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chanvalry · 11 months

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SAY MY NAME ! feat. xiao

V SAYS . . . “who knew that giving you one little gift would open xiao’s eyes to how he feels about you? but, is it enough to convince him to act on it?”

+ WC . . . 3.6k

+ sfw material. female reader. angst. fluff.

!! this was supposed to be nsfw, but i made it into two parts for the sake of making the plot fit in a way that feels comfortable and fluid to me. the NEXT part will contain nsfw material !!

“if you ever find yourself in danger, or if you cannot bring yourself to do what is necessary, speak my name, and i will appear to you.”

in xiao’s mind, it was but a trivial blessing, a privilege well within his sphere of work and achieved without significant effort. but, as appealing as it may seem to be deemed worthy of wielding his name like a baleful curse, he believes that it is all he can give you. he is clumsy and unversed in matters of human relationships, and he does not serve much benefit in the way of offering applicable advice or the types of elegant, lyrical compliments he occasionally hears pour from the lips of poets and performers entertaining audiences near the boundaries of the city.

it doesn’t help that you hardly ever find yourself in sticky situations or toeing the line between safety and peril; because, although he is grateful for your security and the lack of harm you face, he simply wishes that he could offer you more. when he first relinquished such a power to you, it was nothing more than a precaution. you’ve never been one to gamble with your life or plunge headlong into potential danger on a whim, instead avoiding trouble within the walls of your picturesque cottage.

in fact, the only reason you even encountered him at all was due to the fact that a band of lawlichurls abandoned their usual routine and began chipping away at the outskirts of the city. you merely happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

he could tell you weren’t an adventurer with a single glance as you thanked him profusely for his intervention. you were frazzled and in clear disarray as you fluttered anxiously around him, hands gripped with a noticeable tremor as you awkwardly attempted to gather the collection of wildflowers and meticulously snipped mint plants that had been stripped from your grasp and scattered about the area during the mayhem. your explanation of the purpose of your whereabouts was linked together into one unbroken, jumbled stream of vowels and consonant. you were tense, movements rigid and tight like the string on a bow drawn taut.

however, it wasn’t until you finally began to mellow out and he dared to step closer, fist stuffed full of stems he managed to snag before the wind could whisk them away, that he noticed how captivating you appeared that night. despite your dress being rumpled and creased beyond simple adjustment, there was no mistaking the charming cascade of the violet fabric around your figure, loose enough for the hem to swirl around your ankles with each gust of wind yet tailored to inconspicuously highlight even the slightest curves embellishing your physique, right down to the gentle bend of your knee as you shifted your weight.

it reminded him of a sculpture he’d once stumbled upon among the ruins of a forgotten town sunken into the earth—a woman seated upon a pedestal with her head lifted toward the cracked ceiling, draped in overgrown vines and stained with moss yet carved with such care that every smooth edge and shape appeared soft to the touch.

you stood tall, even as the material draped over your body rippled beneath the force of the breeze. you radiated goodwill—your profuse expressions of gratitude, the benevolence that twinkled in eyes far more unguarded than any he’s had the pleasure of meeting in a long time, and especially the kind voice that fussed over blood that didn’t even belong to him until the words of rejection brewing on his tongue withered.

there he was, soaked in cerise and sharp gaze piercing you to your core as if your flesh were as delicate as gossamer, yet not once did the warmth in your gaze waver. you were afraid, of course you were, he could see it in your eyes, plain as day. but you approached him, regardless.

still to this day, he wonders why.

at the time, when you insisted that he allow you to repay him in some way, he became painstakingly aware of how rough—how calloused and hardened—his hands were compared to yours, which he was positive had never clutched anything sharper than a kitchen knife. he had half a mind to withdraw from your touch; but beneath the silver wash of moonlight, you appeared so serene that he wondered if such an action would be enough to upset you, so he stilled instead. he paid no heed to the figure veiled by your attire or really anything regarding your features. all he could focus on was the manner in which you gazed upon him without judgment, as if he hadn’t just effortlessly terminated an entire band of monsters within seconds, as if his awkward silence and uncertainty when speaking to you didn’t exist, as if his conspicuous appearance didn't deviate from the city's normalcy . . .

as if he was just like you.

you weren’t keen on allowing him to slip away so easily, either—at least, not without learning his name, which evolved into his favorite treat, which then developed into an invitation to meet the following day so that you could give him said favorite treat as a proper show of your gratitude. he didn’t quite understand what prompted him to take you up on your offer. perhaps it was because of how swiftly the chill of loneliness sank back in as soon as you vanished down the hillside with a secretive grin. maybe it had something to do with how the prospect of being able to ascertain whether or not the uncritical sincerity he’d seen from you the day prior was actually real made the corners of his lips quirk upward.

he may not have accepted an outright wish to meet you, but you piqued his interest. and, if nothing else, he knew that he wouldn’t be entirely adverse to seeing you just one more time before your paths would diverge once more.

but, you clearly had no intention of allowing it to be just “one more time.” time and time again, you would either stumble across him in a stroke of fortune or scrape together a reason to cross paths with him. he could not understand why you were so adamant about being in his presence if not for the need for protection or guidance pertaining to the land. even for the most mundane activities, like filling wooden basins with water near the edge of the river or assisting you with carrying something you clearly could manage on your own, you found pleasure in simply having him by your side, undaunted by and comfortable in even the longest stretches of silence that would settle between you.

he didn’t find it troublesome by any means. rather, he quite enjoyed being in your company, even if his attempts at reciprocating were poor at best. there is no history between you—no bloodstained, fractured past where you’ve witnessed his behavior at his worst or the horrific extent of his capabilities as a warrior. he was simply xiao, an enchanting individual who’s never had the pleasure of tasting a strawberry tart or experiencing lantern decorating but also happens to be your knight in shining armor.

you made him feel welcome, valued beyond his physical prowess, yearned for in his entirety. and in return, he’d grown to care for you deeply, craving a level of intimacy he’s had yet to explore.

even now, you don’t shy away from him, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement as the weight of his gift to you settles in. “really?” xiao remains rooted to his spot in the grass even as you step closer, close enough for him to count the individual fragments of rose quartz adorning the gold chain hooked around your throat—close enough to touch him, if you so pleased. “so, that means i’ll be able to call you whenever i want?”

he should have anticipated that you would completely bypass the fine details, your brain’s processing capacity reduced to nearly tunnel vision as you zero in on the overarching meaning instead: no more having to hope that you both are in the right place at the right time, no more wondering whether or not he’ll make the first move, and no more having to trek through the wilderness alone.

he nods and loosely folds his arms over his chest. “correct, but—”

before he can finish speaking, a dazzling smile blooms on your features, and your hand darts toward him without warning. he falls silent at the sensation of your fingers clasping his, drawing his hand into the space between you and cradling it within your own. he can detect a floral fragrance wafting from your skin . . . wisteria. it envelops his senses, intertwining with the comforting presence of your touch to send a ticklish, tingling sensation dispersing through his stomach. he swallows.

“this is so cool!” you squeeze his hand. “thank you, xiao.” the corners of his lips tilt upward into a small smile, and his muscles relax.

but, just as quickly as your grin appeared, it vanishes, along with your touch as you release him without warning. wait. his widen a fraction as he witnesses the warm gleam in your eyes dim into a muted reluctance. you withdraw from him, and in one fell swoop, the candlelight flickering in his chest is extinguished, reduced to nothing more than a cold whisper of smoke. wait. he’s never witnessed this behavior—this uncertainty—from you before. did he accidentally squeeze your hand? did you see something?

“wait, so . . .” you begin hesitantly, and xiao’s hand sinks back down to his side. he feels . . . he doesn’t know. he can’t quite place it, but it leaves his stomach roiling with malaise all the same. “all i have to say is your name, right? just ‘xiao’ and that’s it?”

“uh . . . yeah.”

rejection. he recalls the sting of it in the pit of his stomach, not quite foreign and not quite familiar, but never rendering him as defenseless as he is now. he’s become used to the solitude, accustomed to most regarding him with suspicion or fear. but to be subjected to such kindness from the first encounter, only to then have such a luxury slip from his fingertips without as much as a hint—this is new.

the swelling of your chest beneath your blouse as you inhale is barely noticeable. “have you always been able to hear when i say your name?” you question.

that’s probably the issue, his shoulders square. from what he’s learned from observing humanity, disregard for an individual’s privacy has never been taken kindly. “no, no,” he rushes to placate you. “i can only hear it if i establish a link between our consciences, which would allow for minimal communication.”

