setting sun, you recognized that face from portraits of the royal family all around town. With that speed and skill alone, you should have already recognized him as the hero of the stories told in local taverns.

You dropped onto a knee to bow, properly shouldering your bow. "Your Highness."

At this, Prince Hajime noticed your presence. "Oh, fellow hunter. Nightfall is near, I believe you should—" His eyes widened, mouth agape, as you stood up and pulled back your hood.

You raised an eyebrow. "Should...?"

He broke his stare, ears a pinkish color. "Never mind," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Is... is your town nearby? It would be terrible of me to not escort you home."

It was your turn to heat up. "I—I don't think I can accept that, Your Highness."

Prince Hajime chuckled. "I insist." He gestured behind him, almost shyly, to where a horse must have been waiting. "Shall we?"

prince!futakuchi x mermaid!reader

you and your brethren had already met with the royal family, but it was always at their castle for annual celebrations with the land's other magical creatures

so never in a thousand years would you have imagined crossing paths with prince kenji on your beach after visiting a friend in town

and never in a million years would you have imagined that you'd notice him a minute too late, already having stripped down to your underwear and dipped in the water to transform

after the initial embarrassment, you eventually learned that things had been pretty stressful for him, and the beach was the perfect place to get away for a bit

you also just happened to be the kind of company he needed

actually, scrap that, you were the company he wanted; why else would he keep returning at the same time and place?

Just as you were about to swim off home, a bundle of land-dweller clothes in your arms, a long whistle cut through the air. You hurriedly turned to see...

"Prince Kenji, Your Highness!"

He acknowledged your greeting with a nod. The tides lapped at his bare feet a few ways away, pants rolled up to his knees.

Realization knocked you in the face. "How long have you been there?" you asked, heart sinking.

"Long enough," he said nonchalantly, lips curling up just a little.

You flushed head to tail. "Can I help you?" you veered, not wanting to address the other issue. "I doubt you came here merely to sightsee, Your Highness."

He stepped closer to you, wading deeper into the water. "Trust me," he said, eyes not leaving yours, "the eye candy is more than enough help."

In that brisk moment, you wished you could've dissolved into sand.

Prince Kenji laughed, waving a hand. "No, but really..." He looked up, sighing deeply. "Would you mind staying a bit? I... need a stranger's opinion on something."

prince!aone x witch!reader

prince takanobu was used to people taking one look at him and reacting with fear

so when you—who claimed you had nothing to fear because of your magic—were brought into the castle one day to explain a prank you pulled on the villagers (you swear it was harmless), he had to admit that he saw an opportunity

and thank heavens that he found the perfect opening to steal you away, or else that opportunity might've slipped

fortunately, the confidence you instilled in him that first time was enough for him to seek out your little cabin in the woods after that

your easygoing nature allowed him to truly enjoy his time with someone else, even if the jinxes and hexes you talked about were a bit unconventional

"Thanks for saving me, Your Highness." You huffed out a skittish chuckle. "His Majesty's stare almost tore me apart back there."

The prince's lack of a response was odd, though definitely not unwelcome. You'd already guessed this much when he was able to sweep you out of the throne room without as much as a word.

You glanced over to study his stone-set expression. "Do you, uh, go out often, Your Highness?"

Prince Takanobu's surprise lent itself to you rather generously this time. He looked to you, shaking his head; and somehow, you understood all the intricacies and nuances of what that meant.

Your next words were rooted in experience. "It's quite... hard to get people to understand, right?"

This time a nod, albeit with hesitance.

"People are fools, Your Highness," you sighed. "I, for one, think you're wonderful to be around."

To prove your point, you reached into your cloak for a small, crescent-shaped magical relic. You held it out, the prince accepting it in his palm. "Here! It'll help you find me after I'm sent home."

He tightly clutched it in his fist, making you smile.

prince!ushijima x maid!reader

the new maids, guards, and helpers that came in every few weeks was something prince wakatoshi ushijima was more than used to

because if the bustling palace surely reflected anything, it was that the kingdom of shiratorizawa was a handful to govern

he noticed, however, that a certain someone in the newest batch was having more trouble adjusting to the work regime

it wasn't flashy or anything, but he did his best to show you that he cared! and that was enough to help you settle in and open up

but damn shit, once you did, you sure did learn how to pull at his heartstrings, even if it was only through little things like greeting him good morning and bringing him water while he worked

and what else was the prince to do but express his unabashed, unfiltered honesty about wanting to court you?

