I'm Here For The One Sided BKDK Angst ITS A VIDEO

Can I have a request for DMC 5 Dante x female reader who's immortal?

Dante falls in love with a fellow demon hunter who's an immortal but the reader is afraid of losing someone or just watching her previous lovers grow old leaving her behind. Reader was afraid she'll lose Dante as well.

(I'm not sure if Dante might be immortal too despite he's half-human, any thoughts?)

Note: I am very uncomfortable with the idea of ageing and immortality, not like those people who have a fear of ageing. No. But to think about it, it leaves me in this weird spot where I am looking at centuries and centuries in a span of one play (one stage of life). It's thought provoking, with a little fear being introduced on how irrelevant everything is in respect to time. Is time even real? Anyway. My introduction to immortal characters was the Forever series and The Man from Earth.

That being said, I will still write it because, sure, why not? My writing is lower than beginner; the best I can do is explore the ideas.

Please anon, if you can in any way let me know if you liked it or not. It will be appreciated.

Once Upon a Time

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Rated: Mature

Words: 4815 words

Warning: Mature theme, Gore, Sex, Death, Aging

Disclaimer:

Feel free to leave comments, but remember to be nice and civil.

LET'S ROCK!!

You were bad at calculating when you were born? When did it all start? Living for more than 2000 years now. You couldn't exactly remember where and when you were born. All you could remember was the mighty figure that raised his sword, Devil Sword Sparda, they called it. In the air, and declared, "The human world is now under my protection. The gates to Hell are sealed, and nothing shall pass through." It echoed throughout the world.

You didn't know it was 2000 years ago, but when you read the knowledge that came to you. You understand the myth or the legend in history was 2000 years ago. So you were sure you were more than 2000 years old.

You never saw the face of the figure they called Sparda, just his shadow casting on your lifeless body as you were ripped open with your guts spilling on the ground. Demons who did this to you were now vanished or sucked back to hell. You were there, lifeless, on the cold, hard ground. Your iris moved with all the energy you could summon. It looked all blurry and hazy. But something caught your eyes. You were in agonising pain, and you hoped you would die soon. You saw a statue of divinity, so with your spilled entrails. The last breath in you asked you, 'Crawl to it.' It was less than a meter; as you drew your last breath, your bloody hand touched it.

Something happened; you can't tell. But you woke up; it was freezing, your body felt cold, and your clothes were ripped where the demon slashed you, but there was no scar. Your guts must be in now. You felt pain, but it was bearable and subsiding with each second. It was snowing.

You stood up on your feet; they were red, and you made your way to the nearest hut. That's all you remember. You tried to find your first family back, but none were alive. You do not even remember them now.

You blinked, lying in your bed, an ugly way to start your day. You got up from the bed, started to make the bed and then hopped into the shower. You were tired, as you came back to put on your barmaid dress. You loved to wear corsets; they were so perfect. You don't understand why people have to demonise them now. They were perfectly fine even for working women or demon huntresses like you throughout human history. But then you thought, no rights for women were fine throughout most of human history as well. You remembered how much fun it was to blow up administrative buildings during the suffragette movement in England. What days – 'men only understand violence, so we give them violence' – or so everyone used to say back then. In the end, you opted for 'modern' underwear.

You put on your coat and watch. You were on a day off today; you didn't want to deal with any demon. Immortality came with its own benefits; you were a damn good demon hunter, and you got all the time in the world to gain knowledge and hone your skills. You started walking towards the park; sometimes it felt all so lonely to think everyone else who walked this earth has and will perish, but you would not. It won't be long before you have to change your name and place. It was usually every ten to fifteen years. Such a little time in your life span.

You were currently new in this city called Capulet City, a hotbed of demon hunters with someone called legendary devil hunters residing here. You were intrigued. You had heard all the myths, legends, and religions, and you knew what bullocks all of them were.

You were crossing a footbridge, and a man with white hair and a red coat walked past you. You didn't notice, but something stuck out. You turned to look at him without a thought; you shouted, "Wait!" The man did – handsome – first thought, and you berated yourself internally. Yes, he is tall, broad, muscular and handsome, and by your time on earth, you were sure he was packing a lot. But no, this was not the time. He looked at you with a smirk and spoke coolly, "Saw something you like, Miss?" You were lost in thought, and Dante raised his eyebrow. You remember this face; around a century and a half back, the same face in the smoke-filled streets of London. A man with the same face, a purple Victorian long coat, a monocle and features more elegantly framed than this. You remember that person. But you do not know why? But after living for so long, you have no will to challenge fate. You frowned. Could there be another person like you walking the earth for who knows how long?

You walked up to him and scanned him up and down. Man was intrigued, he spoke, "Hello?" You looked up at him, the voice wasn't right. But how could you remember it was more than a century ago? But no, his eyes were purple, and these were icy blue.

Man was losing his patience. "Okay, babe, I'm leaving..." And he started to climb down the stairs of the footbridge. You followed him down and expressed your distaste, "No! No! We need to talk…"

Man scoffed, "Talk? I don't even know you, Babe...go away...find another man to pester…" You kept following him. You held his hand in the middle of the road and stopped him. "No...we are talking..."