“oh . . .” your eyebrows furrow as you mull over his explanation, only for your easy smile to return a moment later. “oh!” the sight alleviates the coil of tension constricting around his chest, and he exhales slowly, with it expelling the besetting pessimism clouding his psyche. you laugh, and xiao relaxes. “sorry, that got a bit tense.” you dismiss with a breezy wave of your hand. “so, what about in conversation? can you hear that? like if i just mention your name.”

he shakes his head once more. “not quite. it’s more complicated than that. so far, i’ve only been able to hear it in times of desperation or fear . . . or, really just when you need me.” he explains. “let’s say you get attacked or get lost in the woods. you call me, and i’ll hear you. but, if you mention my name in conversation, i won’t.”

“oh, that’s a relief,” you shift your weight onto your right leg. a relief? does that mean she talks about me? xiao can’t help but search your eyes in question, seeking any kind of emotion to hint at the circumstances you may have mentioned his name in. why would you? do you speak highly of him? who do you speak about him to? how do you really feel about him?

almost as if his inquiries were spoken aloud, you shake your head. “i’ve mentioned you to ying’er in the past, but it’s only her, so you don’t have to worry—that is, if you don’t want people finding out about how much time we spend together. i told her all about how you saved me that one day, and ever since then, she’d ask about you whenever i came back late.” still not convinced by the hesitation shadowing his expression, you continue with a quiet chuckle. “it’s nothing bad, i promise. all good things.”

xiao’s chest warms at the confirmation. “oh . . . i see.” a tacit question lingers between the two of you; it rests on his tongue, cumbersome and thick, and manifests in your gaze as buoyant twinkles of anticipation as you await his next words. what do you tell her? it sears the tip of his tongue, dances behind twin rows of teeth welded together. you both feel it, he can tell. but, even as your gaze yields nothing but an earnest clarity, he pensively tucks his forefinger beneath his thumb and presses down, popping his knuckle. he never truly realized how easy it was to be deprived of the comfort of having you by his side. it could happen at any moment; one wrong word, one wrong move, and he could chase you off for good. he’s only just begun to find his place among the outskirts of society—to find his place with someone. perhaps at the moment, it’s better to play it safe and admire from a distance, he reasons, just as he has been up until this point.

“that’s . . . nice. i’m glad.” the delivery is awkward, as well as his words, but he figures it’s better than unnerving you.

wrong choice. his lips part when you wilt subtly at his lackluster response, shoulders deflating the tiniest bit and smile now tinged with a twist of dry amusement. you don’t seem shocked by his decision to avoid the question, but your disappointment is palpable regardless. “oh, uh . . .”

but, before he can scrape together something else to say, you silence him with a gentle shake of your head. “you know, xiao,” despite your despondency, he can still sense the same warmth in your voice. “i like hearing your thoughts, even if they aren’t anything profound. i just like talking to you.” your eyes meet his. “i ask you questions all the time—far too many, probably,” you huff a small laugh, “and you answer them all. it’s not weird to have questions for me, too.”

but when will i know when i am toeing the line between acceptable and unacceptable? once again, his thoughts remain unspoken. “. . . you would be correct.”

“if you want something, xiao,” you finish, “then pursue it.”

“if you want something, then pursue it.”

at the time, xiao had received your words in stride; but at this moment, as he sits alone, perched upon a low-hanging branch with his back braced against the trunk and one knee drawn up against his chest, he can’t help but consider how ludicrous of a statement it really is. a short sigh is huffed from his lips as he absently twirls the stem of an apple blossom between the pads of his thumb and index finger. the ivory petals stained with blush-pink glow beneath the gentle caress of the moonlight, protruding from the shadowy, muted backdrop of the surrounding vegetation like a sore thumb. he ghosts the tip of his middle finger over the velvety canvas of the petals.

“hey, check it out,” xiao’s eyes bounced from your face to the freshly plucked flower cradled in your palms. “the apple blossoms are blooming early this year! they smell lovely, don’t they?”

you were right. they do.

“pursuing something simply because you desire it . . . what a foolish way to live.” xiao reflects with a wry smile. no one can have everything they wish for; to believe otherwise is not only idiotic, but it also promotes greed. during his lifetime, he’s witnessed his fair share of avarice and power grabs, all spawned from people’s ideas that they were capable of achieving it all; and, just like clockwork, it would bait them into a downward spiral that would result in their own destruction. everyone is dealt their own hand of cards and is born to fulfill a certain purpose, himself serving as a prime example. to crave or demand something other than that would be . . .

but, then again, isn’t that exactly what he’s doing now? what he’s been doing?

his encounter with you that day was only supposed to be a one-time occurrence. neither of you had any business being involved in each other’s lives; he was slated to remain a finely honed weapon of mass obliteration, and you were to maintain a peaceful life separated from combat. your kind nature was in danger of being tainted by and desensitized to his misdeeds, just as your compassion threatened to dismantle his brutal, black-and-white mentality surrounding the protection of liyue that had been established within his mind longer than you have been alive.

even so, you became a staple in his life in an effort that was not one-sided. you dared to pursue him, and he returned the favor.

his forehead creases thoughtfully. pursue what you want.

what exactly do i want?

your face flickers through his mind, and his brows twitch. he wants you, he’s come to terms with that. but, what does that mean? what does he want from you? what does he want with you?

if it were as simple as he wished it was, he would find a way to keep you closer, find a way to have access to your voice first thing in the morning and last thing at night. he wants the freedom to dispose of the hesitance that restrains his fingers from brushing leaves from your clothes or from snaking around your waist to steady you whenever you trip. he wants to be able to comfortably ask you for more of that almond tofu you made him two weeks ago. he wants you to call him to accompany you whenever the sun begins to set.

he just wants . . . you. he wants more of you—all of you in your entirety.

however. . . the apple blossom slips from his fingertips, drifting to rest among the grass below. what i want does not matter. to dare to hope for a companion . . . such a desire is far too audacious for someone whose pedestal is composed of severed limbs and lifeless bodies--for a being whose soul is bound to solitude and tongue bound to silence by his karmic debt. perhaps he deserves it, perhaps he doesn’t. he doesn’t really think about it anymore.

but you certainly do not. it would only make way for misery and discontent to bleed into your soul, and he would shoulder the guilt for the remainder of his life.

he swings his legs over the side of the branch and allows himself to plummet through the air before landing nimbly upon the earth below. but none of that matters, anyway, if you do not reciprocate his feelings. without your tolerance of him being further interwoven in your life, he would never be able to completely fulfill his goal of being embraced with wholehearted acceptance. his hands seek anchorage in the fabric of his pants, porcelain fingers twisted into royal purple as he tethers himself back to reality. there are one hundred reasons for you to reject him and one hundred more that prove you deserve someone else, more familiar with affection and expressiveness, someone who isn’t only confident and willing to take charge of the situation when ensuring your safety.

the apple blossom catches his eye from its place nestled among the grass, and he picks it back up. it’s undamaged, still radiant and pure despite the thin, sanguine crescents lodged beneath his fingernails and the papery film of dirt layering his fingertips.

i’ll leave it here. he twirls the stem between his fingers. there is no reason to risk soiling it.

your smile appears in the back of his mind, nothing more than a brief flicker of a memory.

he stills, and after a moment of silence, he tucks the flower into his pocket.

#xiao #Genshin #Genshin impact #1-5K #angst #fluff #friends to lovers!au #slow burn!au #(I can’t remember my tags oh no)

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chanvalry · 1 year

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THREE’S A CROWD ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, coworkers/friends to lovers, mutual pining, pro hero shouto, fluff + silliness, a very jealous shouto, PR agent reader, social media, workplace romance, first kisses, getting together

wc: 3k

As he grows older Shouto sometimes regrets picking his given name for heroics.

Call it adolescent laziness, but when he was a teenager it felt like rebellion; carelessly giving away that part of himself just to hear how different it sounded in other people's mouths. If repeated enough he thought the tragic lacquer might chip away piece by piece until his name was anew and no longer an echo of his fathers voice.

But now his bones ache and his work follows him absolutely everywhere. The hours he spends at the agency and at home bleed together, diluted into a single muddied memory. Officially adopting the moniker ‘Icyhot’ has never been so tempting. It would be nice to actually have skin to shed.

These instances of regret are infrequent, though. It may be jarring to have strangers call out to him so casually but he counts it as adequate payoff for his name making a home in your mouth. Who knew a sound could feel like an embrace?

“Shouto!”

When it’s you, hearing his name can only be a good thing. Usually.

He’s helpless to the small smile pulling at his lips as your contagious enthusiasm filters into the otherwise dim room like sunlight. You appear in the doorway to his office, remaining half hidden behind the frame, arms held behind your back and wearing an excited grin of your own.

