#both are brilliant stories and I’d watch them over and over again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meova101 · 1 year

Text

Okay I have been Thinking lately, and especially now that all I have left is rechewing old crumbs... Sebchal has such character development, you know. It’s actually so different whether you see them now or in 2019 or 2021 and it’s so interesting to see it develop over time. We went from karting together as part of an FDA event to Charles being a nervous wreck to a tribute helmet and ended up at the easy camraderie we see now and there’s so many layers to this shit, man.

In honour of Sebchalday, I figured I’d make a little write-up of the character development I saw in real time. And with little I mean someone stop me this shit is almost 5k. Yes I also had to add in how I watched the public perception of them change because I might as well honestly, the dichotomy in their teammate years truly was something else. Anyway, without further ado, here’s Sebchal throughout the ages, as told by Meo.

2018 and earlier

This really is just a lot of what seems like hero worship from Charles and Seb being polite, a good guy and up for a laugh. In 2017, Charles occasionally starts going on track walks, there’s the iconic moment in Monaco of course, Charles is just a little starstruck. Why else would he make damn sure he’s got Seb in an Instagram post about the karting event. Or look like he’s in a straight-up romcom when Seb talks to him there.

Seb, on the other hand, seems generally aware of Charles (his F2 results, ofc the track walks, signing that picture of Charles from testing 2018, offering Charles a seat during a drivers parade), but he keeps his distance for the most part. Which is completely understandable, honestly. But this all sets up the scene, because who would have ever thought that this would turn into a rather unlikely friendship?

2019

Rivalry time! We kick this off with, uh, a very nervous Charles on the first team outing to the Dolomites, followed by a hug and a cheek cradle in the second race. Yeah idk either where this went off the rails.

Okay no that’s a lie, I know exactly where it went off the rails, and shit really hit the fan in Monza. The media was already pushing a rivalry and it makes sense - the story of the old veteran and the young hotshot, both equally talented (don’t fight me on this Barbara) and vying for the top spot in the iconic team. Charles was settling in well, quickly matching Seb in the first half of the season, something was clearly brewing. It’s brilliant. It’s a showstopper. It’s also not true, but imagine listening to the drivers themselves.

So Monza comes around and all hell breaks loose. No, legit, this streak of races is the main cause of the rivalry talk persisting. In Monza, Charles doesn’t give Seb a tow during qualifying, leaving Seb unable to even set a final time in Q3 (along with basically every other driver, this quali is so funny). Seb has a race to forget after that while Charles wins. He wins in Spa, he wins in Monza, it’s fucking insane. Il Predestinato for real.

Singapore is up next and Charles gets pole, Charles has a good start, but then. Ohhhhh, then. Seb pits, has a very good outlap, starts overtaking the as-of-yet-unpitted like they’re barely there (in fucking Singapore y’all), while Charles falls further behind. Exasperated, Charles gets on the radio and says he wants everything, but what d’you know, Seb wins. Charles does not look pleased on the podium. Seb does.

And then Sochi. Oh my god let me tell you about Sochi. Charles has pole, again. But you don’t want pole in Sochi, and Seb wastes no time in overtaking Charles, nabbing P1 in the process. And what happens next is the perfect example of what I like to call a bitch fight. You’re gonna want to see this to believe it. Here’s a link to the team radio. It’s funny as hell, it’s petty as hell, Seb DNFs and Charles barely hangs on to the podium in the end, ladies and gentlemen: a rivalry.

Brazil only fanned the flames, I’m just saying.

But even with all of this. Like, it seems very explosive, you know. Which makes it all the more interesting how they don’t actually... seem to explode? They’re still nice to each other? Sure, it’s still very careful, and the videos they do together have that awkwardness, but they’re nice. And if you dig, just a little, you find Seb and Charles... actually having fun together. You can see their dynamic here most clearly in the language videos, in my opinion. Charles is gushing over everything Seb is saying in French, while Seb is teaching and teasing a little in the German video.

Ferrari themselves somehow manages to hide all the cute stuff, too. Because they sure tried, but you have to know where to look to find their date road trip through the Italian countryside, the videos for Shell and Ferrari themselves, the utterly endearing UPS video where they are both very confused but having fun with it. This stuff is all there, it was uploaded in real time, but it just… got ignored or brushed off as PR.

I remember watching all of their videos at the tail end of 2019, and just gloating like… if only they’d known what would happen afterwards. They wouldn’t be so cordial to each other now if they’d known what lies ahead. Until I realized, and yes this took a hot minute, that if they were always nice to each other, even in the second half of the season, even after everything that had already happened… maybe they actually liked each other.

This was a revelation. Unheard of. These two hated each other, were vying for top spot and there could only be one winner, the other one was just collateral damage, of course they didn’t like each other!

The first half of 2020

Dear reader, turns out they like each other.

There were two camps developing at this time. One of them was still convinced these two hated each other, disliked each other at the very least. The other camp was watching Charles slowly lose his mind on Twitch.

I really can’t understate just how much the lockdown did for the perception of Sebchal, although the major turnaround would happen much later. There really are two factors at play here and I will get to the second one in a bit, but you cannot underestimate how much the Twitch era helped.

Because Charles – and you have to understand, Charles was still seen as a very arrogant, incredibly pretty, extremely talented guy (two of those three are true) which did not help – brought up Seb, a lot. He told us about how he’d been in touch with Seb, trying to get him to play games with him on stream. He wanted to be teammates with Seb so bad while playing F1 2019 that he accidentally picked Seb to play as. He watched F1 compilations that definitely had other drivers in it while exclaiming they were videos about him and Seb. Whether you ship them or not, it’s clear as day that from Charles’s side, there was no rivalry.

Seb, of course, was pretty quiet during this time, but there’s this one interview for Marlboro Mission Winnow that feels more like friends catching up than an actual interview, so there’s that.

The second factor in this is Netflix getting involved. We all know and love to hate Drive To Survive and for season 2, they finally got access to Ferrari and Mercedes. Of course they’d dive headfirst into the rivalry storyline, because believe it or not, once upon a time Drive To Survive actually pretended to base their plot on reality.

And this one backfired. What they thought they were showing were two guys who didn’t much like each other, trying to figure out a way to keep the media at bay. What they actually showed were two very much exasperated guys, teasing and joking with each other while trying to focus on their job. Netflix failed to account for the fact that people might actually look beyond the framing, and thanks to Ferrari trying their best at social media but being endearingly rough around the edges with it, we had plenty of material for that.

And while all of this was playing out, we heard that Seb’s contract at Ferrari wouldn’t be renewed.

Now that’s a whole mess I won’t get into further, because this is also the part where the rats get divided into two camps and I’m not here for that. What I am here for, though, is Charles’s reaction, because he posted a very heartfelt message about the news a bit after it dropped. Why did it take him a bit? Not because he had to run it past PR, I’m pretty sure, because I don’t believe for one second his messages would have gotten the green light. No, it was because not only did Charles take special care to pick out a few pictures of him and Seb together to add to the message, but also because he was driving back from France that day and also, he didn’t know.

I only know he was in the middle of a long drive that day because he’d mentioned it on his Twitch stream before. Also, while looking up this Tweet, I noticed the location tag so that helps. I’m sure I didn’t hallucinate it but since Charles didn’t feel like archiving his streams, I’m also pretty sure this is lost to the void by now. If you happen to have this clip, please let me know so I can stop doubting my memory.

But the second part, where he plain didn’t know? It never got confirmed, but I’m positive. Once again, so many people were convinced here that Charles had been pulling strings behind the scenes, that them working together was impossible after 2019 and especially Brazil, Ferrari had to make a choice and they picked Charles. Except Charles has gone on record multiple times, stating he’d like to keep Seb as his teammate. That he still had so much to learn from him. If it was up to him, Seb would be his teammate for years to come. If he’d known, why would he not have had the messages ready? Why would he have been hyping Seb up as his teammate? Why would anything else in 2020 have happened?

Because trust me, we’re only through the first half of the year now, and it’s only getting better.

The second half of 2020

As we know now, the 2020 Ferrari sucked. Which, in hindsight, was clear during testing, but we all thought Ferrari had just learned how to sandbag. It took until the season finally got underway in Austria that we realized just how deep in the shit our guys were. Charles got a podium in the first race while Seb barely got one point, undoubtedly helped out by the fact that almost half the drivers DNF’d.

In their second race… they crashed. Charles attempted a divebomb down the inside and instead humped Seb’s rear wing. I was crowing at the television at that point, ready for the will-they-won’t-they rivalry of the previous year to continue, yes they’re friendly off track but on track it’s spicy, this was bound to explode…

And nothing.

Because what had happened, especially with them both knowing this partnership would end after this season, was that they started backing each other up. This season was going to be a wash either way and Seb wasn’t going to be there to deal with the fall-out of it. There was no reason for them to remain cordial, to not throw each other under the bus when necessary, and especially in this case it seemed clear-cut, yet they didn’t.

The difference between what happened on track and what happened off track became even more stark. On track, Charles was outdriving Seb so incredibly hard. He qualified so well, while Seb started getting booted out of Q2 more and more often. Charles nabbed another podium in Silverstone, Seb fought for singular points most races. And yet they made sure that whenever the media brought up their results, or tried to poke into their partnership, they always backed each other up. They never once talked bad about each other, tried to make sure the media didn’t forget both of them are extremely talented, and presented themselves as a united front.

Not that anyone bought that, but whatever. 2020 was a weird time and we didn’t have Fernando back on the grid yet. They were aching for some drama.

Off-track, though, and once again you had to actually look for this, which is a common theme with Sebchal… man, this era makes me the most feral still. We not only get Charles saying Ich liebe dich at the end of Seb’s birthday video, and Seb making awkward jokes in Charles’s birthday video, but we get the hourglass challenges. Quite frankly, this is the best social media to ever come out of F1, hands down, nothing will ever beat this. Because you can see, in real time, how Seb and Charles grow closer and more comfortable with each other.

They constantly get paired up with other Ferrari team members, but that doesn’t matter, because when Seb and Charles start talking? They’re talking and no one can disturb them. Like when Seb tries to explain what a pocket watch is briefly, in the background of a video. Seb trying to teach Charles some more Ferrari history during Memory. The entire music challenge, which might as well not have anyone else there.