The man resigned. He was out of money and food for days anyway, "Fine...buy me lunch..." You blinked, "What!?" Man shrugged, "You want my time and attention; you better buy me a lunch. There is a great pizzeria around." Man started to point in the direction of the pizzeria.

You have seen a lot throughout your life, but never anything like this, curious. Maybe that's why he stuck out in your memory after more than a century. You frowned, "What kind of man asks a woman to pay?" Men of this generation never ceased to amaze you. Man shrugged, "I don't know, one who knows his value?" You didn't have anything to do better, so you nodded, "Fine... and I do not want your attention, just answers..." Man held up both his hands. "Fine... but I should tell you I'm irresistible...."

You rolled your eyes, "Lead the way..."

You two sat in a pizzeria near the window seat. He ordered two large Chicken BBQ and Pepperoni pizzas with two pints of beer. You didn't think to dress for a date. But he wasn't so bad now, you think. Answer or not, he was a fine lay.

Man grinned at you, "Now that our food and drinks are settled, my name's Dante..." Dante held out his hand over the table. You laughed a little and shook his hand. "Made sure you got paid upfront before giving out any information? I'm Y/N." Dante chomped down on his pizza; the man had some appetite. You can't deny how everything about this man was so intriguing or arousing. You had your fair share of men over the years. Some stayed in your heart deeper than others, but you always knew they were all fleeting and never made any real attempt to forge a relationship or have kids; they were lovers at best. You had to be very careful for the longest time in history since contraception was such a new and wonderful invention.

You looked at him and calculated him, "So what do you do, Mister Dante?" Dante let out a laugh, "Mister? Seriously... I'm not used to getting so much respect from women...especially feisty ones. But I am a handyman…"

You raised your eyebrow, some food for thought, handyman, too vague, as if trying to hide something. You spoke calculated, "What sort of assignments do you take, handyman? Maybe fix the hole in my wall?" Dante sipped his beer. "Umm...nahhh...more of pest control..."

You smirked, "I'm in somewhat of a pest control business myself..." Dante smirked, "Ohho... yeah...?" You nodded, "Pesky pests are so big and reoccurring these days, right?" Dante hummed in agreement, munching on his pizza... "I got the right guns for that..." You nodded, "I believe you do...."

Before you knew it, you were on the first floor of Devil May Cry... in his room, kissing him passionately as he kisses you back... your legs wrapped around his waist. You were rutting to his bulge; it was so big, you doubted in all these years you took into such a big monstrosity. Your hands cupped his face; you appreciated the older man. Though you never aged beyond twenty-five, there was something about older men that just made you feel so wet, especially one like Dante. You can guess he was around his forties... but back to the business.

Dante laid you down on the bed, his coat off; he pulled up his Henley and off ... You admired the beautifully sculpted body – it was muscular, the skin a bit aged, but silver hair on his chest. You were drooling... your eyes looked down to his white happy trail, a little unkempt, but you appreciated old beauty. His hand started to unlace the front of your dress, the way your tits popped out. Dante smirked, "Why will you put such a beautiful pair through such torture...?" you hummed, nuzzling the pillow as he massaged them, "to look good..."

Dante smirked, "They look much better in my hands..." Dante's hands trailed down to your waist as he peeled your dress off. He likes the view; you were in quite intricate and lacy lingerie. He laughed, "Were you out there looking to get laid? You just saw what you liked in the street and stopped me?" You just shrugged, "Maybe...."

Dante found you amusing; you were confident in an interesting way. You were not trying to control, yet you were controlling everything, and he was happy enough to play your game. He didn't know exactly why you stopped him. But he knew you were human.

Dante leaned back, standing between your legs hanging from the edge of the bed; he started to kiss your neck, pecking and then biting. You moaned and pulled his head back. You clicked your tongue, "Undressing a lady and remaining dressed? What I did to deserve that?"

Dante knew you were as aroused as him; he could smell it. But the way you were patient, it was like you had all the time in the world. He will make you beg for him. You will be impatient. Dante stood up, popping open the button of his black leather pants and pulling down his fly. He wasn't wearing any underwear. You just smirked; you should have expected that. He was big and messy, his hair at the base unkempt. He was hard, you were right. You never had anyone this big.

Your eyes met his icy blue ones, and you could see how badly he wants to bury himself deep in you. You sat up on the edge of the bed. His cock dripping pre-cum. You wrapped your soft fingers around his thick cock; Dante hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. You started to stroke him slowly; he panted. You cooed at him, "Such a big boy...stay still?" You looked up at him through your lashes, his handsome face teetering at the edge of bliss. You wanted to kiss that handsome face. How his brows were knitted, so cute. You kept stroking him softly from base to tip. Your tongue flicked out to lick his slit and pre-cum; you tasted him; he was good.

You smiled up at him, the tip of your tongue flicking at his slit to lap pre-cum; he was moaning, his large fingers threading your hair. You smiled and took him in. His tip hitting the back of your throat, you moaned as his cock vibrated in your mouth.

Dante praised, his fingers gripping the back of your wet, "Shit! Y/N, so warm and wet! Fuck! You're good!" You knew you were good as you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your hand up and down to take him to the base. Your nose nuzzling in his pubic hair, he had a musky scent, and you were getting addicted to his taste.