"Excuse me, Miss?"

You hurried to turn around and bow waist-deep, the prince's unmistakable baritone voice catching you off-guard. "I apologize for loitering around the halls, Your Highness. I'm merely, uh..."

"Lost?" You looked up at his tone. It wasn't condescending in the slightest, only genuinely inquisitive. "You're part of last week's newcomers, correct?"

"Y—yes, Your Highness." Impossible. He had noticed you?

"The breakfast hall for staff is in a separate wing, if that's what you're looking for. I could show you, if you'd like."

Head held low, you mumbled, "I wouldn't want to be a bother..."

"Of course not," Prince Wakatoshi said, a-matter-of-factly. He gestured down the hall. "Shall we go?"

He wasn't smiling or anything, but you felt far from uneasy. Everyone talked about the prince like he was some untouchable, distant force; but his down-to-earth respect for you was like a refreshing splash of water to the face. You wouldn't have had it any other way.

Feeling seen and safe, of course you didn't say no.

prince!shirabu x princess!reader

for most of crown prince kenjiro's life, his family always reminded him that for their small kingdom to flourish, they'd have to make connections with a much stronger one

so by the time he came of age, a betrothal with you—the princess of a more powerful neighboring kingdom—was almost immediately arranged

if anything, he realized that he felt sorry for you, who'd have to deal with his ass from now on

but when you introduced your sweet self, he instantly felt more sorry for himself

there was just something about your work ethic and skill, the way you carried yourself, the way you somehow knew just how to make him smile

how the hell was he gonna keep his sour composure around someone like you?

The moment your betrothed stepped out of his carriage upon arriving at your palace, you could tell he wasn't one for the whole introductions thing. To compensate, you did your best to bridge a conversation after being left alone in the parlor for lunch.

"Honestly, I'm surprised," you laugh a little. "You don't seem like someone who'd agree to something like this, Your Highness."

Prince Kenjiro scowled. You opened your mouth to apologize, but he spoke first—softer than you expected.

"I figured that I could've found a different way to seal the alliance if I tried hard enough. But this—" He gestured between the two of you. "—would bring sure results. I'd be a fool to waste that and throw away a secure opportunity."

You smiled softly. "That's truly respectable of you."

His eyebrows raised just a bit, but he quickly glanced away. "And that's excessive flattery from you, Your Highness."

You stifled a giggle. "Try maintaining eye contact," you said, leaning across the table to gently tilt his cheek your way. "I'd hate to have my fiancé looking like he lacks confidence."

This time, there was no hiding the bright blush on the prince's face.

prince!kuroo x lady!reader

as the daughter of a duke, you had grown up as an acquaintance of prince tetsuro's

but it was still a surprise when your parents told you that the king and queen had wishes to make you his bride

as it was your duty, you had already resigned yourself to commit, but the prince definitely knew how to make things fun while you got to know each other more

your chemistry was electrifying; you were sure your father would have your head if he knew of your behavior

though to be fair, after all the touching hands under the dinner table and lidded looks behind other nobles' backs, you both still got work done at the end of the day

and as a royal power couple, that's what counts, right?

You arrived with your escort to the balcony overlooking the palace gardens, finding Prince Tetsuro already there. He greeted you with a charming grin and customary kiss to the back of your hand.

"I'll admit, Your Highness," you said with a small smile, "I hadn't realized that Their Majesties thought of me in that high of a regard."

"If only you knew." Prince Tetsuro leaned against the railing with a chuckle. "In fact, they believe there is no better woman in the kingdom than His Grace's daughter to meet my expectations."

He sent you a waywards glance, a playful glint in his eyes. "And, well, I'm inclined to agree."

You sidled up next to him, a sudden confidence rushing through your veins.

"But just so you're aware, Your Highness..." You drawled out his title, subtly brushing your fingers against his. "You're not the only one here raised to have certain expectations."