We get a true glimpse of their fun competitive vibe here, even though Charles gives Seb more chances to win when it looks like Seb might actually lose (you might claim that Seb let you win, Charles, but we have the proof in the darts video and the categories video). I’m pretty sure that if you’d let the two of them alone with a game, you could come back hours later and they’d still be racing tiny little racecars.

You can tell how much closer they got during this season, but as usual, you have to look and listen for it to click. There’s the moment during qualifying for Spa, when they both get knocked out in Q2 and we get a shot of them looking at each other and smiling in understanding. There’s Turkey, where Seb finally gets his podium because he can capitalize on a mistake from Charles, and Charles actually stops beating himself up over the radio for a moment to congratulate Seb on his podium.

The final few races are just a fever dream, really. You have to see the challenge videos to believe them, but they truly have found their dynamic there and they’re so comfortable around each other. And the Danke Seb helmet is still, to this day, probably my favourite moment. Charles made a fucking scrapbook on his helmet. And just to show how even at that point, people still wanted the rivalry to be real so bad: I vividly remember someone on commentary saying “what’s he thanking Seb for, leaving the team?”. It’s crazy. That’s how pervasive the rivalry narrative was, even when Seb and Charles did everything to prove it wasn’t true.

2021

So 2020 was a whirlwind of character development, of notable moments, and definitely lit a fire underneath the ship. Now, however, we enter uncharted territories. The rivalry talk is finally over, now that their time as teammates has ended. But this also means we don’t get to see them interact quite as often, since they’re no longer shoved together at every possible opportunity (lol, not like they were anyway, seeing as the shipbaiting only really starts kicking off around this time in F1 socmed), and we’re rats looking for crumbs now.

Luckily for us, we get a lot of crumbs, and once again it shows very well how their relationship evolves and how they actually work together.

Now, during the winter break and after testing, there were quite a lot of doubters. Which is fine! Everyone gets to have their own opinions! But because the whole rivalry thing was so incredibly pervasive and even without that, Seb and Charles just seem like very different people who only got shoved together because they drove for the same team… it’s entirely understandable to doubt whether they’d continue to interact. And let’s be real, testing did not necessarily give us any indication to think otherwise.

But once again, this is exactly what’s so nice about them, if you look a bit closer… they actually became friends somewhere along these years.

Charles stands next to Seb for the We Race As One ceremony. This might be planned out beforehand, I don’t know, but what certainly isn’t planned out, is them talking and sharing their customary fist bumps before and after these little bits. After races, they also catch up if they find each other either near the car in parc ferme or in the press pen. It’s never that obvious unless you look, and we sure looked.

But it became blindingly obvious during Monaco and Baku this year.

When the drivers were waiting around for the parade, we find Seb and Charles talking to each other, once again so invested in their conversation that Charles almost misses his cue for the bus. And then, once it becomes clear that Charles can’t participate in the race, plenty of drivers offer some words of comfort. But Seb’s the only one to hug him, really talk to him about it, and Charles even leans back into him when Seb’s let go. We don’t know what was said of course, but it’s clear as day now that if anyone’s still hanging onto the old narrative… they’re dead wrong.

And then Baku. Not only do they find each other on the grid again (a recurring theme, there’s so often just a small moment of them getting the other’s attention to say hi), but after the race, Charles obviously first congratulates Pierre on his podium, and then beelines to Seb, where Fernando stares at the display of affection in front of him like he’s watching two aliens land.

It’s the easy way they both grab onto each other there, no hesitation from either side. And yes, I know it seems like Charles is a very tactile guy, but it’s always other people grabbing him. There’s two people where Charles will take the initiative, and both of them have made it onto the podium for this race. Later on, Seb lets us know that he told Charles the previous night, through text, that he’d see him in his mirrors, which once again shows that quietly, they’re still in touch. They’re texting, still teasing each other, and we had no idea until that moment that they still kept in touch in that way, and once again, even if you take the shoggles off it’s still frankly unbelievable that they managed to build a friendship when literally everyone was pushing them towards a rivalry.

This is the moment the rivalry talk really fizzles out, insofar it still even existed. Yes, there’s still people hanging onto it, and it does make a good story, but it’s just that. A story. What we see now is two people who are seemingly very different, pushed together in circumstances that would make other people crack, and they’ve somehow built a connection.

And isn’t that the best story of all?

There’s no topping these crumbs, not even the moment in the Spa press-pen tops this, where we all figured out Charles was talking to Seb before even hearing or seeing him just based on his facial expression, but it does show where Sebchal is at in this year. They’re figuring out how to be friends now that there’s no obligation, because both of them want to be. Seb isn’t one for big gestures and Charles (surprisingly, I know) isn’t either, so we only get the one in Baku. Hell, even Monaco was more of a background thing, and I sure nearly broke my tablet when I spotted the two of them during the We Race As One ceremony as the camera was panning away.

But in the background, there they are, always somehow finding each other, and that’s what truly solidified my love for this ship, really. They don’t need flashy moments, they’re comfortable with each other and it shows.

2022

And then we get to 2022, where everyone finally seems to have figured out that the whole rivalry narrative was never actually a thing. I’m sure part of this is the fact that they haven’t been teammates in a year at this point, that they’re both still persisting in only ever talking nicely about the other when asked, and well, the Aston Martin isn’t actually good so there’s no chance of even having battles on track.

And what we do get, is more crumbs. Honestly, we get much more than in 2021, even without really big moments like Monaco and Baku.

The thing is, we see yet another development in their dynamic for this season. And that’s really one of the big things about Sebchal all this time, we get to see them develop as people, as friends, and this really feels like a culmination of sorts. It doesn’t get picked up much by the social media accounts (thank fuck) and both of them definitely have their people on the grid (Seb gravitates towards Mick, Charles gravitates towards Pierre), but they seem so comfortable in their interactions now.

Take, for instance, the times they get put into the same press conference. We’ve gone back to the bigger pressers now, five people in each session, so we already get more moments where they’re together in the room. And pretty much every time, there’s these quiet friendly moments that don’t necessarily get picked up by the media, but they’re endearing as hell.

Yes, we get the moments where Seb’s flirty on main (which is so fun to watch too, and I dare say it’s even more pronounced now than it even was in 2020). There’s the bus tour jokes in Monaco, where Charles offers to take Seb on one. There’s the presser in Monza, where Seb says he never had as many issues leaving the hotel as Charles does, probably because Charles is more handsome. This kind of open teasing is something new and definitely shows how far they’ve come already.

But there’s also the moments that are more brief, more subtle. Like when Charles motions at Seb about his moustache, or when Seb heads straight towards Charles when he’s late to give him a fistbump. Or when they’re sitting next to each other and end up deep in conversation again, while the presser’s still going on. I know I say the word comfortable a lot, but that’s what it is. They seem to enjoy each other’s company, they like talking to each other and seem to search it out, too, and it’s so organic when you’ve followed them for all these years but it’s a stark contrast to where they started and where the narrative started, too. It’s also a slap in the face to everyone who doubted they’d even acknowledge each other after Seb left the team, which I’m totally here for because I’m not bitter at all lol.

Besides these moments, where they’re already in front of a camera and don’t care that whatever they do is being recorded, there’s still more moments when they’re not. Like, this is just what they do, they don’t ham it up for the cameras at all. There’s plenty of times in the press pen, after a race usually, where they will find each other and catch up a little. To the point where Britta and Mia, both their PR people, just start talking among themselves as well. And it’s always so interesting to see how, even when Charles is looking down (like after Silverstone, or before Hungary for obvious reasons), Seb will always manage to coax a smile out of him.

Because we have more interactions to go off here and we have so much history by now, it’s easier to point out where it seems like they’ve figured out how the other one wants to be treated. As I pointed out in the 2021 section, Seb is one of the few people Charles will actually initiate physical contact with. And throughout the years, throughout this season, it’s not hard to figure out why that is. Most people will grab Charles when they want to touch him, not give him much of a choice. On the other hand, Seb does give him that choice, either touches him briefly and then lets go (like with the upper arm touches that are often used between them to get the other’s attention), or he hugs him from the side, leaving Charles an opening to get out of it if he wants.

On the other hand, Charles seems very aware that Seb is a private person and gives Seb the chance to maintain that privacy, too. During the Twitch streams in 2020 already, he would talk about Seb but never reveal much of what they were talking about together. Most of the times they interact are in the background and Charles is happy enough to let Seb initiate their contact when they are in front of a camera.

And while it seemed like Charles wasn’t very involved in Seb’s last race, I would argue he was and actually took a step back himself to let Seb do what he had to. Even when he felt ill, Charles was still there for the final track run, in the crowd. He did the donuts he promised, mimicked Seb’s finger when he was on the podium after the race. He was also one of the few, if not the only one, to temper expectations and tell people that when Seb’s made a decision, he’s sticking with it, and to not pin hopes on him returning (he’s very stubborn, after all, and his favourite colour’s blue). It might not seem like a lot, but there’s a very real respect and acknowledgement of who Seb is as a person there.

The narrative surrounding Sebchal has changed so much through the years – to the point where even Ferrari called it a very special bond in their social media posts about Seb’s last race – and their dynamic has evolved alongside it. The “rivalry” was very fun while it lasted, don’t get me wrong, but the guys have been telling us all along that it was fabricated and luckily, we now have the full picture. It’s been a fun journey to see it all develop right in front of my salad (I might have only joined after the 2019 summer break but all in all, missing out on half a season is excusable I think) and while I do miss seeing the two of them together on the grid, I will absolutely go down with this ship. No one does it like them and even without new crumbs, there’s still plenty to chew on and pick apart to keep me busy for a long time to come.