Having you on the PR team has done wonders for his image, apparently. Employees loved throwing around puns about his cold demeanor being ‘thawed’. Shouto was never intentionally aloof, but he was perceived that way all the same.

When you don’t immediately flounce into his office to bother him he grows suspicious. “What is it?”

Shifting your weight between each foot restlessly, his eyes fall to the soft bottom lip caught between your teeth. You inhale deeply as if bracing for impact before stepping forward, bringing your arms out from behind your back.

And now cradled against your front is… him?

The plushie is atrocious. Two large desolate eyes stare back at him from beneath a bi-coloured felt fringe. Not only is it wearing a tiny version of the UA uniform, there is a pair of pointed cat ears on top of its head — one white and one red. Atleast the scar is on the correct side.

Amidst his judgment you have closed the distance, standing in front of his desk, squeezing the thing tight to your stomach. Shouto swallows down his immediate displeasure and feels ridiculous for it.

Voice tempered, he prompts, “A plush toy?”

Your shoulders relax, thumb rubbing back and forth over the soft fabric in slow, idle motions, “Yes— well, he’s actually a knock off. Technically I shouldn’t have bought it, but I couldn’t resist!”

“It’s ugly”.

“Don’t say that! Just look at him,” brought to your face, squashed cutely against your cheek, the toy seems to mock him. You laugh warmly, “Isn’t he cute? His head is so big”.

Shouto quickly delegates his attention to the report on his computer screen and begins to highlight random words to distract from the urge to pout. There’s a twisted petulance bubbling in his chest, at odds with the pitter patter of his heart. Ugly as it was, the plush still had his likeness, and you’d called it cute.

“What exactly did you buy it for?”

You shy away from the question slightly with a sudden air of embarrassment, gaze flickering toward his tall office windows to avoid his eyes.

“Well I…” there’s the quiet clearing of your throat, and then stronger, “I thought he would be a fun mascot for the agency. Your supporters would love seeing him in the background of your posts. It might be fun!”

Shouto was no stranger to social media. While he preferred to leave it up to your team and his manager it was a good occasional cure for boredom. Though the concept of having fans is still somewhat foreign to him, his supporters are amusing and vocal in their support; your suggestion is innocent compared to some of the things they’ve sent him. But he can’t disagree — they would have a field day.

There is a pregnant pause before he speaks and it sets you on edge. A pout to your lips, fingers guided to the small UA tie around his counterpart's neck, fiddling with the knot. You’re still avoiding his gaze, giving ample opportunity for him to glare at the toy, who only stares back with empty eyes.

“If Abe-san gives it the okay then I don’t see any harm in it,” he says. Your disposition sparks back to life, hiding your pleased smile behind the oversized head. Football shaped, he thinks blithely. He wants to kick it across Tokyo. And then he wants you to cradle his face instead.

“Thank you Shouto,” you murmur. Unable to see your mouth, the smile is still bright in your eyes. Steeped in honey-thick affection, Shouto resigns himself to fate. Saying no to you was never his strong suit.

He can only hope it’ll be a passing fad.

Those hopes are immediately quashed the following morning. His personal phone pings with a group chat notification on his way to work. Kaminari has sent a link to a twitter poll, along with a series of laughing emojis. Listed are various cat related versions of his name, each battling for the most votes.

Todoneko. Todopurrki. Shoucat? He huffs a quiet laugh. Nekoroki and Catoroki seemed neck and neck, barely a few percentages apart.

Notifications continue to flood in at the top of his screen. He ignores them in favour of clicking onto the profile. Sitting smug in the account’s picture is the plush of him. The image is a close up, taken from below, a purposefully unflattering angle to show the feline ears on it’s head.

It’s clear the page is new. Created today, if he had to guess. The bio reads: ‘employee of the month at Frostfire Agency’ and not much else. There is only one post— a picture taken today in a very familiar place.

??? VOTE ❘ @PawAndOrder : 33 minutes ago

[IMAGE ID: Pro Hero Dynamight angrily baring his teeth at the camera, skin flushed pink and hair pressed damp to his forehead. The Todoroki plush stands precariously on one of many benches in the agency gym behind him, a trademarked red and blue Shouto sweatband stretched over it’s head, school blazer discarded by the weights].

1K replies ❍ 12K likes

Shouto snorts and presses the like button. A cute burst of confetti flits around the heart symbol as he imagines you surreptitiously trying to set up the thing behind a volatile pre-workout Bakugo without being chased out of the gym.

He decides against replying. Abe-san has yet to tell him about it and he’d rather not incur his mangers wrath so early in the day.

The agency is abuzz upon his arrival. Not outwardly, though. A hushed cacophony of tittering and whispers. The sidekicks greet him as usual as he walks through the main control room towards his office, poorly feigning normalcy. It’s as though the entire agency has gathered; an acting audience to whatever stunt awaits him.

Shouto refuses the urge to bristle. Memories of not quite grasping the interactions around him in those earlier years can sometimes unearth feelings of defensiveness. They mean well. Most people do.

Finding the source of their collective amusement comes sooner rather than later. You haven’t noticed him yet, the roles now reversed. Shouto stands in the doorway, having stepped back to silently watch you work while your guard is down. You’re crouched by his office chair, tongue tucked into the corner of your mouth in concentration, adjusting something currently obstructed from view by his desk.

Shouto never truly learned his own personal touch — he always fell back on tradition. Those habits are reflected around you. The space hadn’t changed much since his predecessor retired; not until you came along. You have the uncanny ability to imbue life wherever you go. Now there were fresh flowers to be replaced every other week. What was once a display case for awards to collect dust in now held digital picture frames. Things nobody would think twice about. There’s even a napkin folded into the shape of a swan that he stole from a gala the night he won the Hero Trailblazer award.

“This is supposed to be your home away from home,” you told him. “You work hard, Shouto! Harder than anyone I know. Allow yourself a little comfort. This place is too…?”

And then you had made a broad, vague gesture with your hands, struggling to find the words, hoping he would fill in the blanks. That was the first time you made Shouto laugh, and the initial push that tipped his heart over the crest, starting an inexorable roll into the unknown. He has yet to find out if you’d be waiting at the bottom.

Your satisfied hum breaks the delicate quiet. The sound makes him smile. Trinkets aside, a room was brighter with you in it.

Lifting his hand, his knuckles rap gently against his open door. You startle, reflexively ducking forward to hide, then peering over the top of his desk. Your eyes meet and he lifts a brow.

“What are you doing?”

Four strides, maybe three. That is all the distance between you and him. Shouto wants to reach down and kiss away that false wide eyed innocence. Part of him wondered if you were aware of it — the profound cord you struck within him. Your fingers always seemed to find it.

“Nothing,” you rise to your feet with phone in hand, you brush off the non existent dirt from your knees and straighten the creases in your shirt. Noticing his deadpan stare, you breathlessly insist, “I wasn’t doing anything weird— this is for work!”

Shouto ducks his chin as he snorts, outgrown bangs slipping forward from behind his ears over his eyes; at an awkward length that never seems to do as he tells it to. “I’m not sure that’s entirely…” he moves to the centre of the room, voice losing strength when he sees his chair. “…True”

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t pout.

“See?” you cross your arms over your chest, looking gratified with his hesitance. “Catoroki is work related. I took a photo for his next post”.

The ugly plush toy is sitting in his seat. Gone is the sweatband and the UA uniform. In the short time between last night and now, you’ve managed to find a doll sized version of his hero costume. You’ve sat it upright on a small cushion facing his computer and placed a pen and an empty pad of paper in it’s lap to make it look as though it is working.

Upon closer inspection, he realises that you’ve even thought to include tiny versions of the first aid equipment hung on his belt.

“Catoroki?” he repeats.

Nodding, you bend to pat it between the ears. “That or ‘Nekoroki’. We aren’t sure which name will win yet. Did you see the poll?”

“My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since I got here,” Shouto answers amusedly, stuck on the gentle stroke of your hand to Catoroki’s grotesque head.

“Oh shit, sorry. Should’ve called before I posted it. I forgot you don’t read your emails in the morning,” you puff up your cheeks apologetically. It’s sweet when you’re sheepish. The pull is a little too strong and he finds himself on the other side of his desk, close enough to poke the swell. Air pushes through puckered lips as it deflates.

“Doesn’t matter,” unable to resist, he subtly activates his ice, breathing a chill into the air, coaxing you into his warm touch for a minute longer than is appropriate. “You were right though. People seemed to like it”.

“Do you?”

“Hm?”