Was he the person you saw in Victorian London? Who knows? For now, he was quite addictive, and you needed to get in his good graces to let him open up to you, right?

Sure, sucking his dick is the best way to hasten to it. Back to work in hand, your one hand held onto his muscular thighs to stabilise yourself; hell, they were thick, and you were already drooling with how much pre-cum he was producing. Now more so, it was heaven. Your hand slides from his base to his balls, fondling them, making him throw back his head with a loud moan, "Y/N, fuck! So good." His hip bucked involuntarily, hitting the back of your throat; you pulled back. His hand was trying to pull you back. You squeezed his balls a bit more. "Patience... handyman ...or should I say legendary demon hunter?" Dante smirked; he looked divine, his face was blessed out, he was panting, there was a pink tint on his cheeks and his trademark smile, "Same as you...babe!"

Your hands gathered your tits around his cock, surrounding them, and started to massage them. Your bra created a perfect net for him to stay in. Dante needed no clue; you both were wild enough. He started to thrust his cock in the little cock sleeve you prepared for him with your sweet tits. He grunts, "Fuck! Heaven! You're full of surprises, babe..."

His hands replaced yours to squeeze your tits together around his cock. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss, teeth clattering, tongue fighting for dominance and lips swollen...he never stopped thrusting in between your tits. His thrust now irregular and chasing his high. You looked up at him with soft eyes. He smiled down at you ...as he came all over your tits, neck and chin.

He pulled back a bit; he was still hard. He smiled down at you; you looked perfect like this, covered in his cum. He gripped your neck and travelled his hand up to cup your cheeks. You smiled at him, "Is that all you got?"

He growled and flipped you on your stomach; you moaned as his middle finger traced and prodded at your wet spot in your panties. One hand unclasped your bra and threw it away. He gripped your hip to pull you up in the air, his hand on the back of your head pushing your face into the mattress. Your hips try to buck to feel his cock, but he wasn't letting you get any. You whimpered a little annoyed, "Dante..."

Dante rubbed the back of your neck, his hand trailing down your spine, making every inch of your body burn. He spoke patiently, "Let me show you what I got..." His hand came down on your ass hard; it stung, and you yelped, "Ahaa!" Dante smirked; he got on his knee on the floor to smother his face in your panty-clad pussy, and he took a long sniff. He loved your scent. His sharp nose poking your sweet cunt. You moaned as he hooked a finger in your panties to push it aside and lick you slowly and shortly. It was like a kitten lick, your legs trembling...you cursed, "Fuck...!" You were flustered to your chest as he started to fuck your little hole with his tongue and alternated by licking broad stripes along your folds. You came on his tongue in no time.

Dante sucked on your puffy clit to draw your orgasm more; you were a whimpering and crying mess, "Dante...Dante...fuck...baby...you're so good..."

Dante stood up... Pulling down your panties to spank you more, you yelped again. He smirked; he loved the way you jolted.

He smiled, "Loving it, baby?" You nodded your head, "Yes, baby...use protection..." Dante nodded, "I intended to..."

Dante retrieved a condom from the pocket of his discarded coat. You smirked, looking back at him as he ripped the foil open and rolled it onto his cock. "You were prepared..." Dante smiled as he rubbed his cockhead slow and torturous to your entrance, "Well...when you're irresistible like me...you have to..."

You laughed but moaned as he filled you to the brim with no mercy. You were aware it might be a stretch and burn given how big he was, but fuck, he was splitting you open. Dante knew you could handle it; he gripped your hips, pulling back all the way out, just leaving his tip in and slamming back in with full force. You moaned loudly and drooled; he knew he had found your sweet spot, and he kept thrusting at the same pace, hitting the same right spot. You cried as Dante held both your wrists in one hand to arch your back, hitting deep and hard. He spoke, not even breaking a sweat. You couldn't see him, but you were sure he had that stupid grin on his face, "liking it rough, strong baby?"

You drooled, "Loving it...yes! Yes!" Dante knew you were close and slowed down...to tease you. You cried, and he set his pace back to fast again until you came all around him. Your body went limp; it was one of the best sex you had. You were satisfied, but...you felt him lifting your body up like a rag doll. He pressed your back to his chest, and he kissed your neck hard, making you cry. While one of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, his other hand was rubbing and circling your clit, two fingers parting your fold to sink you down his length, and you cried in pleasure as he used you like a rag doll, bouncing you on his cock... a pressure on your clit, and you came crashing again. You were so tired and overstimulated. You begged, "Fuck...it enough..."

Dante smirked as he deposited you on his bed and climbed over you. His hand fondling your tits, "Just one more, baby..."

You could barely protest, and he sank himself in again, pressing you into a mating press, your legs close to your tits and nails raking his back. He kept thrusting in, slow when you were close and fast when your orgasm was again building. You poor pussy was sore and abused; you were in heaven, drooling and fucked senseless. You cried, "Let me cum ...Dante." Dante kissed your lips as he buried himself deep rutting; your pussy clenched around him as you both came together.