#sebchal #sebchalday23 #god this truly is just one big ramble and infodump huh #idk if anyone is even interested in this but it's sebchalday and I miss them and I just want to bask in their history #because it's so fascinating! nothing about this makes any sense but here we are!#watching them throughout the years is something I'll always be thankful for... it was a ride and a half but it was amazing #it's the slow burn it's the growth it's them figuring out each other #I truly don't think we'll ever get another unhinged storyline like this #charles started at hero worship and seb started at talented guy but not Kimi hmpf #and they became genuine friends by the end of it #obsessed with them I tell you #meo shouting into the void

50 notes · View notes

gffa · 1 year

Note

I'm really glad you're enjoying the lockwood and co books and series so far!! they're very special books to me and my friends, i remember reading them when i was 16 and absolutely adoring them, they;re just SO GOOD.

one thing i've really enjoyed about the series is the very clear depictions of issues of class and worker's rights, and its one reason i want to reread the books again, because those just went completely over my head as a kid and i want to see how the series and books depictions differ. jonathan stroud had a very close hand in the production of the series so im curious to see how his now 10 year old books and attitudes in them hold up. Anyway, i was curious if that was something that was also as obvious to you as it was to me? my mum's English and i grew up with a kind of baseline understanding of english class struggles (despite the fact that she's from the south and grew up relatively rich) and the attitudes in England surrounding worker's rights and unions and so on, so its always interesting me to see how other people see these issues and how they're presented in media.

for example i absolutely love the casting choices of all the main characters, i think they really perfectly exemplify the struggles portrayed in the books that something as big as The Problem would affect on all working levels, including the class of children which honestly i find is a class of people that goes overlooked a Lot in stories, or at least in the way jonathan stroud does it. Lucy and lockwood are both excellently portrayed i think, and their intrinsic struggles to connect and attitudes are products of their upbringings and backgrounds and i think the series does an excellent job of portraying that (as much as I can say this without revealing spoilers hgjkfdls), with lucy being a northern working class girl from a poor family and lockwood, despite not having a close family, being raised objectively middle class and having relatives who go hunting.

anyway its!!! very good!!! i think the series is a fantastically faithful adaptation of the themes and ideas of the books so far, and also almost every setting looks EXACTLY how i pictured it which makes me absolutely feral hjgfkdsl

but yes idk if this makes much sense but aaahh I'm glad you're enjoying it all!! i really can't wait to see what you think of the second book and the rest of the series!!

also cos im curious: did you read the book before watching the series? and if not, do you think the series holds up as a story in its own right without needing the background of the books to watch it? cos while i think it's a brilliant adaptation I'm wondering how well it plays out as a story on its own without having to read the books first

I'm delighted at how many Lockwood & Co. fans there are, I’d never heard of the books before the Netflix adaptation, but it seems like there’s a bunch of you! It’s lovely to be able to discuss things already even if I’m not sure I’ll have a lot to add just yet, since I’m only on episode 5 of the adaptation and halfway through the first book. (I didn’t want to burn through the episodes too quickly because it’s such a charming series, so I decided to switch back and forth between them and the books, which helps keep my memory fresh of the show when I read the books, so I can take note of the differences. There are some differences, but ones that generally seem like really good ideas for a TV series adaptation, like I already like the tweaking of George’s character and I really loved the Norrie backstory.) I don’t know that I would have clocked the class theme on my own--but I’m not that far into any of it yet, though, I know how the first book turns out, of course--I can’t say that I felt it was necessarily a strong theme in the adaptation in the sense that it was driving the plot, but it is very much there, Lucy’s character is very much that of a working class type of character. And, when you mentioned it, I can pick up on it in the book as well, especially as I’m just getting to the introduction of John Fairfax commissioning the team for a case. I’m also not sure where I’m going to land on the aspect of having children with so much more autonomy given to them, like the scene where Barnes comes by and they’re just totally blase about how he’s trying to tell them to be careful, openly laughing about how worked up he seems after he leaves, just struck me as very “this is a series aimed at young readers so it’s going to have young kids as protagonists, it’s not meant to be taken super seriously as commentary on 15 year olds being allowed to run their own agencies”, but other times the consistency (and Barnes’ comments from the adaptation) of how characters who have faded talent are treated make me think that, once you get a bit outside Lucy’s perspective, that maybe there is something to the idea that there’s commentary on these kids having this tremendous burden placed on them. Right now, the concept of adult supervision seems to be set up as an obstacle to be overcome, that Lockwood & Co. are freedom because they refuse to work with adults, but how much of that is because of course they would think that? Lucy’s whole backstory is that she never had parents who took care of her or were involved in her life, just punished her and used her for her talent, so of course she’d view them that way. Anyway, I’m looking forward to getting further in so that I’m not just half-baking my thoughts on the themes and might actually have stronger views on things! And as long as people avoid spoilers, I would love to hear commentary on what kind of themes to be watching for!

#lumi.txt #lockwood & co.

20 notes · View notes

youalmostcapturedjacksparrow · 1 year

Text

𝕁𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕨'𝕤 ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟝

Chapter 5: Commandeering a ship

General POV:

In a matter of seconds, they escaped the brick and were off toward the port.

They took a halt under the bridge to think out their plan further. Or well Jack was planning their escape plan.

'we're going to steal a ship?' Will asked sheepishly.

'That ship?' Will said he was pointing at the ship Jack was looking at. It was the Dauntless pride of Port Royal.

'You will never get away with stealing that' Rose said softly

'Commandeer.' Jack simply said.

'We're going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term. '

He pointed at the interceptor.

He then turned back towards Will and Rose.

'One question about your business, boy. Or there is no use in going.'

Which made Rosemary clear her throat.

'Oh no not you Love.

I'm pretty sure you're ready for this. I was talking to him.' Jack said while pointing at Will.

'So. Will, How far are you willing to go to save her? '

'I'd die for her.' Will said while looking straight into Jacks’s eyes.

'Oh good! No worries then' Jack said while turning around towards the ships.

Rosemary's POV

We were at the bottom of the sea in a few seconds. With a Dinghy over our heads.

I was looking around I never saw the sea bottom and I never thought I would like this at least.

Jack was walking in front of the Dinghy I was walking in the middle and Will was walking last.

'This is either Madness or brilliant.' I said while looking around.

'It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide.' Jack said simply and was not impressed he must have done this a hundred times he was a pirate after all.

'Oh Will watch out there is a crate here, don't step in it' I told him.

But it was already too late Will had stepped into the crate and he couldn't get his feet out otherwise he needed to let go of the dinghy.

The climb to get on top of the Dauntless was a pain in the ass. At least for me. My clothes were heavy from all the water and I wasn't really used to climbing but I was not about to let Jack see my 'weaker' sides. So I put up with it and got on top of the Dauntless with them.

'Stay close behind me.' Jack said simply.

'And please don't do anything stupid'. He reminded the both of us.

Jack walked up towards the lower deck and down the stairs before yelling.

'Everyone, stay calm! We are taking over the ship.'

Will jumped over the stairs to stand behind Jack

'Aye! Avast!' will shout.

Which made me and Jack roll our eyes. As I walked closely behind them flicking Will against his head.

'Idiot' I said but pulled my sword anyway with a smirk towards Gillette.

Who was chuckling at Will's comment. But when he saw me he frowned.

'This ship cannot be crewed by two men.' Gillette said mockingly.

I cleared my throat.

'And what are you wearing Rosemary! And what in the world are you doing with these two imbecile’s one even threatened your life yesterday' he said while looking disgracefully at me.

Jack was about to speak up towards Gillette when I pushed him aside.

'Listen to me you silly cock sucking prick. ' I scolded him.

Which made Will raise an eyebrow and Jack grin.

' One.' I raised a finger.

'I needed to do something to save Elizabeth. Because we both know captain.. I mean 'commodore' Norrington will need years to think over his plan to be the hero of this story. And you as the first mate will never go against him. Because you're up HIS arse so far he almost throws you up'

' two.' I raised a second finger.

' I can do whatever I want. Wear whatever I want. And Marry whoever I want. So please take this ring back. Or I will put it so far up YOUR arse that you can never reach it again.'

I said while pulling the ring of my finger and throwing it overboard.

'Oops,' I said with a smirk.

Jack was looking at Will with a confused look.

'Rose was supposed to marry Gillette next summer' Will said.

'But she hates his guts and he never showed any interest in her at all. So she was planning on doing this for a long time. I think this was the best opportunity to do so.'

'ah,' Jack replied.

'You'll never make it out of the bay' Gillette said with a smirk.

'Son, I'm captain Jack Sparrow' Jack said while cocking his gun against Gillette's face.

Which made me smirk even wider.

'savvy?' Jack said with a smirk.

You could almost see Gillette shitting his pants. Which I adored happily.

Maybe this Sparrow wasn't as bad as I thought.

On the shore. James Norrington was looking out for the supply of the Interceptor. When a soldier said that he should look over the water. Where he saw Gillette in a dinghy waving around and screaming that the ship was taking over.

'They're taking over the ship!! Sparrow, Turner and Rivers!! They're taking the Dauntless'

James took his spyglass and shot It over at the Dauntless. Where Jack and Will were maneuvering with the ropes.

'Rash, Turner. Too rash' James said.

'That is, without doubt, the worst pirate I have ever seen.

And what is Rivers doing with them? She really is a dagger in my eye. Maybe we should be happy she's gone

I ran up the stairs looking at the bay.

'Here they come' I said with a smirk.

'Stupid stupid commodore'

'Now hide!' Jack said

And after a few moments, we could feel the hooks of the interceptor getting on the Dauntless and everyone was getting on the Dauntless.

' Search every cabin, every hold, down to the bilges.

And Bring Rivers to me. I'm not done with her attitude just yet.' James spat. While walking aboard the Dauntless.

But by the time everyone was on the Dauntless, Will, Jack and me flew over toward the interceptor.

Will cut all the ropes towards the Dauntless and Jack went up towards the wheel.

Will and I took up the anchor and off we were. And before the men of Norrington knew we were on their ship, we were already to far out reach to get back on with ropes.

Jack stood at the wheel smirking and waving his hat towards Norrington.

' Thankyou Commodore, for getting us ready to make way!

We'd have had a hard time by ourselves!'

I ran up towards the Upper deck and smirked and even waved at Norrington. Before ducking down because the navy was shooting at us.

'Set topsails and clear up this mess!' James barked towards the soldiers.

'But with the wind across her stern, we won't catch them.'

'I don't need to catch them, I just need to get them in range of the long nines.' James barked even louder.

'Hands, come about! Run out the guns!' The first mate barked towards the sailors.

'we are to fire on our own ship, sir?' He asked the commodore.