Shouto frowns when you turn away to pick the plush up from his chair. The beady eyes laugh at him from the comfortable spot on your chest. You hold it to him as if it were a baby, asking with playful cadence, “Do you like him?”

Like him?

His nose wrinkles. You don’t seem to appreciate that Shouto is a restrained person. If he weren’t, that plush would have been acquainted with the Earth’s atmosphere the very first time you kissed its ugly velveteen hair.

What is he supposed to say here— ‘I don’t like him. Apparently I’m jealous of a stuffed toy’?

He drags his discontentment from Catoroki back to your face and feels his heart seize. The corners of your mouth are slightly downturned, plush bottom lip held between teeth, laughter gleaming in your eyes. Your expression is indelibly fond.

Your finger pokes at his chest, firm and accusing. It restarts his heart, which only seems to quicken. “I knew it”.

Playing dumb is a skill Shouto has refined since early adolescence—

He blinks and intones monotonously, “Knew what?”

—But this is you; who sees through every facade and hears every note. You know him better than most, more than you realise. With you he feels gossamer thin, light like a hollow marrowed bird. It’s equal parts frightening and comforting.

So when you grin at him and say, “You’re jealous of Catoroki, aren’t you?” the panic dwindles into gentle sea foam hemming his ribs.

Heat crawls up his neck and into his cheeks, the innate prickling of his quirk rising to the surface as his emotions swell. “No,” he lies, unconvincingly. It’s about the principle of it.

“Ah,” you walk your fingers up his sternum with a disappointed hum. “That’s too bad then”.

You have never touched him this casually before, with such intent. The air around you distorts. Shouto exhales a breath of steam and spine tingling laughter spills from your lips. Drawn to the sound, his movement pushes you back against his desk, and you lean on the edge with your legs parted to allow him closer.

“Shouto,” you murmur, and it feels incipient. It feels like you’re at the bottom of a steep drop waiting to catch him. His hands settle on your hips. Your nose bumps his cheek, nuzzling at the scar tissue below his eye, breathing in each other in a moment of eager suspension.

When he kisses you he can taste your toothpaste, and it reminds him that the day has barely started. He smoothes over your waist as your fingers thread into the hair at his nape, enamoured by how soft you feel. Shouto shivers, dissolves like spun sugar, parting the seam of his lips to gently lick into your mouth, kept tethered by the top-corporeal cotton lump lodged between your bodies.

“I lied,” he rasps desperately as you pull away all too soon, like he hoped admitting it would bring you back. You meet his eyes, pupils dilating in the yawning sunlight as it stretches across his office. “I was jealous”.

“Yeah, I know,” you kiss his lips again, once, with some finality; it’s all teeth, both of you unable to keep from smiling.

“You were obvious”.

Catoroki <;ΦωΦ>! ❘ @PawAndOrder : 1 minute ago

[IMAGE ID: Pro Hero Deku holding the Todoroki plush, staring at it tearfully with a beaming grin. Beside him is Pro Hero Ingenium, who is squinting thoughtfully at the plush toy with his helmet held under his arm. Sitting petulantly in the back is Pro Hero Shouto, hunched over a bowl of cold soba and pouting].

2.5K replies ❍ 67K likes

#do so cute!!#todoroki shouto #bnha #mha #Drabble #fluff #coworker!au #1-5K

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chanvalry · 2 years

Text

Pinned Butterfly. Yan Xiao x F Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, minor character death, Xiao contending with some evil spirits. Word count: 2.1k.

Wealth, social status, material treasures — none of these benefits transfer in death. What does linger is rotting hostility, born from seeds of ambitions that never came to fruition.

The Archon War may be finished, but gods vanquished in the carnage cling to their bitterness like it’s all they have to stay anchored to this world. Xiao supposes there’s some truth to the claim. Their names might be lost to the common tongue, their former purpose a distant memory, yet spite haunts them enough for them to linger on the mortal plane.

Hence his specially ordained job: eradicate the fragments of woeful misfortune so that chaos doesn’t envelop Liyue.

Keep reading

#so so good!! his gift giving the focus on the karmic debt #im too tired to really form thoughts but everything about this!!#xiao #fluff #angst #Genshin #Genshin impact #yandere!au

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chanvalry · 3 years

Text

wolf-teeth | peter parker.

synopsis: you unearth peter parker’s masochistic streak — his proclivity for the pain to be administered by you should have been cause for unsettlement. so naturally, you find it hot.

pairing: peter parker & reader.

rating: explicit.

note: if you also thought the scene on the train was hot, when & where are we meeting up for therapy? (i promise, he’s not on the verge of death in this fic, he’s just a little roughed up n sexy). thank you so much for reading & interacting, i hope you enjoy it! <3

[ peter parker masterlist 💌. ]

He’s shrouded in the darkness of the night, slumped on a couch situated near the window sill, an arm curled protectively around his midriff. Peter Parker is nothing short of perceptive — he notices your presence the second you enter it and straightens up. Even from where you’re standing you can tell he’s exhausted, his enervation clings to him like a fever.

“Oh, hey!” His voice is strained despite the effort made to sound amiable and he moves to reposition himself so that he’s facing you.

“Hey,” you return dubiously, slowly inching towards his night-obscured figure, the distance between the two of you is severed, dwindling until it is threadbare and sparse.

The only source of light that percolates through is the moon waning in the star-dappled night sky, so you can’t make out much but you do notice the bloody, saw-edged laceration across his right cheekbone. It’s too difficult to tell if the rest of him is in the same state due to the black shirt he’s wearing.

“You’ve got a huge ass cut on your face, Parker,” you state finally, taking a seat beside him.

Keep reading

#I’m frothing at the damn mouth for this Fic #the portrayal of him the dialouge him being so turned on by pain #dude just imagining everything so clearly the intensity and dynamic between them is so powerful I’m out of my damn mind!!!#Peter Parker #spiderman #marvel #smut #1-5K #🐚 wistful favorites

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chanvalry · 3 years

Note

Would you please do an angsty unrequited love of femreader for Izuku since he likes Uraraka??

Y'all…why do you like to suffer so much?? lmao jks I totally understand the need for angst, and hopefully this one hurts your heart enough :’)

Happy. With Izuku, you were always happy.

The two of you had grown up together, and it was safe to say that you’d both seen each other at your best, and also your worst. You’d become an inseperable duo, and together, it really felt like anything was possible.

At three years old, the two of you had met, and you’d challenged him to see who can inhale the most bubbles. Suffice to say, it had ended terribly, but the memories had remained all the same. Even now, whenever you saw children blowing bubbles at parks outside, you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself.

At four years old, you’d been introduced to Bakugou Katsuki—or as Izuku affectionately called him, Kacchan. Things had been great at first, but it wasn’t long until the blonde obtained his Quirk, and his treatment of Izuku had drastically changed.

He now called him Deku, but not affectionately like how Izuku did. It was a word used to connote uselessness; weakness, and every time the blonde called your best friend by that degrading nickname, your chest with tighten into a knot. Izuku didn’t say anythig, merely wearing a sad smile and hoping that he would soon have a Quirk to claim as his own. He waited and waited for the day to come.

But it never did.

At five years old, you remembered Izuku sobbing in your room while you wrapped him into a big hug. Your powers had manifested a long time ago, but you were clinging to the hope that Izuku’s Quirk was just a late bloomer. The unwritten rule was that all Quirks would appear by the age of four, but it had to be a lie. It just had to, right…?

At six years old, Izuku still didn’t have a Quirk.

At seven years old, Katsuki was still bullying him mercilessly.

The day before his graduation from middle school…he still didn’t have a Quirk.

And then U.A—his Quirk suddenly appeared. Out of nowhere; an occurence which had never been seen before. People were in awe. Izuku’s mother was overjoyed. Katsuki was consumed with rage. And you…

Once more, you were happy. Because unlike the others, you knew the truth of how he’d obtained his powers. He’d sworn you to secrecy, and divulged the full details of how he’d gotten ahold on his powers from his number one role model—All Might.

“You can’t tell anyone, alright…?” he’d breathed out. “Only you can know this. I’m only telling you, (Name)-chan. Because you’re…the most special person to me in the entire world.”

—Those were the words he’d said to you, and like a fool, you believed him. You were giddy at the notion that you were the only person in the world who he’d chosen to tell his secret to; not even his own mother knew. It was a feeling that bore so much weight, especially given his past, that you were convinced he’d chosen to tell you because of the way he felt. You were best friends, yes—that much was a given. But at some point…you’d begun to feel differently about Izuku.

At some point, you’d realized that you loved him.