A firm hand to your chin has your face tilted to meet his. "My Lady," he shot right back, feigned shock melting into a smirk, "do you not believe I have the capabilities to fulfill such expectations?"

"Would you like to prove it to me?"

prince!kenma x scribe!reader

it was no secret to anyone in the castle—even to someone like you, who was always cooped up in the library—that the kozume family's only heir to the throne was not very fond of people

he had, what, two friends at most? but even the kuroo and hinata royal families only visited every few moons

it had been like this for years, so you never expected him to show up at your little corner desk one day out of the blue

surprising you both, he came back another day, and then another

he appreciated how you liked to spend time in your own made-up world almost as much as him

sooner or later, your special reading nook became a threat to his favorite spot in the castle; his room had more privacy, yes, but the library had you

"Y—Your Highness?"

The knock on the bookshelf had startled you, but to see Prince Kenma standing a few paces away and a stack of thick books cradled in his arms... quite frankly, wow.

He sighed, pointedly avoiding eye contact. "Yes, miracles of miracles, I'm out of my room." It was completely deadpan. "Hurrah."

You laughed sheepishly, putting down your quill. Did your expression give that much away? "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I ran out of things to read." After heaving his book pile onto another nearby one, the prince turned to you. "Is that manuscript you're transcribing any good?"

"It's—ah, it's actually an original work, Your Highness."

"Oh?" Prince Kenma stepped over, fingers nimbly spinning your parchment for him to read. You got a better look at his face—loose strands of hair framing his features, eyebrows knitted together just in the slightest... honestly, wow.

You ignored your heart pounding. "I could... show you more of it, if you'd like."

He... smiled? Tiny, yet still, a smile. "Sure, go ahead."

prince!bokuto x commoner!reader

the bokuto royal family knew there was no restraining their son, but they also knew that he was capable enough to fend for himself

this made prince koutaro's independent visits to town continuous and commonplace

but the day that he met you in front of the flower stall changed his life forever, and he promised he wasn't just being dramatic

he always so eagerly doted on you, showed you around the palace, and never took the shit about how "odd" it is to love a commoner

and he really was indescribably grateful that you stuck around and dealt with his eccentricity

so in return, he made it a point to be part of your simple life in any way that would make you comfortable! any "lowly" errand, he'd do in a heartbeat just for you

"That'll be—" The florist cut herself off with a gasp, focus drifting behind you. "It's Prince Koutaro!"

You spun around, only now taking note of the crowd that had started to gather. In smack center was indeed the prince, beaming and waving. As amazing as it would be to see him up close, you would rather not get caught in a stampede. Now, if only you could chart a safe route home...

"Hello, Miss! The pretty one in front of the flowers!"

What?

Murmuring, the mass of people shuffled aside. Within seconds, Prince Koutaro stood before you, golden eyes swirling with awe. "You're... woah."

You almost trip over your feet in your rush to bow. Maybe if you did, you would have hit your head hard enough and woken up.

"At ease!" He encouraged you with a hearty grin. "Something tells me I've been waiting for someone just like you."

You tried to ignore the loud ooh's of the crowd and the even louder beating from your chest. "Oh, Your Highness, you flatter me too much—"

Prince Koutaro shook his head fervently. "Of course not! I'm glad to finally meet you, My Joy."

prince!akaashi x fairy!reader

on good days, the crown prince liked to think he was a fairly patient man

and apparently, the royal court thought so too, always asking him to handle the fussier villagers who came to them with concerns

while prince keiji was happy to help, he would still rather spend his time writing and studying poetry by himself

it was after an exhausting, long week of dealing with outrageous complaints that he just wanted to catch a damn break without anyone to bother him

he figured nobody would go to the pond by the edge of the forest just to look for him, and he was right; except he hadn't considered the possibility of someone beating him there

but before getting too disappointed, it dawned on him that you were an actual fairy—cheeky, but also wise and clever and fascinating

so of course, he couldn't complain, especially when your cryptically profound understanding of his situation gave him a reason to come back

A regular visit to your regular spot—that was the plan. Meeting the prince, however, wasn't necessarily a bad change in those plans.