'I'd rather see her at the bottom of the ocean. then in the hands of a pirate.' Norrington said.

'Commodore he disabled the rudder chain, sir.' A sailor said.

And before they could anchor the Dauntless down. She went straight ahead toward Dinghy Gillette and his men were in.

'ABANDON SHIP' Gillette screamed and they all jumped off the dinghy.

I heard his scream and laughed loudly.

'Asshole' I murmured to myself.

'That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen.' Norrington first mate told him.

'So it would seem. ' Norrington said with venom in his voice.

22 notes · View notes

what-breaks-my-heart · 1 year

Text

Last Dance, One More Chance

I have been listening to Wu Bai’s Last Dance on repeat since the very first time I went to watch Someday Or One Day: The Movie at the cinema earlier this month. The song has stuck with me like a spinning record constantly playing in my head ever since.

Partly because of how addictive the song is - I can’t blame Chen Yun Ru for loving the song because it is AN EXPERIENCE - and partly because of the emotional damage the movie has dealt me.

Because I was (and still am) obsessed with the story, I binge watched the brilliant original - the drama from 2019 - over the last weekend. Having enough time to explore the characters as opposed to limited screentime for the movie, I realised how important Last Dance is to the storytelling both in the movie and the drama.

While listening to Last Dance from the same casette allowed Huang Yu Xuan and Li Zi Wei (as well as Xie Zhi Qi) to time travel, nobody else could.

The rules of time travel did confuse me in the beginning and while they were explained towards the end of the drama, there was no explanation as to why only HYX and LZW could travel through time using that casette.

Something else that piques my interest is the choice of host for both HYX and LZW. Yeah, the drama did make a qualifier that the host would look similar to the soul. This, in addition to who gets to travel through time, is a question I cannot shake off my mind at the moment.

There is a potential hypothesis that I want to explore.

Please note that from here onwards this post may deviate from canon and the intention of the scriptwriters.

HYX first listened to the casette while reading through her unsent messages to her deceased boyfriend, Wang Quan Sheng. It is obvious that she was deep in her longing for him (who was actually LZW in WQS’s body). Her third birthday wish that she had made was to be able to see him when she opened her eyes. And true enough, the moment she opened her eyes after losing consciousness on the bus on her way home, the very first person she saw was LZW; the actual LZW himself. HYX had travelled to the past and became CYR in 1998.

Fast forward to 2003, LZW left a prison complex after visiting his best friend Mo Jun Jie. This was about 4 years after CYR’s death. Feeling lost and full of despair himself, LZW listened to Last Dance on the very same casette, wishing that he could turn back time to the time when the three of them were living a happy life. He longed for the time he had spent with the CYR whom he fell in love with (who was really HYX in CYR’s body). His wish was not just for him to see HYX again, but also to prevent the incident involving CYR so that MJJ would be a free man. And so he got his one more chance when the casette allowed him to travel to the future; I’d argue he actually travelled to the past but as opposed to his (2003 LZW’s) past, he travelled to a future past created by him travelling to the future. In essence, this incident created a time loop for both him and HYX.

CYR was... CYR. The depressed teenager who had a bleak outlook in life. What she desperately wanted was not actually to disappear, but to feel like she belonged. She longed for a life wherein her family was not messed up, for a world she would not be disappointed in. But like what HYX told her, it didn’t matter how harsh life was to her, but it’s how she chose to face it. Like a patient who needed therapy, HYX took over the wheels and changed how the world treated her. Last Dance - the song she loved so much - gave her that chance by letting HYX took over her life.

While WQS’ story was not explored in detail, his misery and longing was more than just about his buddy passing away. It was him desperately wanting to live a different life and leave behind all the misery he had to endure. While his life figuratively ended when he drowned and LZW took over his life, wouldn’t he experience what LZW did during the entire time? And we know LZW had some good memories with HYX when he was in charge.

In the end, didn’t they all get their one last chance to live a live they so desperately wanted?

#I am just thinking out loud but yeah I just need to get this out there #someday or one day #twdrama #drama commentary

14 notes · View notes

wahbegan · 1 year

Text

I mean let’s take the Joker, for example. Now, this isn’t Heath Ledger’s fault. I’m not even sure I’d say it was Christopher Nolan’s fault, i’m sure he didn’t anticipate the cultural effect The Dark Knight would have, but anyway. Heath Ledger, rest his soul, was an amazing actor, and his portrayal of the Joker was iconic for a reason, he was a very compelling character to watch, he was brilliant. It was amazing.

But it wasn’t....really Joker. It was the perfect Joker for Christopher Nolan’s Batman, but Christopher Nolan’s Batman wasn’t really Batman. That wasn’t the world Batman inhabits.

And that movie...kinda ruined The Joker. It made him an anti-authoritarian, anti-establishment nihilist terrorist who was only really interested in proving out his fucked up philosophy, and since then Joker has turned into a very annoying symbol for a VERY annoying contingent of people, mainly young men a la Tyler Durden.

The thing is...i remember Nolan saying at one point he wanted Joker to be unpredictable, for you to never be sure what he was about to do. He wanted him to be like the shark from Jaws. But those goals are at odds. The thing is...the shark from Jaws was predictable, in a way. Sure, you never knew where it was gonna strike or who it was gonna eat, but it was a man-eating shark. You could count on it to eat people.

Now, comics have been y’know getting more grimdark and edgy over the years anyway, so i can’t put all the blame for this on Nolan, but Joker is like a shark now. Sure, you never know EXACTLY what he’s going to do, but you can be sure he’s gonna do something horrible to make some fucked-up point. Again, you can blame things like The Killing Joke and A Death in the Family and The Dark Knight Returns for some of it, but Nolan’s Joker was really the final nail in the coffin.

The Joker that had been built up in the comics over the years and through things like Batman: the Animated Series was genuinely unpredictable. In Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, one of the psychiatrists at Arkham says he remakes his personality every day from the ground up and at any given point he’s equally likely to be a sadistic psychopath or a harmless goofball doing a bit. That is the essence of what makes The Joker a good and compelling character to me. That is why, even today, i say i love The Joker.

Because it’s genuinely both very funny and very fucking tense to watch him fuck about, because you never know if he’s just being silly or if he’s going to do something incredibly horrible. Classic Joker is like The Laughing Fish. This is a story where Joker poisons all the fish in Gotham to give them little Joker faces, not because he’s tryna poison people with their meat or anything, but because he’s trying to copyright fish.

He poisoned the Gotham Bay to copyright fish. And it’s only after a bureaucrat tells him he can’t do that that he starts killing people until HIS DEMANDS ARE MET.

In his first appearance in B:TaS, Christmas With the Joker, he breaks out of Arkham, takes multiple people hostage, tries to derail a train full of people, and has a giant cannon take pot shots at Gotham City.

What is his endgame for all of this? He wants to give Batman a gag “Christmas present” that’s just a box with a spring-loaded custard pie in the face. That’s it. No poison, no bombs, no torturing Robin, he goes through all of this insane shit just because he wants to get Batman with a custard pie gag.

The Joker is this very surreal character who is the polar opposite of Batman because he doesn’t seem to take anything seriously, and now all Joker does is take shit seriously. He doesn’t even tell jokes any more!!

And it’s because the world of Batman is not the real world. It’s a surreal dreamscape that goes from sci-fi to standard superhero shit to Se7en-style murder mysteries to straight-up horror without batting an eye. And Joker is the perfect arch-enemy for Batman in this world, someone who embraces how weird and fucked up everything is even as everyone around him acts like it’s just normal life. Even as Batman tries to impose a sense of order and normalcy on Gotham which it absolutely cannot achieve, Joker is just reveling in the chaos, doing screwball shit that ranges from the grotesque to the mostly Three Stooges and Looney Tunes inspired. He walked this tightrope of being scary and funny and you never knew which he was going to be from moment to moment, he could flip on a dime.

He is the I’M GOING TO TURN LITTLE OLD LADIES INTO DOG FOOD AND SELL THAT DOG FOOD TO FUND MY CLOWN-THEMED ROCKET THAT’S GOING TO BLOW UP THE MOON AND YOU CAN’T FUCKING STOP ME comedian to Batman’s THIS IS ALL VERY SERIOUS LIFE OR DEATH I SEE NOTHING RIDICULOUS ABOUT THIS SITUATION straight man. They synergize perfectly.

And now that’s just kinda....gone. AND I BLAME CHRISTOPHER FUCKIN’ NOLAN

#nerd shit #Joker #Batman

15 notes · View notes

betweenlands · 2 years

Note

zedaph or martyn inthelittlewood!!

both again

zedaph:

First impression: oh yoooo it’s the other guy that was in minecraft toy box alongside simplysarc! i didn’t know he was a hermit, i wonder what he’s up to?

Impression now: SCIENCE GUY OF ALL TIME. severely underrated hermit. i love him a lot and he deserves to go apeshit. incredibly brilliant redstoner

Favorite moment: idk man like all of s8. The Chamber was brilliant

Unpopular opinion: whoooboy. okay. potential Hot Take: i really, really feel like people tend to infantilize him and/or heavily diminish the role he has in team ZIT, to the point where it feels like some people don’t even really care about him as a character compared to impulse and tango? like for some reason there’s been a big uptick in zedaph content that literally could not be further apart from the way zedaph actually works as a person and hm. don’t like that!

Favorite relationship: uh i’ll be honest i don’t have a favorite dynamic of his rn. they’re all roughly equal in my mind. would love to put him in the same room as grian for longer than just a base swap and shake them a little bit. also obviously the dynamic i have wholesale invented between him and sarc Owns, but that’s because i made it up for myself

Favorite headcanon: @autisticlalna‘s alpha-z au, baybee! i really love the added layer of depth that comes with the implications of “zed is a clone of The Original Original Lalna That Worked At Yoglabs” and i think it adds a fun addition to his sciencey thing. it’s just really unique and also it means he can be little a sinister. as a treat

Idea for a story: uhhhhhh idk what if zedaph invented a new weapon called a gun i’d like to write a sequel to stormwatching the sandbox someday! of course, that relies on simplysarc uploading enough for me to squeeze more lore out of him, but. yeah

martyn:

First impression: oh yooo there’s a yog in this grian series? i didn’t know grian knew any yogscast members! i don’t know much about martyn but i’m excited to see where this goes!