You were limp in his sheets, your eyes shut. Dante withdrew himself, taking off the condom, tying it, and throwing it in the dustbin.

You were asleep; he didn't blame you. He maybe overdid it. He had sex again after years; he didn't mind if you stayed a bit long. He craved human warmth but thought himself too filthy to deserve it. Especially from someone as wonderful as you. But if you asked for it, he would make sure no one ever came close. He will ruin it for you forever; this is all he does, ruin everything for everybody.

Dante looked at you naked in his bed; you were soft and sweet. You tugged his heartstrings. He sat up to walk up to the bathroom and bring you a towel. He cleaned your chest and your legs and changed to the cleaned sheets. He didn't mind you staying; he was lonely after all.

Dante came downstairs to hop in for a quick shower. After a cold shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was ageing? Dante never knew how he would age. How much? Or how long he will live? He knew he was old. But given his quick healing and regeneration abilities, he cannot exactly slump into old age. No, even he was aware of this much biology. It needed his cell to stop dividing. But they divided and regenerated perfectly, given Vergil stabbed him just yesterday.

He remembers the little talk he and Vergil had in hell that Dante won't grow old or beyond a point. If his healing and regeneration abilities are uncompromised, he can't be old. Maybe it was just stress and depression which made Dante look older than Vergil.

Dante sighed. He changed into his Henley and sweatpants to walk out into his office. You were already on the red leather couch, wearing his t-shirt and with the pizza he ordered in your lap. You spoke with your mouth full, "Pizza again?"

He walked to you, leaned down and kissed your lips. "Yeah..." You smiled at him, "Remove your shirt..." Dante raised his eyebrow, "My! My! Demanding and hungry minx?" You smiled as he removed his shirt, and you stood up to check his back, no traces of your nails; you had just dug them in an hour ago in his back.

You sat back. Dante noticed the lack of hickeys and bite marks on your neck as well. You both looked at each other. You broke the silence, "How old are you?" Dante laughed, "Umm…let's see...near my mid-forties..." You frowned, "Be honest; I know you can heal...you don't have to hide it..."

Dante was confused. "Yeah...but I'm telling you the truth..." You spoke scoffing, "C'mon! I remember seeing you in London; it was the year 1875! My memory is clear as day!" Dante shouted; he was baffled, "What!? What are you talking about...1875!"

You nodded, "Yeah, you regenerate and heal just like me! That's why you cannot die! You're immortal, just like me!" Dante blinked. "Yeah...I do...but...I'm not like you! 1875! How old are you?"

You sank into the couch; you blew your cover, if you knew anything. It was how important it was to conceal...you blew your 2000-year-old perfect cover. Because you followed your heart, what an idiot! You looked at him, "I think I need my pills!" Dante looked at you unsure, "Pills…?" You laughed, "Yeah, pills, I have these episodes! You see, I have a medical condition...I will just take clothes and go!" You were making your way to the door, but Dante stopped you, holding your arm. "Okay, you can keep your clothes; just let me go."

By now, you can see all the Devil Arms this man has and his reputation. You were sure you were not a match for him. Of course, you won't go down without a fight. But such a man is someone you would rather not be enemies with.

Dante looked at you concerned, "You can tell me." His eyes were soft and deep, like he saw himself as a freak of nature, in the similar way you did. They were vulnerable. You let out a sigh and started, "It's a long story..."

It was morning, and Dante was beyond confused; there were so many stories, and you two were drinking. You were drunk and laughed, "Soo...the man I saw a century ago in London...." Dante nodded, "That's right, he was my father, Sparda..." You nodded in understanding, "Son of Sparda, I see...that's why sex was so good?" Dante laughed, sipping his whisky. "Hey...those were my skills; don't pull my father into this....ewww!" You laughed, "Ewww? Listen to this! I'm glad I didn't get laid with your father back then; it would have been awkward otherwise..."

Dante covered his ears, "No! No! No!" You laughed sipping your beer, you sighed and thought, "But your mother must be something...2000 years alone, and then she made sense to him..." Dante was serious now and nodded, "Yeah...she was pretty darn amazing..."

You looked at Dante with gleaming eyes, "You're amazing too..." Dante shook his head, "Not more than you, Miss 2K..." You laughed and swatted his arm, "That was so bad!" You both laughed. And now you were yearning to find what Sparda found.

With time, Dante and you paired on missions. You both can take as many hits and casualties. You both came to understand each other in ways. No one can...you can understand that Dante is immortal, just like you, unless he is killed through some extreme means. He isn't dying. If he can heal and regenerate. He isn't getting any older. Or so you wanted to believe.

No matter how deeply or conveniently you loved someone. There was always a pain in your heart, a sorrow that stayed.

If he was just like you, it removed so many issues you had; you were anyway falling for him more and more. He was too. You spoilt him rotten with gifts and paid bills; after all, you had all the money in the world.

You didn't know what to make of it. But Dante felt right; he felt perfect. Everything with him had so much potential. And for Dante, you were the biggest repellent to his biggest fear. You cannot die. No one can ever take you away from him, no matter how cursed he was.

It was a weird situation, a convenient arrangement which didn't need love, only companionship. But there was love, and being loved means being missed so terribly.