The sound of a horse's whinnies interrupted the mindless threading of your fingers through the water. You looked up just in time to watch a certain figure dismount, satchel overflowing with scrolls and journals.

The prince's eyes widened as they met yours from the other edge of the pond.

You spoke before he could, sitting up a bit straighter to grin crookedly. "Your Highness! Are you here for a break, perhaps?"

Still taken aback, he nodded slowly. "How did you...?"

"I get the feeling." A faraway smile settled on your lips. "So trust me when I say I won't disrupt your peace."

A softened look crossed Prince Keiji's face. "Thank you," was all he said, before the pond officially grew to be a place you both could escape to.

prince!kita x fairy!reader

many things were disputed by the townspeople of inarizaki, but whenever the words "prince shinsuke kita will someday make a wonderfully fine king" were spoken...

well, let's just say you couldn't name anyone who would've disagreed

whenever you were called to court meetings as the official fairy ambassador, you couldn't help but be a stuttering mess under the prince's gaze

you knew the various gifts that his godmothers gave him at birth weren't the only reason he was as amazing as he was, but a part of you still cursed your kin for helping to raise such a damn perfect man

the rest of the noble houses and magical creature ambassadors probably thought that fairies were naturally nervous beings

but by the way the prince always complimented your wings and invited you to walks and dinners after meetings, you were sure he was already onto you

"So, our chef's been testin' new desserts, right?"

You nodded, but hurriedly glanced around the empty hall, ready to bury yourself permanently in your cove if Prince Shinsuke was actually talking to somebody else.

"And I heard that your people love honey," he continued, "so I know you'd be perfect to help taste test 'em." If he noticed your desperate fumbling, he didn't comment.

"As in—you mean—" You breathed shakily. "Is that a... dinner invitation, Your Highness?"

"If you're up to it, then hopefully, yes."

You hated your fluttering wings for giving away your excitement. "I—I'd love to! Can I ask who else will be there?"

"Actually..." The prince glanced out the nearby window before returning to you with a secretive smile. "Would it bother ya if it was just us?"

You lied. "No—uh, not at all, Your Highness!" You knew you'd fare terribly in a one-on-one dinner with him, and that did bother you.

"Wonderful." He winked. "I'll see ya in the dinin' hall at sundown."

prince!atsumu x maid!reader

the royal twins were known for being the most rowdy, rambunctious pair that the miya family had ever seen

but as someone who worked in their castle, you knew that wasn't the whole story! well... for one of them, at least

always appointed to kitchen duty, you very often found yourself working alongside prince osamu, who frequently volunteered to help

over time, it led you to wonder what the hell prince atsumu was up to while his brother was here humbling himself in your scrubby kitchens

you thought maybe the gods had heard you, because the very next day, it was him who showed up to substitute his brother

the banquet that night was not as delicious as it usually was

but after that day, you eventually learned that your sudden reassignment to the residential areas of the castle may have been a stunt on prince atsumu's part to see you more

"Prince Osamu, thank goodness, the pudding—"

"I'm afraid ya got the wrong prince, Miss. Samu's feelin' a tad bit ill today."

You whirled around, almost dropping your ladle at the sight of the blonde head standing at the door.

"You..." you breathed, eyes widening. You swept into a deep bow. "Prince Atsumu, Your Highness."

"Ya know..."

He stepped forward, swiftly bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "My brother hadn't mentioned that his cookin' buddy was such a fine jewel," he said, making you heat up. "Now I'm almost wishin' he caught the jibbers much earlier."

He blinked. "Don't tell 'im, of course."

You laughed. "I think I can do that."

Prince Atsumu eased back into a smile. "Right, so... pudding, eh? Fair warnin', Jewel, I'm more fit to diplomacy than stirrin'."

"No worries, Your Highness." You beamed, handing him a large spoon. "I make quite the fine teacher."

writing so many different kinds of scenarios was exhausting but super fun lol 😭

i love fantasy settings so this was very self-indulgent despite the nobility rabbit hole i accidentally fell into while searching something up,, whoops i guess! LMFAO anyway hope u all enjoyed :3