It was a little perturbing to think of yourself as enamored with the boy you’d grown up alongside, but the feelings had blossomed inside you, little by little. They’d since flowered to the point that every time you saw him, your heart would squeeze and your cheeks would flush. You kept these feelings of yours hidden for some time, waiting for the prime opportunity to confess. You weren’t worried. He’d chosen you, and only you to share the biggest secret of his entire life with—there was something that just told you he felt the same way as you did.

But then she came along.

Cheerful and bright; almost like a summer day. She had short, brown hair, and cheeks that were almost permanently rosy. Her head was a bit round, but cute. She really was cute. You knew that you weren’t the only person who thought so.

You just hadn’t been expecting Izuku to be as affected as he was.

Granted, he’d never been very good at talking to girls. He was timid and easily flustered, and lacked the social experience to be able to carry a conversation with a girl normally. There had been moments when he’d even gotten flustered around you. That’s why you tried not to think about it too much. But there was something…strange about their interactions.

He blushed around her more often.

His expression would light up the second she stepped into the room.

And most importantly…she changed the meaning of a name which had haunted him for years.

“Deku, huh? But you know, I kinda like that name for you!” she’d giggled. “It sort of gives off the vibe of never giving up! I think it’s awesome!”

Just like that—with a single sentence, she’d managed to squash all of Izuku’s childhood trauma; all of the remorse and sense of futility associated with the name ‘Deku’. It was just one little thing. Hell, you’d even told him yourself that the name wasn’t worth worrying over, so why was it that hearing it from her made him change his perspective altogether?

You’d been there for him from the start.

You loved him. And you had a feeling he loved you, too.

He’d shared his most important secret with you; the way he hadn’t done with anyone else.

So then why did you have such a bad feeling about this?

“(Name)-chan,” Izuku yawned, dragging his feet as the two of you walked home from school. “Can I come over today? It’s been a while since we hung out.”

You smiled almost immediately. It really had been a while since the two of you had been able to just chill, what with all of U.A’s assignments and training. You agreed, of course, and before long, the two of you were sitting on the floor of your bedroom and munching on snacks.

Izuku let out a contented sigh. “You’re honestly the best, (Name)-chan. Whenever I’m with you, I can just feel my worries melting away. I’m really glad you’re my best friend.”

You felt your heartbeat quicken. He was sitting right next to you, and your shoulders were glued against one another. The setting and atmosphere seemed just about perfect. Should you go for it? It was now or never.

“I need to—”

“Can I tell you something?” Izuku cut in. You blinked in surprise, but nodded your head, willing to be patient. He shifted slightly on the floor, and you thought you noticed his cheeks flush slightly.

“The truth is…” he mumbled, “I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time. But I just didn’t know to go about bringing it up. Even now, I’m embarrassed…”

Every nerve in your body tensed. This was it. The moment you’d been waiting for was finally here. He would tell you how he felt about you, you’d reciprocate his feelings, and then two of you would go on to—

“I-I like Uraraka-san!”

You paled.

What did he just say?

“I like Uraraka-san,” Izuku repeated, his words feeling like a wrench lodged in your chest. You only then understood why he’d been blushing so much. “It’s been really hard to keep it to myself, which is why I’m so, so grateful that I have you to talk to, (Name)-chan.” He smiled; a sickeningly genuine, sweet smile that only hurt you more. “I’m really to have you, honest. I hope you’ll stay my best friend forever.”

And just with those words, you were done. Whatever “relationship” you’d imagined the two of you pursuing had been put to rest right then and there. The illusion was over. This whole time, you’d been under the impression that you were important to him, the same way he was important to you. But you’d been wrong.

He told me his secret.

No.

I was the only person in the world who he told that to…

No.

He said I was special, and—

No.

He didn’t love you. And he never would.

The sensation of your lip trembling brought a pool of tears in your eyes. You wiped them away before Izuku could see. He was still hugging his knees and blushing the shade of a tomato, flustered by his sudden declaration. You wanted to throw up, knowing that his shaky smile and warm cheeks weren’t met for you.

You wanted to tell him your feelings, too. But what would that accomplish? He’d basically shut you down before you even had a chance to confess. Anything you said now would just seem pitiful, and you would rather die than have him look at you with those big sympathetic eyes.

It was okay. You could force these feelings down, no matter how much it hurt.

“Thanks for telling me,” you managed shakily. A pause, and then— “I support you.”

Izuku’s eyes lit up into those emerald saucers; twinkling the same way they would if All Might were around. So that was how much he cared about that girl. Even All Might probably couldn’t compare.

His arms were around you in a second, an array of “thank yous” heading your way. His curly-haired locks tickled your cheeks, all the while allowing you to inhale the fruity scent of his shampoo. It was ironic, really. You’d been hoping that he take you in his arms like this after your confession; after he accepted your feelings.

This wasn’t a hug. It was a goodbye.

As in, goodbye to any hope you’d had of the two of you ever becoming a couple. Goodbye to whatever future you’d hoped to have. And it was probably inevitable that…you would have to say goodbye to your best friend now, too.

Izuku confessed a few weeks later.

You’d been expecting it, and the whole time building up to his reveal he’d been a flustered, panicky mess around you. You tried to keep your mouth shut for the most part, offering somewhat vague advice without actually wanting it to work. Izuku didn’t seem to notice that your effort wasn’t genuine—rather, he continued to thank you for your help and reminded you over and over again how good of a friend you were. You hated every bit of it. The way he was so earnest and happy just made you that much more resentful and bitter. You didn’t want to feel this way, but what could you do? You’d loved him for years now, and to watch one girl swoop in and just steal his heart…it was too much. It was too much for anyone to bear.

It came as no surprise to you that Uraraka accepted, since you’d long noticed that she liked him, as well. They became infamous as the most “innocent” and “adorable” couple in all of U.A. Every time you saw them walking down the halls together, it would always be with their fingers interlinked and cheeks aflush.

They just looked so happy.

Stupidly happy.

Izuku also began spending more and more time with Uraraka, as opposed to hanging out with you. Sure, you sat at the same lunch-table with them and Iida, but you no longer met up with Izuku outside of school like you used to. It had become apparent that all his free time was reserved for Uraraka, and Uraraka only.

It was okay.

You’d expected this much.

The worst part of it all was just that you could see how Izuku was slowly losing interest in you altogether. Even when you ate together, you were barely acknoweldged. Whenever he walked alongside Uraraka, and your eyes met, he would turn back to her and pretend like it hadn’t even happened.

You would wave to him from afar. He wouldn’t wave back.

You sent him little notes during class. Half the time he didn’t bother opening them or was too immersed in messaging Uraraka to even notice.

Before long, you’d been cast away from that group completely. They didn’t bother to invite you to come eat with them, and when you did show up, their faces would scrunch up as if to say “what the hell is she doing here?”

Everything hurt so fucking much. You couldn’t understand what you’d done wrong. Had he really cared so little for you from the very start? Now that he had better friends and a girlfriend, were you just nothing? Did you mean absolutely nothing to him?

You’d never been much of a crier before, but these days, it felt like it was all you would do. You were patient, kind, and polite, so it didn’t take long for you to make friends with your other classmates, but it all felt superficial. Your one true friend; the love of your life, whom you’d spent twelve years with, had deserted you without even looking back. It had been made clear to you that he didn’t share your feelings, but did that mean that you were no longer allowed to even be friends with him? Had she taken Izuku from you in every possible way?

You didn’t know what to do anymore. But you realized that you no longer had anything to lose.

Sucking in the air through your teeth, you sent Izuku a message.

“I love you.”

…

He didn’t respond.

#god this hurt like a bitch #I don’t normally cry but did this really hit me in the gut #Ik the feeling of being replaced and the part about him not waving back and then the friend group not wanting you there either #and not knowing what you did wrong and you being through thick and thin together and yet—I’m screaming into my pillow #this was so well paced and written it had the perfect imagery!#midoriya #bnha #heroes-among-us-all #1-5K #angst #unrequited love!au #childhood best friends!au

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chanvalry · 3 years

Text

WHO’S YOUR DADDY? | part four

genre: romance, angst, fluff, smut

tw: explicit smut, nipple play, mating press, edging, spanking

note: thank you so much for supporting this mini-series! i cherish every comment and reblog you gave this little story. thank you so much!

“No.” Your boss stated the words with enough conviction to last a lifetime. You slumped back on the chair.

There really is nothing you can do to escape Oikawa, is there? You have explained everything as to why you couldn’t interview him. But as your boss holds on to the integrity of the company, she didn’t want to let go.

“Listen, Y/N,” she began, her words gliding smoothly, escaping her stark red lips, “Do you even know how hard it was for the other interviewers to get a single statement from him? And he had been so willing to you.”