You were in bed with Dante, an opulent big bed with four posts and curtains draped; it felt like a room out of Versailles. Dante took his surroundings as you two were cuddling after sex and hummed, "Let them eat cake?" You laughed, "She wasn't the best or blameless, but she never said it..."

Dante was surprised. "So you were there?" You kissed his knuckles. "Yeah, but made it out of there in time... back to London."

Dante thought, "And where were you originally from?" You thought and shrugged, "I don't remember. I kept walking for the longest. I'm pretty sure after my first 'death', I was in Uruk... but where I was exactly born..." You shrugged... Dante nuzzled your shoulder and kissed your neck... "I see..."

Dante looked at the wall in front, a painting he couldn't recognise, but he was sure it was real and vintage. He spoke unsure, "I always thought... how my father walked upon this land for 2000 years...and now I met someone...who also did...what was it like?"

You thought, "You want to die for sure...like everyone else...but you also do not want to...it's weird, and then you just learn to pass by. After all...after so many years, nothing makes sense, and you understand nothing ever will. All those empires, people, and power, gone. Changed by something very similar...yet claiming to be different. It is just all a matter of ... time." You looked up at him with a smile and soft eyes.

Dante was looking around your duplex; he saw all the degrees on the wall… He thought, "Not much considering 2000 years." You laughed as you looked at those degrees as well, "Yeah...for the most part, I was a woman and not allowed in any universities, if that makes sense..." Dante nodded, "When you became a demon hunter?"

You kept looking at degrees, "Always was...just on the sidelines. Always the main business, but never the main business, if that makes sense..." Dante nodded, "It does..."

You walk down to the living room and think, your eyes looking at Dante, who was putting his guns back in his holster to leave. Your heart felt heavy, "Dante..."

He turned and looked at you, "Yeah?" You walked up to him and looked at his eyes. "I love you..." Dante was a little taken aback, not surprised but unsure. "I love you too, Y/N. But what does love even mean to you, though?" Dante always thought this, as he thought of all the lovers you had and what it amounted to. Maybe he was insecure or jealous, but in this life, he was never anything fully. He needed to be something.

You took a long sigh, holding both of his hands in yours. You looked into those icy blue eyes; you knew the answer, "Whatever it meant for your father to fall in love with your mother ...." Dante was quiet, so quiet, you weren't sure if you did the right thing. He just nodded; he had no doubt in his mind that his father loved his mother. He perished loving her.

You waited as Dante opened his mouth to speak but was quiet again. He thought, how did his mother knew if it was the right decision? Was there a right decision? Didn't she die? But he was sure she would do it again knowing she would die. So he took a chance too.

Dante kisses your lips. "Move in with me..." You kissed his back, "I will..." 

— oh and by the way im married (zhongli) .

synopsis !! zhongli neglects to inform his friends that he's married.

contains !! they/them reader but referred to as wife, comedic dialogue

Z H O N G L I

Perhaps it's the fact that you've been married for centuries that informing others didn't seem to be a priority for Zhongli.

It wasn't obvious either. He had his day job and you had yours. To regular couples, the amount of distance you two spend would be a little strange, but time is something you have in abundance so it didn't really matter when you spend a few days apart doing your day jobs.

It was Hutao who brought it up the on the evening's Lantern Rite dinner.

"Aiyaya, it seems like everybody alive and dead has a date for this year's lantern rite."

"Hahaha! And here we are celebrating a feast with new and old friends. It doesn't sound like much of a loss to me." Venti laugjs, pouring himself a drink that threatens to overflow from his hand.

"I'm not saying it's a loss, I'm simply wondering wouldn't some of you want to spend the night with a special someone?" She smirks, eyes scanning the group. Chongyun coughs into his cup as Xiao averts his gaze from the troublemaker.

"If you're asking for my opinion, I'd say everyone here is quite special to me," Lumine smiles warmly before glancing at the two archons and yaksha, "I'm sure there's still time for dating in the future. We're not that old."

"Well. . ." Hutao turns to Zhongli. He raises a brow, placing down his cup.

"May I ask why you're staring at me, Director Hu?"

"No reason~ It's just, as your boss, of course I'm a little bit concerned. Aren't you wasting your youth by not going out on dates, mister Zhongli? I'm sure there's a line of Liyuens who would love to–"

A burst of laughter comes from the green bard. "Oh, him? On a Lantern Rite date with someone else? (Name) would surely kill him."

"(Name)?" Everyone questions.

"Huh? He didn't tell you?" Venti tilts his head.

Zhongli coughs, "Ah. . . Please don't be concerned about my dating life, Director Hu. After all, I am already married."

Silence.

A cup drops.

Tea spills (literally).

Then,

"Married?!" The restaurant shakes as Hutao and Lumine jolt upright, hands slamming the table.

"Married." Zhongli confirms.

"What! For how long? When? What's their name? Why have you never–"

Zhongli hushes, trying to calm his boss from jumping over the table. His face dusts a light pink, perhaps embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

"For a few. . . years now. As you know, they're (Name). And as for why I never mentioned my wife. . ." He glances at the crowd, ". . . I simply forgot."

"You. . . forgot," Xingqiu slowly repeats.