Impression now: i rattle him gently and his one mcc coin falls out of his pocket. every time i watch his teams in mcc they do absolutely awfully and the one time i didn’t watch his team, he won. i’m very sorry martyn. also his lore is alright i guess

Favorite moment: i honestly think his double life series through cleo is hilarious in every possible way and it kinda owns

Unpopular opinion: ...yeah i’m still not a fan of the watchers lol. i tend to justify it with “this is some kind of entity pretending to be the watchers” but i just do not vibe with watcher lore. i feel bad because i know his lore isn’t intentionally the exact same as the fanon watchers i have disliked for so long, but it’s way too close coincidentally for me to be comfortable with it

Favorite relationship: just like with 3rd life ren. its renchanting duo. how could it ever be anything else. however also like i’ve mentioned in previous asks i would go absolutely insane over the thematic implications of a true impulse-martyn day one alliance in a traffic game, you would never get me to shut up

Favorite headcanon: anything bridging third life and yogscast i am SUPER down for. i think @strifesolution is the person i’m thinking of who likes drawing explicit parallels between the sacrifice at black heart altar and whatever the hell parvis and strife are doing in blood and chaos? and i think that OWNS.

Idea for a story: ohhh i dunno this is a hard one. maybe something with hopperhawk martyn, like he gets trapped in the breaker world that is trafficseries and then when he busts out he promptly decides he wants to dimension dive into other dangerous realities? yeah. maybe that

#sorry for the tag emma i didn't want to not attribute you #not sorry for the tag leo. you know i can't not talk about alpha z #ask game #yt #yogs #hermits #3lsmp #llsmp #dlsmp #martyn why are you in everything ever #ask #orig #anonymous #solar scraps #oh yeah wait i should tag #alpha z au #trafficseries

9 notes · View notes

stewblog · 1 year

Text

The Fabelmans

Every movie, in one way or another, is a chance to peer inside the mind and soul of its director. Steven Spielberg’s movies have never shied away from this but, for reasons both obvious and not, The Fabelmans is by far his most revelatory.

The Fabelmans is many things. It’s a (mostly) autobiographical coming of age tale that mirrors his own experiences growing up a Jewish kid in the suburbs. It’s a confessional about his struggle to relate to any family member other than his (would be) concert pianist mother, the only person who encouraged or even understood his artistic inclinations and dreams. But more than anything, The Fabelmans is Spielberg waxing nostalgic about why he loves movies.

Sammy Fabelman (Gabriel LaBelle) isn’t great at talking to girls. He can’t play sports. He mostly argues with his father and three younger sisters. Not much in life seems to make sense to him, except for movies. And not just watching them, though he is entranced from the moment he first sits in a theater. Sammy becomes obsessed with storyboarding, cinematography, editing. It’s like he’s found a missing piece of himself. He makes movies because it’s all he knows how to do, because it’s all he can do, especially when his life begins slowly spiraling beyond his control.

Spielberg has long used his movies to communicate his lived experiences. It’s impossible not to read elements of Close Encounters of the Third Kind and even Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade as anything other than metaphors for his own relationship with his father, for instance. He’s talked at length about how E.T. was born from an attempt to write a story about his parents’ divorce. The Fabelmans takes things several steps further (via the help of writer Tony Kushner) and pushes the subtext into text. Granted, not every element is a direct lift from his own life, but the broad strokes are there with his aforementioned mother and a brilliant electrical engineer father who frequently moves his family to new states as he pursues work on the cutting edge of computers.

The only constant in life for Sammy is movies. The soft flicker of the projector is a comfort. The stories he conjures are the only things he has control over. But more than anything, he slowly comes to understand the power those stories have on the people he shares them with. It takes a fateful encounter with his Uncle Boris (Judd Hirsch) for Sammy to realize that his hobby can be and is something more than just entertainment. But once that epiphany is reached, he knows he’s incapable of doing anything else.

All of this is intertwined with the rollercoaster of being a child, and often the only Jewish one around (save for his siblings). He’s ruthlessly mocked and even beaten simply because of his family’s faith. And yet it is a movie that helps him rise above it.

Thankfully, none of this comes across as navel-gazing or self-aggrandizement and is instead a warts-and-all love letter to everything that brought Spielberg to where he is. He isn’t shy about pointing out how aloof Sammy is. For as clearly frustrated as Spielberg was with his father, he still paints Burt (Paul Dano) as a highly affectionate, if awkward, parent who just wants to do right by his family. It may well be my favorite performance Dano’s ever delivered.

Judd Hirsch gives a bone-shaking performance as Sammy’s bombastic uncle. It’s the kind of work that can only be compared to Alec Baldwin’s similarly brief appearance in Glengarry Glen Ross. You never see him again, but his words reverberate throughout and set the course for everything else to come. Hirsch is tremendous here and were it not for Ke Huy Quan’s incredible work in Everything Everywhere All At Once there’s no one else who I’d want to win Best Supporting Actor at next year’s Oscars ceremony.

It’s Michelle Williams, though, who delivers the standout performance, finding a perfect balance of joy, elation, love, frailty, sadness and fallibility. It’s a layered, often heart-wrenching display of acting that in some ways is the very soul of Spielberg’s story.

If there’s a significant flaw within it’s that for a movie titled The Fabelmans, we never get a complete picture of the entire Fabelman family. Sammy’s three sisters are all drastically under-written as characters and we really only get a single major bit of interaction between him and one of them (good though it is). Granted, this is intended to be Sammy’s story and it’s entirely possible this approach was by design and Spielberg’s own relationship with them was just as sparse, but it stands out all the same.

The Fabelmans is as heartfelt as anything Spielberg has ever made or likely ever will make. It’s a movie that proudly and with great delight and love wears its heart on its sleeve. In a popular culture where biting sarcasm and post-modern deconstruction are frequently favored, it almost feels lightly daring for The Fabelmans to embrace its audience with such blatant affection and sentimentality. Not that I would expect anything less from its director. I’m just glad he’s still doing what clearly means the world to him.

#steven spielberg #michelle williams #paul dano

4 notes · View notes

spoilertv · 7 months

Text

#SpoilerTV

0 notes

sitp-recs · 7 months

Note

hi liv, hope you’re doing well! i have some asks too!

how did you start shipping drarry?

would do please go on a giddy, adoring rant about how much you love drarry?

thank you so much and hope you have the best day ever <3

Hi anon, sure ask away! I don’t know if this will be the adoring rant you were hoping for but it will be an honest one 😊

I’m not quite sure how I first found Drarry fic - it’s been so long my memory is fuzzy! But I’m certain I started shipping them shortly after watching Chamber of Secrets. How could I not? The tension, the implications & complications, the blonde x brunette aesthetics! But I wasn’t fluent in English back then, so I’d mostly read fics in my mother tongue on Brazilian archives and on ff.net. Green Eyes was a major hit back then and one of my favorites. I started reading in English sometime around 2005, that’s when I found FictionAlley, Hex Files etc. I remember being utterly obsessed with Irresistible Poison, i don’t know how many times I’ve read it in a row, together with other old classics like Eclipse, Bond, Maya’s fics.

To be clear, I wasn’t only reading Drarry back then. I’ve always been a multishipper at heart and my fascination with the problematique was awaken pretty early on lol I’ve read all kinds of ships (If You Are Prepared is a Snarry series that still haunts me to this day) and tropes you can imagine - in fact, I was into sooo much stuff I don’t enjoy as much these days, like dub/non con, bond fic, Amortentia, infidelity etc. I’ve read it all and had a blast! I’ve also had a brief Wolfstar and even briefer Scorbus phase when Cursed Child was released but haven’t revisited them since. The sad thing about reading mlm as a kid and having to hide your internet history is that I didn’t keep track of anything :(

After 2008 I took 2 major breaks from fandom but my interest in Drarry remained, and I’d still read it occasionally, despite being completely immersed in another fandom. Something about the fic quality, the epic stories, the emotional payoff in Drarry still hit me hard and lured me in. But I was a lurker, too shy to interact besides embarrassingly long comments on ao3. I had no fandom friends. That changed when I got into the MCU in 2013 and created a Tumblr to get involved with the community. I had 2 short-lived but intense otps that consumed me as much as Drarry does, and I shared my first rec lists on a sideblog for one of them. But like I said, I’d still read Drarry on occasion! I found RoA as soon as it was published, and thankfully sara_holmes wrote for both HP and MCU 🙏🏼

I’ve said this before but I think my love for Drarry remained untouched over the years for a variety of reasons: the first one is that I really really loved the universe, and through fandom, I’ve fallen deeper in love with the (fleshed out) version of of these characters. I loved fics that were creative and full of world building because I couldn’t get enough of that magical universe. Unfortunately JKR ruined my sense of wonder for canon beyond repair and so I’ve had to repurpose the way I experience fandom and what I seek out of it. I haven’t read the books or watched the movies in a very long time and at this point my perception and feelings about HP and Drarry are fully shaped by my experience here, by the brilliant works I’ve read and the dear friends I’ve made.

Now this is about finding a safe and welcoming community in this corner of fandom, one that’s compassionate, brave, kind and that explores these characters the way I want to see. Now it’s about feeling like I belong somewhere after so many years of lurking around. Besides, enemies to lovers will always be one of my favourite tropes, I find it really compelling and I love the many ways we find to get these idiots to fall in love with each other over and over again. It’s certainly been a rollercoaster with lots of ups and downs, but fandom has been a big part of my life and identity for two decades now , and I’m nowhere near done 💜

#asks #anon #the drarry life #long post

11 notes · View notes

luminousvision · 10 months

Text

Bankrupt

The following is mostly autobiographical and partially fictional.

— Mom called me again last week to ask about grandkids I won’t have. If I had kids and gave them half of what my mom gave up for me, I’d have nothing left.

I remember high-school Maddie whose parents demanded repayment on the loan they took out in the form of her birth. You ought to be grateful for this opportunity, they said. You’d be living in a straw hut and tending to the fields if we were still in Vietnam. It wasn’t just Maddie. Kevin, both Karens, Miles all lived variations on the story. Every kid was a gigantic loan from The-Bank-of-What-We-Could-Have-Been, accruing interest invisibly over fifteen years, only to reveal the debt sharks in the form of kind and caring parents who swore to themselves and God that it was only out of love.