You refused to look at it that way. Perhaps he was only in the mood to answer some question when he saw you in the throng of people in the gymnasium. Or perhaps he wanted to get rid of you immediately. There are a million possibilities, you didn’t have to stick to the assumption that he wanted to be interviewed by you alone and no one else.

“I’ll bring a cameraman, t—”

Raising her perfect nails, your boss waved it in disapproval. “He doesn’t want you to bring anyone. He says you have to be alone.”

“I don’t think so, Ma’am.”

You? Alone? In Oikawa’s hotel room? The thought has coated your back with a layer of sweat that the AC blaring its cold had failed to swept of the warmth in your system.

“Y/N,” your boss’ voice grew serious, “This is what you pledged yourself to do. What kind of professional are you to back down?”

Your boss goes on with her lament, saying how disappointed she was that Oikawa backed up the last minute. And that you should’ve chased him up to the locker rooms. If that was as easy as slicing a cake, you would zoom your way towards him and squeeze him of a statement. But everything went in shambles when he saw Kino. The fury in his eyes— that silent fury that clogs your sleep ever since.

With a much heavier boulder, you departed the office. It has been two days since the incident at the gymnasium. Iwaizumi couldn’t tell you much about Oikawa’s well-being now that he suspected himself of having a child with you. According to him, Oikawa refuses to meet him. He doesn’t even answer Iwaizumi’s calls. When he does, he would only say a flat ‘fuck off’ then would drop it immediately.

Now you needed to see him. You only have two days left to talk to him. Today is your fourth day. Perhaps you could do it. You only have to make it as ethical as possible. No talking about the past. No talking about Kino and how chillingly similar he was to Oikawa.

How did he even come up to the conclusion that he could be Kino’s father? You knew Oikawa has been sharp and clever since your college days. But did you really think that someone needs to be smart to put two and two together? Mayhaps you were the one who needed some wits in you right now. You have to outsmart Oikawa.

The building to where he is currently staying loomed in front of you. Of course. A five-star hotel. You expected nothing less from the King of the Court.

It has been exactly ten minutes since you arrived here. Still, you were debating whether to go home and not give a single damn about your work anymore. Ethics be damned. But you’ve quit YouTube years ago, and this is what you want to do. To be a journalist.

Ah, yes. Brings you back to the time when Oikawa insulted you for it.

‘Your only a campus journalist!’

Damn him. Now, an unexplainable boost has ignited inside your chest. Your stubbornness shows like fireworks on display. You aren’t only a campus journalist. You are a campus journalist. And you will prove that to him now. He could strangle you for questions, but you won’t give it to him.

The shaking of your fingers had been inevitable as you ride the car towards the eight floor. Where Oikawa currently resides. He did make you wait in the lobby for a good three minutes, telling the frontdesk that he had to tidy up a bit. As if he cared about you to do that. If you only know, he merely wanted to mess up with your feelings.

You rapped on his door, blowing deep breaths, but to no avail. Your heart has successfully skyrocketed inside your chest. A sliver of excitement commixing with your goal to get this all over with.

The door revealed Oikawa’s six-foot frame. He was in his simple shirt, paired with simple shorts. He looked clean as hell that for a moment, you forgot the devil looming behind him.

“Good morning, Mr. Toru. I’m Y/N from—”

“What are you doing?” Oikawa raised a brow.

Seven years. And the need to punch him on his handsome face has never left your goals. You cleared your throat, flashing a small smile. “Introducing myself, Sir. I’m from—”

Interrupting you again, he waved his lithe fingers. “Come in.”

Oikawa led you towards the mini living room. A huge window overlooked the view from outside. You focused on that as he prepared for your drink.

He had an orange juice when he came back, laying it in front of you without a word. Then Oikawa sat across from you, leaning towards the couch. He had his eyes on you, watching you as you sip from the glass.

“I’ll just… ask you a few questions,” you said, avoiding eye-contact by fishing for your ballpen and notebook.

Oikawa hummed, penetrative eyes still dead set on you. “I’ve got a few questions to ask you, too.”

You swallowed the annoyance back in your throat. It won’t do you no good to ride on his games. You could easily dodge him. The door isn’t that far. You would run in the speed of light towards the exit and leave with your accomplished interview.

“So… how does it feel to be back and challenge everyone else in your hometown?”

Throughout the years that you have met him, you knew how hard he pushes himself to attain his goals. Goals that would’ve been absurd for certain individuals. But not for Oikawa Toru.

“Fantastic, really. All of them have been a stepping stone to my goals. They are strong, though. All of us have become stronger. But do you know what’s for sure?” Oikawa asked, his voice dripping malice, “I am better than any of them.”

Because your phone was recording your interview, you cut off the insult by biting your tongue. This isn’t college days anymore. The both of you are professionals thriving in your own field of work.

You became true to your words by asking him ten questions. You have made them as concise as possible, making sure to juice a lot of information from him.

“Lastly,” you faltered, because the last question brought you back to the gym, where he looked at you as if he wanted to destroy you with everything he had, “What advice can you give for aspiring volleyball players?”

For the first time since you sat with him, Oikawa’s expression turned uncertain. He was taken aback by the question. But he easily caught himself up. A stretch of a smirk adorned his lips when he answered, “If you’re going to hit it…” His stare burns. That much was for sure. This time, you hold his eyes without any lenses. You hold his eyes, bare and raw. “Hit it until it breaks.”

Blinking your way out of his entrancement, you folded your notebook back to your bag. Then you stood up, as quickly as possible. “Thank you so much for your—”

Oikawa chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “Don’t fuck with me, Y/N. Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry?”

“How old is he?”

He might as well punch you in the stomach instead. Because his question blew you out of proportion. “Oikawa, I don’t have any time for this.”

“But I do,” he said, “I’ve skipped practice for this. So you will goddamn postpone your schedule, too. Now, Y/N, how old is he?”

He didn’t even ask who could be the father. He goes straight for Kino’s age. Just how confident he is? “I don’t see why that concerns you—”

“He has my eyes, Y/N.” Oikawa’s line of sight found you again. Looking at him now, you couldn’t even deny it anymore. They looked exactly like each other. It’s staggering. “How old is he?”

Patience thinning, your nose flare. “You couldn’t ask personal questions like that and expect everyone to bow down and answer you!”

He stood up, movements languorous. Then he found his way in front of you. Oikawa took your chin and lifted it with his pointer finger. You didn’t budge. You merely pulled your jaws taut and flashed him your courageous façade.

“That night,” he whispered, fresh breath fanning the tip of your nose, “We made him, right?”

Your voice caught up to your throat. We made him, right? You absolutely did. But he won’t hear it from you. “No— hm!”

The next thing you knew, Oikawa has crashed his lips against yours. And his tongue was forcing its way to your mouth. Instantly, your mind became hazy to the feeling. Seven years. Still, you could guarantee that nothing has ever changed. A wild animal still sits atop your chest by the feeling of his lips on yours.

“Oik—” you tried to speak when he pulled away, but he quickly discarded his clothes and connected your lips again. You still couldn’t move, not even fight.

Oikawa took your face with his hands, his forehead on yours. “Kiss me back,” he begged, and he never once begged. “I know you missed me. Like how crazy I missed you, Y/N.”

You blinked, staring at his closed eyes. What did he say? “You… you missed me?”

“I know it sounds absurd, but I did. Every minute of every day.” Oikawa breathed you in, his hands still safely cupping your cheeks. “You’re the only tether I had whenever I felt like giving up.”

“You’re lying,” you murmured. Because there is no way he would feel that way towards you. He hated you. That’s what all you have ever believed.

“I wish I am. But I’m not.”

You couldn’t believe it. Surely, there wasn’t any harm to hold on to his words, right? Even though they sound utterly crazy and dubious, it created a fantasy in your mind that perhaps he loved you. And everything is alright.

Seven years. The physical ache of him being thousands of miles away from you, came back crashing like a tsunami. In your misery, you knew you shouted for his name. In your darkest times, you knew how badly you wanted to see him. Albeit knowing that facing him would only hurt you. You still wanted to feel that pain. The pain of having him in your life. Because you knew, out of all the people, Oikawa Toru is the only one to have made you feel things.

Your back connected to his lush bed without you realizing, your clothes discarded on his hotel room floor. Oikawa hovered above you, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw and your neck. Soft moans left your lips, with a promise that they would continuously resound from you as Oikawa trailed graceful hands along your naked body.

“Oikawa,” you exhaled as he sucked on your sweet spot, his fingers spidering their way to your inner thighs.