"Yes, it seems I've forgotten to inform everyone. Then again, is it not obvious that I'm a married man?"

Chongyun covers his face in his hands, processing the whole ordeal, "Thinking back. . . mister Zhongli always had a domestic kind of aura. It seems so obvious now."

"Wait, wait, wait! How come I didn't know about this? We work together almost everyday! And why does Venti know! Didn't you two just met! Do you even have a ring?" Hutao interjects, flabbergasted as Zhongli and Venti freezes.

In truth, he does have a ring. One he carved himself made of only the most precious of jade and metal. It has rested under his glove for centuries—

Under his glove also hides his draconic arms, golden veins against dark brown, almost scale-like skin. Proof of a entity greater than human.

"Ehe. . . about that," Venti nervously looks away, "I've actually. . . met his wife before!" He covers up, voice laced with enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes, my wife is quite fond of Mondstadt's songs. They've frequently visited the nation before."

"And you don't come along?" Xiangling asks.

"I don't."

The group blinks.

"And what about the ring? I never see you wear a wedding ring." Hutao narrows her eyes.

"That's because I don't wear it." He answers bluntly.

". . . and you never introduced them to us because. . .?" Lumine questions.

"Because . . . I haven't had the time to?"

Hutao rests back on her chair, her eyes glazed in judgment, "No offense mister Zhongli, but you seem like a terrible husband. If you don't get your act straight, I'd say your marriage won't last."

His jaw drops. Venti laughs.

|| ko-fi support / character m.list ||

~ bonus ~

"Darling, am I a terrible husband?"

"No? What makes you think that?"

"No reason. Although I believe we should try dating publicly."

tumblr has been deleting my last paragraphs why

//for some reason tumblr has been deleting my last lines in drafts so i have to type this so my last sentences wont get deleted

"No reason. But perhaps it's about time I show you off to the public more."

ko-fi support | character m.list

ko-fi support / character m.list

character m.list / ko-fi support

how izuku gets the girl! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

teacher midoriya x reader

izuku midoriya is determined to mend the growing rift between you, desperate to prove how much you mean to him. with the support of his friends, he embarks on a series of grand gestures, each one more elaborate than the last. from awkwardly coordinated serenades to overly complicated surprise plans, his well-intentioned efforts keep falling short. despite their best attempts to help, his friends’ involvement only adds to the chaos. as midoriya stumbles through each attempt, sinking deeper into a mess of his own making, the question remains: will his efforts be enough to win you back?

✎ wc: 8,409... got a lil carried away guys

⤑ tw: ik eri isnt in hs yet but i didnt want to make any oc’s </3 als did not proofread, might proofread tmr morning tho so ;d also for the ending i sweat there was a reason i put him in there and had him say that but i FORGET FUCK so pretend its just cute and makes sense...characters may be ooc btw...

⤑ guess whos BACK (me) time to update that band one and this is inspired by how you get the girl by taylor swift! and gsonys izuku art on insta ;p

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

you were getting ready for bed, the house calm and quiet after a long day. a sudden, urgent knock on the front door startled you, pulling you from your relaxed state. glancing at the clock, you noted the late hour—unexpected visitors were rare at this time.

slipping on a robe, you shuffled to the door, wondering who it could be. as you opened it, your eyes widened in surprise. standing on your doorstep was midoriya, drenched from head to toe. his dress shirt clung to him, almost transparent from the rain, and water pooled at his feet, creating a small puddle on your porch. leaves and twigs were tangled in his usually neat green curls, and some wet strands were stuck to his forehead. his tie hung crookedly, and his dress pants were plastered to his legs, making him look like he had been caught in a torrential downpour.

each step he took made a squelching sound from his soaked socks, adding to the awkwardness of the moment. his breathing was uneven, each inhale a shaky gasp from his run. normally so composed, he now appeared as a soaking, disheveled mess, which was both surprising and oddly endearing.

you couldn’t help but stare, trying to reconcile this soaked figure with the usually neat and controlled midoriya you knew. he raised a trembling hand, his fingers shaking from the cold, and his knock came with an unsteady rhythm.

“izuku? are you insane?” you asked, bewildered.

midoriya, catching his breath, looked at you with a mix of determination and embarrassment. “it’s been a long six weeks,” he stammered. “i was too afraid to tell you what i wanted.”

.・。.・゜✭・❤・✫・゜・。.

4 weeks earlier.

midoriya sat in the faculty room, a stack of paperwork spread out in front of him. the late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting long, soft shadows across the room. the air was thick with the usual quiet that filled the space during the end of a school day. across from him, aizawa leaned back in his chair, adjusting his scarf with a mix of impatience and concern.

“you’ve got to be tougher on your students, midoriya,” aizawa said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of seriousness. “i’ve seen you let them off too easily. it’s not helping them grow.”

midoriya glanced up from his paperwork, a frown tugging at his brow. “i don’t think i’m being too easy,” he replied, “i'm just trying to create a supportive environment. they need to learn, but they also need to feel encouraged.” 

aizawa sighed, rolling his eyes slightly as he straightened in his chair. “you can be supportive without coddling them, midoriya. there’s a balance you need to find. letting them skate by on half efforts isn’t doing them any favors in the long run.”

midoriya bit his lip, mulling over aizawa’s words. before he could respond, the door to the faculty room suddenly burst open with a loud bang, startling both teachers. a group of students rushed in, their faces flushed with a mix of frustration and urgency. they barely stopped, practically tumbling into the room, completely ignoring the large no students allowed sign outside.