My parents empathized more than most. When I procrastinated on college apps, missed too many problems on practice SAT tests, or threw a fit at the door about my stupid teachers were, my parents listened patiently, nodding. But at dinnertime, they’d tell me when they were my age, they hunted for every last grain of rice. You are what you don’t eat, they said. They watched me put my bowl with three uneaten grains of rice in the dishwasher. That’s who I was. They knew.

They knew that an American high school kid growing up in the suburbs had no idea what it meant to leave behind their whole life, promise, family, and career behind in South Korea to start anew in a rich country where you didn’t have to build it from scratch. My dad gave up dreams of being an esteemed professor; my mom gave up dreams of corporate brilliance and financial independence from a family who decided their fourth consecutive girl was not deserving of baby photos. Both of them had converted their intellect, grit, and every last grain of rice in their bowl into hope and empowerment.

My parents knew. They knew I had no clue what they had suffered, attained, and given up for me. I know Maddie, Kevin, the Karens, Miles, and all the rest also had no idea what their parents gave up for them.

To this day, I still don’t understand what my parents gave up. My calculator for a fulfilling life implodes when I put their numbers in it.

Maybe my parents subscribe to the ideology that sacrifice is noble and beautiful. If so, God bless their hearts and God damn their principles. I don’t want any more people sacrificing their lives for anyone else, even their kids. I don’t want to be a loan. I don’t want anyone waiting twenty years to collect their debt. I don’t care if your kid is Mahatma Gandhi. I don’t want any kid to ever look at their parents and see even a glimmer of regret in their faces silently asking themselves: “is this what I gave my life for?”

But for two seconds, forget about me as a kid. I’m in the position to choose parenthood. I’m in the position to make the greatest sacrifice. I obviously haven’t had any personal experiences here, so let me tell you the most inspirational stories I’ve heard about others.

Sometime in college, I came across the biography of Clara Schumann, the brilliant pianist and composer from a time when women were not allowed to be musical, brilliant, or really anything at all. She wrote in a letter: do you really think people in the future will remember me for my music? I think people will remember me more favorably for the great mother I was. She soon retired from music to raise three kids whose names I do not remember.

Many years later, I read the story of Judit Polgar while studying chess. She peaked at the seventh best player in the world. No other woman, even to the day I write this, has broken into the man-infested top 100. She even beat Garry Kasparov, infuriating the world champion of her day because he lost to the inferior sex that belonged in the home with her babies. Guess why she quit chess?

I am not Clara nor am I Judit. I do not possess any quality nearly as exceptional as theirs. They are also empowered to make their own choices. I even give them the benefit of the doubt that they did not regret their decision. But I ponder their decision to take the road more traveled by and wonder who else we’ve lost in the history of human reproduction.

I am aware of the irony. There is no humanity to bemoan without parents. But this irrefutable logic is cold comfort when I listen to Schumann’s music or study Polgar’s games. I look at my dad’s research papers and pictures of my mom smiling in a Samsung office, thinking that if I could un-exist so they could live their trajectory forward twenty more years, I’d gladly take the opportunity.

My parents would be horrified. But I’ve seen that they underestimate what they gave up and who they could have been. I measured their perceived sacrifice by what it took to pay it off.

When I was accepted into Stanford, my parents demanded that we celebrate. I protested. Celebrations give too much credit to their object: a low-quality application with four shitty essays attached to it. But my parents would not budge. I was forced to celebrate with some pizza. The next day at dinner, my parents didn’t lecture me about the three grains of rice left in my bowl. Nor did they mention it the day after. They left me alone. They left me alone the same way a bank stops sending you bills once you pay off the mortgage on your house.

When my mom called me last week to ask me about her grandkids I won’t have, I had to tell her. I needed to say it, and I needed her to hear it, even if she didn’t understand what it meant. I said: “Your lives were worth more than that.” I know mine is.

0 notes

thefilmsimps · 1 year

Text

The Fabelmans (dir. Steven Spielberg)

-Jere Pilapil- 7.5/10 The combination of the World Cup and my nascent addiction to the game Deathloop have really forced me to stray from watching movies, let alone trying to express my thoughts on movies I’ve seen. So I wound up seeing The Fabelmans twice, once because a friend invited me and again because my in-laws wanted to go (and my wife didn’t tell them I’d already seen it, to their surprise). Judging from the commercials, Steven Spielberg’s The Fabelmans is a semi-autobiographical movie about a young boy growing up loving film and navigating prickly parental relationships. The advertising makes it look like trite Oscar bait: a movie about how life-changing and romantic movies are; a personal coming of age story; a performance-focused work where the actors can be real quiet AND THEN SHOUT A MONOLOGUE for the nominations reel. But, if any director has earned the right to do such a movie, it’s Spielberg. And if any director could probably do that kind of movie in his sleep, it’s also probably him. For better and worse, The Fabelmans is a more complicated and interesting movie than all that, though. Gabriel Labelle plays Sammy Fabelman (Mateo Zoryon Francis-DeFord plays him as a child), a teen aspiring filmmaker. The movie’s centered on him, but it’s always emotionally centered on him. The movie has an interesting tendency to let Sammy fall into the background a little bit as the film searches for empathy in the people around him such as his father (Paul Dano), mother (Michelle Williams), family friend Benny (Seth Rogen) or even a high school bully (Sam Rechner). It’s both an odd decison, but an effective one: Sammy’s not quite a cipher, but you can feel him soaking in these moments in ways that would, in real life, echo later on. Unfortunately, things are a little uneven all over. I’m not necessarily sure that all these good parts fit together well, which might be the most awards bait-y thing about it. There is a through line about Sammy’s love for his family competing with his love of film, as explicated as clear as day in a centerpiece monologue by Judd Hisrch, but I don’t see it as following through on that conflict too strongly. It’s easier to say that this movie’s central thesis is that an artistic temperament and interpersonal relationships affect each other in varied, unpredictable ways. Sometimes Sammy sees things in his films he doesn’t like, and sometimes others see things of themselves they don’t like. On a subplot-by-sublot basis, this is all interesting but doesn’t quite hang together.

Much of the heart of the film is taken up by Sammy’s relationships with his parents, which feels like an uneasy mix of ideas: the script lets the parents down a bit, their dichotomy established in the first scene and set in stone. Michelle Williams plays Sammy’s mother as a warm but unpredictable, occasionally manic presence. Paul Dano plays the father as a brilliant but emotionally distant engineer. Both of them, in a way, lack dimension in the way a child might view their parents, but this instinct clashes with the film’s attempts to center their emotional experiences over Sammy’s.

Seeing it twice, I was hoping to be able to make some of the movie feel a bit more cohesive to me, but couldn't quite do it. The benefit of seeing it twice, though, is seeing where Spielberg-as-craftsman shines. Scenes and settings parallel each other in ways that create interesting juxtapositions. As though wearing his upbringing on his sleeve, Spielberg quietly creates a precise film that could make an engineer proud, but one that’s stilly messy and hard to pin down, especially emotionally, as it unfolds. There is something very respectable about that, but it isn’t an easy one to love. I can list all the little things I noticed about this (and this here is a lot of them), but this one didn’t make me love movies as much as its protagonist does.

#movie review #7/10 #spielberg #oscar season 2022

0 notes

lindsaywesker · 2 years

Text

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at a desk in the Mi-Soul office, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you in the NHS, welcome to just another day!

How was your weekend? Wonderful weather but not too hot! Hope you got your fill of Vitamin D? My weekend was breathless and I now need a weekend to recover, but I really don’t have time. This week, I am covering ‘Mi-Breakfast’. Even Superman needs a holiday every now and then, so George and his family have gone away for the week! Well deserved! I shall be keeping the music flowing and harassing you all! Hope you can join me at 7.00am? I’ll be the one with the big pot of coffee!

This time last week, what were we doing? Some of us were being awoken by heat and, by midday, some of us were wondering if life, as we know it, was finally coming to end! Panic over, this week is sunny but pleasant. Don’t think I will ever forget those two days. though!

Enjoyed a brilliant 24 hours with Lady Wesker. She moans and groans about aches and pains but she’s still great value for money! When women reach a certain age they’ve got no filter! When Mum said, “Why she insisted on swimming nude, I will never know! Her boobs were down to her waist!” I was literally speechless! I plan to spend as much time with that crazy lady as I can, and I know some of you can feel me on that!

On Sunday, Mum and The Trouble put on a splendid lunch for some of her oldest friends: an actor called Frank Barrie (and his wife) and an actress called Nichola McAuliffe. Frank does brilliant impressions of both Sir Laurence Olivier and Joan Plowright. His credits are as long as several arms! The two of them provided us with glorious entertainment, endless outrageous stories about actors, actresses and directors; it was almost like watching a play with two actors playing a multitude of eccentric characters. Theatre is the world I almost joined. If I’d stayed in theatre, most of you wouldn’t be reading this now. I’ve still got time for another career change. Who knows? By the end of lunch, Mum was happy but exhausted. She’s been catering for 60 years. She’s tired. Tomorrow, she’ll say, “I’m not doing that again!” but, by the end of the week, she’ll have another lunch party booked.

Many thanks to everyone that listened to ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’ on Saturday. Glad so many of you enjoyed it! Lots of messages from people I don’t often hear from. The Letter H Part Seven is this Saturday at 1.00 p.m. The Letter H concludes at the Margate Soul Festival (August 6th).

If you’re going through some stuff at the moment, I send you a virtual hug of friendship; we’ve all been there. If you’re feeling low at the moment, I hope you get some good news to kill those blues. Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #lockdown #new blog #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy

0 notes

messers-moony · 3 years

Text

Chaser at Heart | J.P

Paring: James Potter X Fem!Reader

Summary: Without realizing it James Potter has always been a Chaser regardless of his Quidditch position.

Everybody wondered where James Potter got his snitch that he played with. Rumors had been created, but only James and Y/n knew the real truth. The most common story was that James and his Marauders nicked it from a supply closet. The honest question was, why did James play with a snitch when he was a Chaser?