You could feel your wetness coating your cunt, a visible proof of how bad you wanted him to take you. Oikawa managed to suck one of your nipples while playing with the other. You arched your back to the pleasure. A tingling feeling coursing from your nipples to the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t do anything but to wrap your hands on his soft hair.

Oikawa bides his time in suckling your tit, squeezing your breast to get your nipples up. He sucked and licked until it hardened. You easily became a moaning mess underneath him. Much more when he let go of your breast to press his finger on your clit.

“Oikawa!” you cried, legs twitching by the pleasure of having his finger on your bean, albeit unmoving.

“How old is he?” he asked.

You snapped your head towards him, quite taken aback by his determination. Oikawa looked at you, his eyes full of lust. “Oikawa— ah!” you moaned like a school girl, biting your finger when he began to rub.

“You like that? You like it when I do this?” He began to draw circles around your swollen clit. You couldn’t do anything but moan messily, squeezing your breast to keep your breath steady. “Still naughty for me, aren’t you?”

Oikawa shifted himself between your thighs, his tip touching your navel. Your eyes went wide by the size of him. How did he manage to make his cock even bigger?

He chuckled, noticing the way you gulped as you contemplated his cock size. “You’ll take this for me, right? You’ll have your pussy swallowing my cock to the base.” Leaning closer, Oikawa grabbed your cheeks and squeezed to pucker your lips. “Seven years, Y/N. You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this day. Seven years. I’ll fuck you ‘til you realize how I missed you.”

“Please— Oikawa!” you screamed when he slammed his cock inside your cunt. A tinge of pain went through you. It has been years since you had a cock inside you. And a cock this big made you feel like the first time.

Nevertheless, Oikawa gave you no time to adjust as he held on to his words. He snapped his hips again and again, hooking your knees with his elbows to get a better position.

“Ah! Hm! Ah!” you moaned, eyes rolling back to your head. His cock was penetrating every tissue inside. And when he pressed his lower body against yours, you clawed your nails on his bare back. Oikawa hissed, feeling the burning sting of your nails. Still, he carried on.

“How old is he?” he groaned, pressing himself down on you over and over. “Answer me, Y/N.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, embarrassed of the sounds coming out of it. But Oikawa yanked your hand away. “Let’s— ah! Let’s talk about that later!”

“No.” Then he flipped you so you were on all fours. Oikawa had the back of your head with his large palm, then he pressed it down on the mattress as he hooked up your waist. “You’ll answer me, now.”

“AH!” you screamed when he rammed himself back inside your cunt. You couldn’t think straight. All thoughts has been obliterated in your mind.

“How old is he?” Oikawa lazily asked, pulling himself out so he could slam himself back in. Therefore rattling your body forward.

Grabbing the sheets, you moaned, “Seven! Seven years old!”

At the answer, Oikawa spanked your ass cheek. You jolted awake, rattled by the impact. But he gave you no time to recover as he spread your ass cheeks apart and fucked you harsher. You were practically bouncing on his dick, all fours version.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oikawa! Please! Ah! Ah! Slow— hm! Down!”

Another spank. You bit back a sob. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because— because—! Please, ah! Slow down! So… I could talk!”

“You’ll answer me, Y/N. No matter how I fuck you.”

He flipped you again, so you were in missionary. Oikawa laid beside you and hooked your one leg over his waist. By the position, he has been restricted of any powerful movements. But he easily pressed a finger on your clit by having you sprawled like that.

Oikawa wrapped your neck with his arm, pulling you closer to him. His lips connected with your ears. Whispering harshly, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because— ah! Jesus Christ!” you sobbed as he rubbed, his cock lazily penetrating your hole. Easily, he has built up your orgasm. Coating the pads of your feet and sending tingles on your lower abdomen. “Ah! Please! I’m so near!”

Just when you thought that your climax would finally explode, Oikawa cut the friction. You nearly cried out of frustration, because you have been so, so near.

Oikawa murmured in your ear, “Why—”

“Because it kills me more to sabotage your dreams than my own!” you screamed at him, crying. Because of frustration or the piled up emotions, you didn’t know.

“Y/N,” Oikawa called out softly, brushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here now.”

He placed himself between your thighs again. This time, he made love to you.

“Fucking finally, Shittykawa. Where are you?” Iwaizumi asked as he hurried for his keys. His hell sent best friend has finally answered his calls since the day at the gymnasium. And he won’t waste this time to explain himself to Oikawa. Not that he believed he did something wrong. He protected Kino in his own way. And the mother has all the rights to decide for the life of her seven-year-old kid. Not Iwaizumi.

Oikawa agreed to meet outside the hotel he was currently staying in. Iwaizumi pulled up not ten minutes later, waiting for his best friend on one of the benches. When he saw Oikawa’s frame nearing, he quickly stood up.

“Oikaw—” He was met with Oikawa’s fist.

Iwaizumi staggered backwards, obviously taken aback by the impact of Oikawa’s fist. But he knew he deserved it. So instead of fighting back, he merely stood tall again.

“That’s for lying, you shit,” Oikawa hissed through his teeth. Then he sat down, opening a can of root beer Iwaizumi brought with him.

Iwaizumi followed, opening the other can. Both of them sat in silence, admiring the night. “Have you and Y/N talked?”

“We did more than just talk,” Oikawa answered, as if he was talking about the weather.

Iwaizumi blinked, unsure of what he heard. However, he easily understood the hidden meaning to it. “Fuck you, really.” He chuckled. “You’ve always loved her, though.”

“You did, too,” Oikawa retorted.

The other man shook his head lightly. “Yeah. But whenever she looked at you after matches, I knew you had her.”

That, Oikawa didn’t know. He distanced himself towards you because he had seen the way Iwaizumi looked at you. He didn’t want to mess that up. But everything has changed now that he has a son with you.

“We cool now?” Oikawa asked. It’s been seven years. But that doesn’t erase Iwaizumi’s feelings.

“Of course. What the fuck do I do? You have a child with her.”

“You still love her?”

With that, Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa. “Yes. But not as strong as before, though. Don’t worry, we’re cool.”

Oikawa emptied his can, then laid it between them on the bench. “Ha! I don’t plan on giving her up, though.”

Iwaizumi punched Oikawa’s arm playfully. “I know.” Then silence. Iwaizumi emptied his own can before turning his attention back to his best friend. “How did you even realize that Kino’s your son?”

Oikawa looked at him. There was a spark in his eyes that unexpectedly warmed Iwaizumi’s heart. “Wouldn’t you recognize yourself when you’re looking in the mirror?”

After your interview with Oikawa, the both of you had a one-on-one talk about Kino. He said it’s hard to accept that he didn’t meet his son earlier, but he couldn’t blame you either. He was on his way to achieve his dreams, and he knew he was going to have a hard time giving that up. Although he would. At the end of the day, he still was grateful for the chance you have given him.

The both of you agreed that it’s best if he meets Kino at your own apartment. It’s a familiar place for the little boy. He won’t feel entrapped in his own home.

That has been why you prepared meals for Oikawa’s visit. He said it won’t be early, since he still had practice and the Olympics were far from finished. You told him you could smooth things out once the Olympics had met its conclusion, for you didn’t want to get in the way of his focus. Oikawa declined, though. He said that he won’t have the time to talk to his son after the Olympics as they would have to fly back to Argentina soon.

“Mama!” Kino exclaimed, his eyes shining at the meals laid out in front of him. “Food!”

You ruffled his hair, laughing at the excitement of his voice. But your laugh was immediately halted when you noticed his shirt. It’s Kageyama’s jersey, the one which has his signature. As you think about it now, what did Kageyama feel upon looking down at Kino? Did he think of Oikawa?

You crouched and took Kino’s hand. “Kino, why are you wearing this? I haven’t washed it yet.”

The little boy pouted. “You can’t, Mama. Kageyama said the signature would disappear.”

“But… it’s gonna be so itchy.” And your father won’t appreciate it. Although you believed that Oikawa won’t say a thing, you still sympathize with him. “Let’s change you into something comfy, alright?”

Kino’s frown deepened, but he obliged nonetheless. You changed his clothes into comfortable pajamas.

You didn’t know what it was, but it’s nerve-wracking to think about your son finally meeting Oikawa. After seven years of him asking for his father’s whereabouts, and after years of you lying, he would finally meet him. You blinked back the tears that have seared your tear ducts.

To be honest, you have no idea how the night would unfold. Kino has been a polite boy. And you believed that you’ve taught him enough manners so he could talk to Oikawa tonight. You were walking on eggshells, that much was for sure.

“Why is there so much food? Will Uncle Iwaizumi come over?” Kino asked, placing himself on his usual seat beside you.