“midoriya-sensei, we need to talk!” one of the students blurted out, breathless, their words tumbling over each other in their haste. midoriya’s eyes widened as he recognized the group—some of his own students, including koda and eri. he glanced at aizawa, feeling a mix of embarrassment and concern as he began to sink into his seat, eyes drifting to the ceiling. he could feel aizawa’s silent stare, a reminder that maybe his softer approach wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped.

feeling the tense air from mr. aizawa, the students silently communicated with each other, deciding who should be the first to speak. “ms. y/l/n has been really tough on us during training,” eri spoke up, her voice tinged with concern. “we were hoping you could... calm her down or something?”

midoriya’s expression shifted, confusion evident. “calm her down? i didn’t even realize she was upset.”

aizawa raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “well, maybe you’re just too used to midoriya’s leniency. y/n is an excellent teacher, but she’s always had high standards. maybe you’re all just not used to it.”

as if on cue, the door to the faculty room creaked open again, and you walked in. your usual warmth seemed to fill the room, and you greeted everyone with your signature cheerfulness. “hello, everyone!” you called out, your voice bright and welcoming.

but the moment your gaze landed on midoriya, your expression shifted. the smile that had lit up your face moments before disappeared, replaced by a look of dismissiveness. “mr. midoriya” you greeted him curtly, your tone clipped and formal. there was no warmth, no friendliness—just a cold acknowledgment of his presence.

midoriya felt his heart drop. you didn’t linger in the room like you normally would, chatting with the other teachers or sharing a laugh. instead, you turned on your heel and walked out just as abruptly as you had entered, leaving the room in a stunned, almost eerie silence.

the students exchanged nervous glances, their eyes wide with surprise. a low murmur spread through the group as they tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“okay, that was definitely weird,” one of the students finally said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled in. “she’s usually so friendly with you, sensei.”

midoriya’s brow furrowed deeply as the pieces slowly began to fall into place in his mind. “yeah, that was strange,” he muttered under his breath, his voice quieter now as he stared at the door you’d just exited through. “she’s been distant lately, hasn’t she?” he continued, still muttering to himself, lost in thought. unconsciously, he reached up to rub the back of his neck, a habit of his when he was anxious. though he wasn’t speaking loudly, it was enough to catch the attention of everyone in the room.

the room grew quieter as the students slowly began to file out, their chatter subdued and filled with concerned whispers. but midoriya didn’t notice. he was too busy muttering quietly to himself, replaying each interaction with you in his mind, trying to piece together what had gone wrong.

aizawa narrowed his eyes as he watched midoriya. even he had to admit that your sudden shift in demeanor was odd. just as he was about to call out to midoriya, the younger hero suddenly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“i’ve got to talk to her,” midoriya mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, but it was loud enough for aizawa to hear. aizawa’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. it wasn’t often he saw midoriya this shaken, especially over something non-hero related.

without waiting for a response, midoriya strode toward the door, his footsteps quick and determined. aizawa watched him go, releasing a quiet sigh as the door clicked shut behind him. the room was left in a contemplative silence, the weight of midoriya’s resolve lingering in the air.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

later that day, during lunch, midoriya gathered his courage and approached you as you sat alone at a corner table. he offered a hopeful smile, trying to bridge the growing gap between you.

“hey, y/l/n,” he began, his voice warm and sincere. “want to join me for lunch? it’s been a while, and i thought we could catch up.” he kept his tone light, hoping to ease whatever tension had built up between you.

you glanced up briefly, your expression guarded. the usual warmth that lit up your face when you saw him was gone, replaced with something distant. “no, thank you,” you muttered quietly, turning back to your meal, effectively cutting off the conversation. midoriya stood there for a moment, his smile faltering as your rejection hit harder than he’d anticipated.

from a nearby table, a group of students watched the exchange with bated breath. as soon as midoriya walked away, they quickly gathered around him, their concern obvious.

“what did you do?” eri asked, her voice laced with alarm.

midoriya ran a hand through his hair, his frustration and confusion evident. “i don’t know! i really don’t,” he replied, exasperated. “i thought we were on good terms. i didn’t mean to upset her.”

the students exchanged worried glances. “well, you’ve definitely done something,” koda said, crossing his arms. “you need to fix this.”

midoriya sighed, pulling out his phone to message his friends. as he walked away, his thoughts whirled with memories of your interactions over the past few weeks—every clipped response, every avoided glance, every time you’d left a room just as he’d entered. he replayed those moments over and over in his mind, trying to pinpoint when things had started going wrong—how had he not noticed something was off in the first place? when had it gotten this bad?