Y/n knew. James - even as a boy - had brilliant reflexes. They met in a field that was near both their houses. James went to the field to sit by the lake or even swim in the lake. Y/n climbed the trees and read books on the safety of the wooden bark. But one day, she wasn’t as lucky. Y/n fell from the branch she was sitting on, and James chased after her to catch her.

Brilliant reflexes James had. At eight years old, he caught her and ran fast enough to do so. Y/n was waiting for impact, but she never felt it. Instead, two arms had been wrapped around her. One under her knees and one around her back. Instantly she was met with hazel eyes.

They were beautiful. A gorgeous mix of green and brown. But it wasn’t mixed like paint - no - it was mixed like old and vinegar, separated but together. His hair was shaggy and a mess. It was a beautiful chocolate brown color to match the brown in his eyes. The grass could resemble the green in his eyes. Peonies represented the pink in his cheeks.

The boy smiled, and Y/n smiled sheepishly back, “Afternoon.”

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Sir?” James repeated teasingly, “Do I look thirty?”

Y/n laughed, “Sorry. Force of habit.”

James set her on her own two feet, “Pureblood then too?”

“How did you know I was a witch?”

“Your scarf.”

She looked down to see the gold and maroon-colored scarf, “Oh. In that case, yes, I am a pureblood. You?”

“Me too.” James stated proudly, “Family of Gryffindors.”

“Me as well.”

James took her hand and kissed the back of it, “James Potter, at your service.”

Y/n blushed at his action, “Y/n L/n, at your service.”

From that point, Y/n and James became close friends. They’d switch between going to the lake or climbing trees. Thankfully their families knew each other, so becoming friends only brought them closer. In fact, Euphemia was so grateful to have Y/n’s mother closer now that their children were friends. Fleamont was delighted to be closer with Y/n’s father.

Fleamont Potter delved in Potion making while his wife Euphemia worked at St. Mungo’s, helping wizards and witches all around London. Y/n’s father worked with magical creatures, and her mother worked with Euphemia. James and Y/n got extraordinarily lucky. They were together almost every day.

Meeting at the age of eight gave them three years of being friends before going to Hogwarts. They were close by the age of eleven - really close. They stood side by side as they got on the Hogwarts Express and shared a compartment. James and Y/n talked animatedly until a knock at the container startled them.

“Um- Hello, everywhere else is full. May I sit?”

The boy had sandy hair and green eyes. Scars littered his body as far as the eye could see. He was rather tall for an eleven-year-old too, but he seemed nice enough. His voice had a thick welsh accent. It made his language a bit incoherent, but James and Y/n knew what he was trying to say. Nevertheless, James put on a bright smile.

“Of course!”

He gave a nervous smile looking at Y/n, “Come on. We don’t bite. Although James gets pretty loud.” Y/n smiled.

The boy sat hesitantly beside Y/n, “I’m Remus, Remus Lupin.”

“Brilliant to meet you, Remus; I’m James Potter.”

“And I’m Y/n L/n.”

Another hour went by with James and Y/n starting to get to know Remus. They learned that he was a half-blood and that he thoroughly enjoyed books. Y/n and Remus bonded over that while James was listening aimlessly, just enjoying the sound of Y/n’s voice. But another knock interrupted the conversation. This time a more confident boy showed up.

He was about the same height as James. He had dark brunet hair - darker than James’ - and blue-grey eyes. His smile was almost perfectly white and straight. His face structure was defined and chiseled. A cocky smiled grazed his features.

“‘Ello!” He exclaimed, “I was wondering if I could sit here. I just got kicked out of every other compartment.”

Remus and Y/n shrugged; they looked at James, “Sure.” James replied, patting the seat beside him, “Come sit, uh….”

“Sirius, Sirius Black.” Sirius finished sitting beside James as both purebloods dropped their jaws.

“Black? As in the Noble House of Black?” Y/n questioned, and Sirius nodded, “Indeed.”

James stuck out his hand, “James Potter.” Sirius shook his hand.

“Y/n L/n.”

“You two are purebloods too. Gryffindor purebloods.” Sirius commented, “Yep!” They replied simultaneously.

Sirius eyed the nervous-looking boy, “And you?”

“Rem- Remus Lupin.”

The entire rest of the trip - seven hours - was spent talking—no more interruptions. Y/n, Remus, James, and Sirius all got to know each other. The four of them stayed together through everything until the sorting. They all stood near each other while Professor McGonagall began to call names. James was practically shaking in his boots. Y/n grasped his hand tightly.

“You’ll be okay.” Y/n whispered, and James squeezed her hand thankfully, “Thanks, you too.”

Multiple names were called in alphabetical order of last name until finally B’s were beginning to get called, “Sirius Black!”

Y/n kissed his cheek, making Sirius blush profusely, “You’ll be fine.”

Sirius nodded as he pushed his way through the crowd of first years. Anybody in the wizarding world knew about the Noble House of Black. They were one of the most respected pureblood families. Most known for their line of Slytherins. Sirius Black sat on the stool and waited patiently as the hat spoke in his ear. His cousins watching eagerly from the Slytherin table.

Silence cut through the crowd until, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Great Hall was as quiet as a mouse. A Black in Gryffindor? The rival house to Slytherin, that was a no-go. James and Y/n exchanged nervous glances that said everything that needed to be - Sirius Black was going to be in big trouble. More names got called. Remus began to rock on his heels nervously.

“Remus Lupin!”

Again, the process repeated itself. Remus took his seat on the stool, and the hat was placed upon his head, making its commented in the boy's ear. Remus’ hands wouldn’t stop moving, and it was making Y/n want to throw up.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindor table yelled and cheered. Sirius Black upon them as a blissful smile placed itself upon Remus’ features. He stepped off the stood giving James and Y/n a grateful smile before sitting beside Sirius at the Gryffindor table. A red and gold tie was placed around his shoulders. His green eyes crinkled due to the cheerful smile on his lips.

Attendance seemed to be going slower - or so that’s how it felt - because of how close they were approached the P’s. James’ grip on Y/n’s hand began to get tighter, and his hand began to feel clammy. Y/n didn’t mind.

“James Potter!”

“Oh, Merlin…” James muttered before squeezing Y/n’s hand one more time.

Before stepping on the stool, he looked back at Y/n, who gave him a reassuring smile. James Potter sat upon the seat, and once again, the hat was placed above his hair. Within seconds the hat seemed to have made its decision.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Y/n screamed loudly for him along with the Gryffindor table. James’ hazel eyes met her e/c ones, and he winked. The boy took his spot across from Sirius and watched eagerly at his best friend waiting to be sorted. Sirius snapped his fingers in James' face to get his attention.

“How’d you meet?” Sirius inquired, “Mm?”

“How did you meet her?”

“Oh, she fell out of a tree, and I caught her.” James replied distantly, still looking at his best friend left alone in the smaller crowd.

“She’s nice.”

James nodded at Remus’ comment, “Definitely. She’s brilliant.”

Finally, they got to her last name. James was on his tipping point, and Sirius smiled reassuringly - like she had when he began to sit on the stood, “She’ll be fine. You know that.”

“I do, but still.”

Y/n couldn’t fathom her excitement yet nervousness. She was a walking contradiction. Carefully, not to step on her robes while her legs felt like jelly, she moved through the relatively small crowd. Only about ten kids remained now. Y/n sat on the stool and made direct eye contact with James, who threw her the most reassuring look possible.

“Curious, very curious.” The hat spoke in her ear, “Loyal, hardworking yet courageous and stupidly brave.”

Y/n almost snickered, “What a brilliant Hufflepuff you’d make.”

“Please, Gryffindor. Please, Gryffindor.”

“Gryffindor? Are you sure?” The hat queried, “Please.” Y/n begged.

If the sorting hat could’ve shrugged, he would’ve, “If that’s what you think.”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

James stumbled from the Gryffindor table as Y/n got off the stool with the same smile Remus had. The blissful, relaxed, and cheery smile. On his way out from the table, he almost fell, but he chased his way to her until Y/n was wrapped in his arms. Y/n placed her nose in the crook of his neck while James’ face was buried in her hair. They pulled away, and James led her to sit beside him.

“Told you she’d be fine.” Sirius remarked, “I worry.” James retorted with a smile.

Y/n fiend offense, “You were worried! Where’d you think I’d go? Slytherin?”

“Absolutely not!” James exclaimed, “Jus’ didn’t want to be separated from you.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers, “You aren’t getting rid of me.”

“Neither are you two.” Y/n pointed at the boys across from her, “Welcome to our group of four.”

“We’ve gotta come up with a better name for that.” Remus replied as the other three nodded, “Definitely.”

The boys and the girls had different dormitories. Y/n shared her dorm with three other girls named Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, and Lily Evans. Meanwhile, James, Remus, Sirius shared a dorm where they met a new boy with blond hair and blue eyes named Peter Pettigrew, who quickly was added to their group of four, which was now five.

James and Y/n shared almost every class aside from History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Instead, Y/n had History of Magic with Remus and Lily. At the same time sharing Defense Against the Dark Arts with Remus as well. She also became quick friends with her roommate, Marlene, through Quidditch. Y/n always admired James while he practiced being Chaser, while Y/n was his fake Keeper.

Throughout first year the new additions to their original duo learned how mischievous these two were. Y/n had an intelligent mind with practically foolproof plans, and James had the resources to make those plans work. Sirius was quick to join their prank-making wonders while Remus tended to stick with Y/n in making plans. Peter joined whenever he could.

Soon enough, the group was known as the pranksters around Hogwarts. Surprisingly enough, they were proud of their newfound title. They were all sitting in the boys' dorms. James, Y/n, and Sirius were talking about Quidditch. Peter was practicing the new incantation that Professor Flitwick had taught them, and Remus was reading. When out of nowhere, Remus exclaimed.

“I got it!”

“Got what, mate?” James questioned as the chatter stopped, and they all looked at the sandy-haired male, “Our group name!”

Y/n perked up, “Whatcha got, Remmy?”

“The Marauders!”

“Marauders?” Sirius repeated, confused, “What does that mean?”

Remus sighed, and Y/n giggled, “Marauders is another word for raiders, you idiot.”