“We… have a very special visitor,” you told him, finishing up a few last touches on the table.

Kino’s eyes widened in enthusiasm. “Is it Kageyama?”

“No, baby,” you answered, chuckling, “It’s—”

Then there was a knock on the door. Heart suddenly rejoicing, you stood up. Urging Kino to stand up, too. The both of you made your way towards the door. With trembling fingers, you veered the doorknob.

Oikawa stood in the doorway, his duffel bag swung on one of his shoulders. His eyes easily went straight to Kino, who stood beside you, eyebrows narrowed.

“Come in,” you invited, opening the door wider.

Oikawa blinked and stepped inside, eyes still on Kino’s little frame. Everything feels like a glass atop a table, one wrong move and it would shatter.

“Wait,” Kino announced, holding up his tiny hands, “Mama! I know him!” He looked up to you, tugging the hem of your shirt.

“Do you now?” Oikawa crouched, a genuine smile spreading out on his lips.

Kino looked at him, his nose scrunched. “Kageyama’s enemy!” The way he said the enemy sounded as if Oikawa had done something grave towards Kageyama. You apologetically looked at Oikawa, whose smile only widened.

“Yes. I am.” He’s surprisingly taking this so well.

Instead of talking to Oikawa, Kino looked at you, his eyes telling something. Then he looked back at Oikawa once more, as if there was a puzzle in all of this and he slowly picked up the pieces.

“He looks like me, Mama,” Kino whispered.

You crouched beside him, eyes twinkling of the unshed tears. “Really? But you’re much more handsome than him, though.”

Kino chuckled, wrapping his little arms around your neck. “I am.”

Oikawa watched the scene with his heart warming inside his chest. He has many doubts and too many fears. He didn’t know how to be a good father. But he’s willing to try his hardest.

“Kino,” he called out softly, the name of his son escaping his lips has pricked his eyes. Now tears were threatening to fall down his cheeks. However, he knew that crying in front of his son would be uncool.

The little boy looked at him. “Hm?”

“Who’s your daddy?” Oikawa asked rather straightforwardly. He knew his name wouldn’t leave Kino’s lips. He knew that.

Kino glanced at his mother, before staring back at Oikawa again. “Mama said he’s a volleyball player. And that he’s a good one at it.”

Oikawa’s lips trembled. He had to bite his lower lip to stop the tears. He didn’t even know how to handle this moment. Everything came to him in the blink of an eye. But he knew, deep within, that he’s more than prepared to take this. Because this little boy standing in front of him, mirroring him, had been his. Kino is his. Flesh and blood.

“Yeah,” Oikawa sobbed lightly, before pulling Kino closer and hugging him tightly. “I am the volleyball player. I’m your daddy.”

At the young age of seven, you didn’t expect Kino to understand nor exaggerate the truth immediately. After Oikawa introduced himself, Kino merely looked at him— confused. He was a smart kid, but you knew that his comprehension about the world around him doesn’t match that of an adult’s. However, he didn’t push Oikawa away nor shouted at him, which is a great start.

The Olympics slowly crawled into its epilogue, with it the inevitable flight of Oikawa back to Argentina. You haven’t talked about it yet. You haven’t really talked about anything at all. Your priority has been Kino and Kino only. And how to navigate your way towards parenting.

“Mama.” Kino tugged on your shirt as you washed the dishes.

You looked down at him, seeing that he’s carrying your phone with his hands. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Could you… search… Uncle Oikawa’s games?”

Uncle Oikawa. Since he wasn’t used to calling him daddy yet. Oikawa shrugged it off and told him he could call him whatever name he liked. And yet you saw the way the spark in his eyes dwindled a little because of it. The wanting to be recognized by his son was so intense that it was one of the things which could pull his lips into a frown.

You dried your hands with the towel and typed Oikawa’s game play into the search bar. Kino has been on it since the day he met him, but he made you promise not to tell his daddy about it. The little one was obviously embarrassed.

For days, Kino binged watch Oikawa’s games. You could hear him gasping every time Oikawa serve the ball. The replay button has also been abused by his little thumb, as he repeated his father’s plays.

Your little heart couldn’t be more happy with that. He’s trying to be familiar with his father in a way that he knew.

“Mama!” Kino excitedly jumped on his toes as you entered the gymnasium.

It’s the last match and Argentina has managed to defeat many teams, earning them a place to be the champions in this year’s Olympics.

For the last few days, Kino couldn’t sleep because of it. He tossed and turned on the bed, asking you questions after questions of what would happen once his daddy wins.

“Can we visit him first?” he asked, wrapping his little fingers on yours.

“I don’t know yet, baby,” you answered as you stretched your neck to find your seat. This time, Kino had requested that you seat in Argentina’s side of the court.

“Look!” Kino gasped, his cheek adorning the Argentina flag sticker. “That’s him, Mama!” He pulled you towards the nearest bench from Oikawa’s seat.

He was stretching his limbs, eyes straight towards the court. He didn’t even notice you seat behind him. But when he turned around to grab his water, his eyes immediately crinkled as his lips tugged upwards to a warm smile.

“Kino!” he called out, reaching for his son’s cheek. “You here to cheer for daddy?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. But you could tell that he’s still bashful about the physical contact.

Before Kino could open his mouth to speak, the buzzer blared, announcing the beginning of the game. Oikawa waved at Kino, before you exchanged warm smiles with him. Then he faced the court once more.

“Do…” Kino stuttered, but he proceeded, “Do your best!”

Oikawa whirled, facing his son, then he raised his fist with the widest smile that you have ever seen. You raised your fist with Kino, smiling back at Oikawa with the same genuine smile.

His smile faltered, looking at your eyes. It took him a step, and a shoulder’s reach to grab the back of your head. Oikawa left a chaste kiss against your lips. You even felt him smile against it. Dumbfounded as you were, you couldn’t help but smile, too. Your heart was doing somersaults inside your ribcage that it’s hopeless to tame it.

You were far from sorting out your family yet, as it has been in shambles for seven years. But the silent reassurances was like a rope you would continue to cling on to until the right time where everything falls into place comes.

Kino was beyond elated in his seat— standing and clapping his hands whenever his father would score an ace. This side of him, you didn’t expect to see. You have expected him to sit in silence and watch in the same observant eyes he had. But now, your heart couldn’t warm enough at his sight. So joyous. Yet so innocent.

He’s your little fire in this dim world. And no one could take his light away.

Alas, Argentina emerged victorious in the match. Kino had been jumping and shouting his Uncle Oikawa’s name. Oikawa looked his way for two or three times, smiling and raising his thumb as an ‘okay’ sign.

“Mama!” Kino clapped his hands as he looked at you, then he laid out his palm as an indication. You chuckled and dug the little jersey he bought earlier.

Kino ran towards Oikawa, pushing his way towards the crowd of six-foot tall volleyball players. Your heart lurched in your throat as you quickly ran for your son. One wrong move and he’s going to fall on the shiny floors and get trampled on by the men.

“Kino! Wait!”

It was hard to push your way through the throng of sweaty bodies. Your heart couldn’t help but beat loudly. You couldn’t see Kino anymore.

Because he was scooped up by Oikawa Toru.

If his teammates were confused as to why he was carrying a little boy, they didn’t have any time to show it for they were beyond the clouds because of their victory.

Your two boys looked at your way the same time, confetti flowing around you. Oikawa outstretched his hand. You jogged and wrapped your fingers around his. Suddenly, he pushed you in a tight embrace, all while carrying his little boy with his other arm. You felt Oikawa’s lips on your hair, his scent overwhelming your senses.

You pushed away to see the both of them. Kino waving his little jersey in front of his father. He had Oikawa’s jersey number behind it. Then he said the words his father might be dying to hear.

“Can you sign this for me… Papa?”

The light from the gymnasium easily captured the silver tear that has cascaded down Oikawa’s cheeks. He loved Kino more than anything. Because his eyes told that he would give up everything for his son’s sake.

Oikawa ruffled Kino’s hair, pulling him closer before saying, “Of course, son.”

#yeah i cried what of it #the tension in all 4 parts was stunning. the character dynamics and growth #the whole vibes the intensity of which they all felt !! I felt my own chest constricting I had to clutch at it #I don’t really want kids but the way you described hers and Oikawa’s strong attachment/desire to protect him hit me hard #them being so in love and relieved at the end as they held each other. the intimacy and tension of the end of the last chapter and him quest #inning her—all of it was /gold/#Oikawa #Haikyuu #bratkugo #smut #fluff #angst #accidental parenting!au #1-5K #🐚 wistful favorites

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