“I like it.” Sirius commented, “I do too!” Peter interject.

The three looked at the original duo; Y/n shrugged, “Good call, Rem.”

“How about it, James?”

“I think it’s excellent! The Marauders it is!”

Henceforth, their legacy grew and were now known as the five Marauders. They were all known for something. James, good at getting resources. Sirius, good at persuading. Peter, the most logical. Remus, the brains of every mission. Finally, Y/n, the most reckless. Y/n is the one who’d go in first always; she was also the one with the most detentions.

In the second year, Y/n became more intuitive, observant, and curious about Remus. She noticed in the first year a pattern of when he’d get sick or his mother's sudden illness once a month. She was no stranger to these creatures as her father had worked with them for years. So before the first full moon of the new term, Y/n pulled Remus aside.

“You said you wanted to speak with me?” Remus inquired, and Y/n nodded, “I know.”

“Know about what?”

“I know.”

Remus rocked on his heels, “O- Oh….”

“Don’t worry, nobody else knows. Although they may have or will find out.” Y/n assured, but Remus still looked nervous, “Remus.”

She placed her hands on his taller shoulders, “You aren’t a monster. I’ve seen werewolves before.”

“You- You have?”

“My father works with magical creatures.” Y/n answered, “Werewolves are included.”

“Personally, I think they’re beautiful.” She stated, and tears grew in Remus’ eyes, “You do?”

“Of course, I do.” Y/n smiled, and Remus pulled her in for a hug, “Thank you.”

“Anytime and if you need anything. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.”

Eventually, Sirius found out next, which quite honestly baffled Remus. Then James and then finally Peter, who was definitely the most oblivious of the Marauders. But to Remus’ astonishment, they were all accepting. They loved Remus as much as his mom, which - in reality - was quite a lot. Every night after full moons, he’d find all four of them sitting beside him.

James would bring games to play for when he felt up for it. Peter got his books and set them on the table beside him. Sirius brought sweets and his stupidly funny jokes. Y/n held his hand and comforted him the best he could. Honestly, Y/n gave the best head scratches, and he definitely took advantage of it.

Second-year was also the time for new Quidditch players to join the team. James and Sirius were about to try out but were undeniably nervous. The morning of, neither of them ate, too worried to think about eating, scared of throwing it up later on the pitch.

“You both are tossers.” Y/n suddenly stated, “You’ll both make the team, and then we’ll celebrate it later, yeah?”

They nodded, “Good. Now get yourselves outta this funk. It’s annoying.”

It was unavoidable. They didn’t just get out of their funk until they got on the pitch. Before James and Y/n separated - her to the seats and him to the pitch - he took ahold of her hand. Squeezing it tightly with his eyes closed. His broom in his other hand that was trembling slightly. Y/n took her hand from his and placed her hands on his cheeks.

“You’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Promise promise?” James asked, “Promise promise.” Y/n confirmed.

She let go of his face and began to run off to catch up with Remus, “Good luck!”

“Thanks.” James murmured to himself, “I’ll need it.”

Without a doubt, James was the best Chaser the Gryffindor had ever seen. Sirius was one hell of a beater too. Marlene even tried out for the new Beater position too. Four parts needed to be filled due to seventh-years leaving. Two Beaters, one Chaser, and one Keeper. Y/n and Remus were crossing their fingers that they all got the positions they wanted.

The following week the results were posted. James, Sirius, and Marlene made the team! Y/n would never forget the gleeful smile that passed its way onto James’ face or the way Sirius laughed. She’d never seen them so happy before. Remus and her stood feet away from their little party, his arm thrown around her shoulders.

“It’s nice to see them this way.”

“It is.”

Remus teasingly nudged her hip, “Seems like James has always been a Chaser.”

“What's that suppose to mean?” Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at the lycanthrope, “You’ll see it eventually.”

Y/n didn’t pry. It wasn’t worth it, especially when it’s with Remus. Remus was the ultimate secret keeper and cynical. He said things that made you think but would never tell you what they mean. Eventually, more years passed and they were in the summer going into their seventh year.

James invited Y/n to stay the summer at the Potter manor, and she did. It was possibly one of the best summers he’s ever had with her being so close. Mrs. Potter seemed to know what Remus was talking about when she threw looks at her husband when the two best friends were together. But it was one evening that they were all watching a movie when someone came through the Floo Network.

They jumped up from the couch to see a roughed-up Sirius Black, “Sirius!”

James was frozen along with his two parents, but Y/n wasn’t. She was haste to get Sirius up from the floor to help him stand. He had a nasty cut below his right eye and what seemed to be more all across his body which his mother could only do. But instantly, Y/n had been ordering James around while Sirius laid on his back on the couch.

Thankfully, Y/n knew what to do and Euphemia, but she was frozen, still watching her son's best friend take care of their other best friend. James set everything she needed beside her as she began to work quickly. James sat next to her in case she needed anything else. Y/n tore off his shirt and lifted his pants to right over the edge of his boxers.

“James, hold his hand.” Y/n ordered, and he did it, “I’m so sorry, Sirius, but this’ll sting.”

And it did. Sirius groaned and constantly hissed as Y/n helped his wounds, the muggle way. Euphemia stared in shock, no longer frozen, but it was evident that Y/n had complete control over the situation and needed no extra help. Within an hour, Sirius was brand new. Y/n had carefully used potions and other bandages to help.

“What happened, Sirius?”

He chuckled bitterly, “My mother.”

“No shit.” James retorted, “Why?”

“I’ve been burned off the tapestry. I’m not aloud back because I denied them.”

“Denied them?” Y/n inquired.

“Of you know what.”

“Oh…” Y/n whispered.

“Yeah, oh.” Sirius chuckled again - venom lacing.

Euphemia exchanged looks with her husband, “You’re welcome to stay here.”

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you guys.” Sirius denied hesitantly, and Fleamont shrugged, “Where else are you going to go?”

Sirius stayed silent, “We don’t mind, Sirius. You’ve stayed here before. Euphemia loves having you around just as much as I do.”

“You may not be our son biologically.” Euphemia began as she knelt in front of Sirius, “But you’ll always be our son.”

A single tear fell from Sirius’ eye, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear.”

James and Y/n exchanged looks of pure glee, but Euphemia caught their eye, “No mischief, you two.”

They sighed, “Fine.”

The duo pulled Sirius up from the couch and led him to his new bedroom. Euphemia watched Y/n and James work in perfect symphony as if they were a made team from the start. Fleamont pulled his wife to his side, watching them both as well. How perfectly his son worked with her. How amazingly gentle he was with her.

“He may not know it yet, but he loves her.” Euphemia broke the silence, “Reminds me of us.”

Fleamont quirked an eyebrow, “How so?”

“You always had this dopey grin on your face. The same one James has when Y/n’s around. It’s been that way since they met. When he first mentioned her name, he had that grin. He’s chased her all these years.”

“Perhaps our son has always been a Chaser at heart.” Fleamont commented, “Perhaps.”

It wasn’t until the first Quidditch match he realized. When he was chasing Y/n around to try and hug her after the game they had won against Ravenclaw. Y/n prohibited hugs after Quidditch matches. Yet here James was chasing her around the pitch with her a screaming mess.

Lily, Marlene, and Remus were laughing loudly at him, “Y/n! Y/n come on!”

“Absolutely not!” Y/n yelled while running, “I told you no hugs after matches.”

She spoke too soon because while she was talking, she had slowed down without noticing. Leaving James to wrap his arms around her from behind. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck while she leaned back into him.

“See! You love my hugs.” James exclaimed, “Whatever.” Y/n retorted.

Remus chuckled at them from afar, “They’re definitely in love.”

“How hasn’t she seen it yet?” Lily chuckled, “Oh, he’s been chasing her for years. Since before Hogwarts.” Remus replied.

“Chaser at heart that one,” Sirius stated putting his arm around the lycanthrope.

James realized it then and there. With her in his arms. He was sweaty and full of joy. She was wholly melted into his embrace. His arms around her neck and her arms on top of his biceps. James realized there was nowhere else he’d rather be than with her at this moment. So he pulled her around, facing her.

“Y/n.”

“James.”

Without a second thought, he pulled her in and kissed her. His arms were moving down to her waist and hers around his shoulders. He was so gentle and soft with her. As if she was the finest China he’d ever owned. Godric James was so soft and so sweet. Y/n’s hands went through his sweaty hair.

The whistles and cheers are what pulled them apart, “Finally!”

“It’s about time you realized!” Remus exclaimed happily, “He’s been chasing you for years!”

Y/n smiled at him, and James put his arm around her shoulder, “My chaser.”

“I’ll always chase you, love.”

Years later, that snitch James always played with would be the same one McGonagall had taken from him one day in the seventh year. It was the same snitch that Harry had almost swallowed in his first year. The same snitch that Dumbledore returned to Harry in his seventh year.

The snitch? It was given to James from Y/n when they were nine. It was an honorary friendship gift. The snitch wasn’t stolen. The snitch wasn’t nicked. The snitch was a gift to a chaser who never stopped chasing till the very end.

1K notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

i wonder

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

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

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

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

word count: 20,141

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

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You cracked your eyes open.

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

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

Wait.

CUM?!

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

Think, y/n, think!

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

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

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

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

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

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

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

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

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

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

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

“Come on, let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is where you were now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was on this day that it clicked.

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

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

Disgusting.

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

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

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

So, we look back to where we started.

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

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

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

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was all unimportant and already said.

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

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

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

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

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

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck men.

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

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

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

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

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

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

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

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

Your mind was a drunken fever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thud.

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

You don’t think about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a child.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I always make it.”

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

Silence.

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

“Fend for your damn self then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irritation runs through your veins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once he left, you felt light again.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

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

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

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

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

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

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friends had noticed immediately.

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

You could care less right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As time does, it moves forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

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

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

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

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

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

You grin.

“Obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

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

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

But why did you?

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

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

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

“Anything for you, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

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

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

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

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

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were breathless.

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

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

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

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

He needed you.

Just you.

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

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

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

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

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

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n—”

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

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

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes your breath away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Shouto?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

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

P R E S E N T

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that shocks you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

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

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

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

“Crybaby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was intimate, romantic even.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

3K notes · View notes