“was it something i said? or maybe something i didn’t say? did i miss something important?” he mumbled to himself, oblivious to the awkward stares he was receiving from the students nearby.

the students exchanged uneasy glances. they were used to midoriya talking to himself when he was deep in thought, but this time, it felt different—more personal, more troubling.

aizawa, who had been observing from a distance, narrowed his eyes slightly. he could see midoriya spiraling, lost in his thoughts. with a resigned sigh, he cleared his throat, snapping midoriya out of his daze.

“midoriya,” aizawa called out, his tone calm but firm, “whatever’s going on, you need to address it directly. stop overthinking and talk to her. otherwise, it’s just going to get worse.”

midoriya blinked, realizing that he’d been muttering to himself in front of everyone. embarrassment colored his cheeks as he looked around at the concerned faces staring back at him. “you’re right,” he said, his voice more resolute now. “i need to talk to her. i have to find out what’s going on and fix it.”

with a determined nod, midoriya set off to figure out what had gone wrong. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya decided to meet with his friends to discuss the situation, hoping their insights could help him understand what had gone wrong with you and how to fix it. he figured that since they had all spent time together, they might have noticed something he missed. they settled into a cozy corner of a café, their faces reflected a mix of concern and curiosity.

todoroki raised an eyebrow, studying midoriya closely. “you haven’t figured it out yet?”

midoriya shook his head vigorously, frustration evident. “no clue. i didn’t even notice that something was wrong. my students pointed it out.”

kirishima, usually cheerful, took on a serious tone. “this is a big deal. you don’t know what’s upsetting her or how long she’s been feeling this way. could be serious.”

midoriya nodded, determination clear in his features. “i’ll talk to her. i just need to understand what went wrong so i can make it right.”

kaminari, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward. “just talking to her isn’t going to cut it. if you really messed up, you need to go big.”

midoriya frowned slightly. “yeah, but what if the grand gesture is too much?”

“better to go overboard than underboard,” kirishima said firmly. “if she’s really upset, a grand gesture might show her how much you care. it’s about being a man and showing that you’re genuinely sorry.”

todoroki nodded in agreement. “think of something meaningful. show her how much you value her.”

“no half-assed attempts,” bakugou added, his tone serious. “if you’re going to do this, make it count.”

midoriya’s resolve strengthened with each piece of advice. “i’ll come up with something that truly shows how much she means to me. i want to make sure she knows i’m serious about fixing this.”

his friends exchanged approving glances, satisfied with midoriya’s determination. as they continued brainstorming ideas, the café buzzed with the energy of their discussion. midoriya’s mind raced with possibilities, each more elaborate and heartfelt than the last. he knew he had to pull out all the stops to make things right with you, and he was ready to put everything he had into it. the grand gestures was the way to go, and he was determined to make it unforgettable.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

the first idea had come from aoyama. somehow, word had spread through their old class about midoriya’s dilemma, and each of them had ideas on how to help. aoyama, being aoyama, suggested something extravagant.

“a grand piece of art!” aoyama had said with flair. “something beautiful that she can walk through and admire. she’ll be swept off her feet!”

with todoroki’s help, they crafted an elaborate display of ice sculptures—each one representing something meaningful to you. the sculptures were delicate, intricate depictions of your favorite things: a particular book you loved, a scene from a memory they shared, and even a tiny version of your favorite flower.

as midoriya stood beside todoroki, his face glowed with anticipation. “thank you so much for helping with this,” midoriya said, his voice brimming with gratitude. “i really appreciate it.”

todoroki nodded, though he seemed slightly uneasy. “no problem. i’m sure she’ll love it.”

when you arrived, you looked hesitant but curious. midoriya guided you forward with a flourish, eager to see your reaction. but as you came into view, the excitement drained from his face.

instead of a beautiful display, you were met with a scene of puddles and half-melted ice sculptures. the intricate figures that todoroki had so carefully crafted were now just watery blobs.

midoriya stood by your side, looking disheveled and panicked. he glanced around in confusion, noticing that the ice was melting faster than it should have. “but... it’s winter,” he muttered, his brow furrowing.

you stared at the mess, disappointment and frustration washing over you. “what is this?” you asked, your voice tight with irritation.

midoriya, clearly distressed and flustered, stammered, “i thought it would be something special, but—”

he didn’t get to finish. glaring at him, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving him standing there, drenched in disappointment. todoroki and their friends, who had been watching from a distance, exchanged helpless glances as midoriya stood amidst the puddles of his failed gesture.

it was then that midoriya and todoroki noticed a group of first-year students practicing their fire quirks. the heat from their flames had warmed the ground, causing the ice sculptures to melt rapidly.

todoroki sighed, running a hand through his hair. “she was not happy.”

midoriya’s shoulders slumped. “i wanted to make her feel special, but all i did was mess things up.”

“don’t give up,” todoroki said, trying to reassure him. “there’s still time. just... maybe something simpler next time.”

but simpler didn’t come easily for midoriya. with each new idea suggested by his friends, he found himself spiraling further into chaos.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya had decided to take a bold step to make things right, following iida’s suggestion. he arranged a surprise staff meeting to publicly apologize to you, hoping that a formal and heartfelt apology would finally bridge the gap. with iida’s help, everything was set: the time, the place, and the carefully crafted speech midoriya had prepared.

however, midoriya overlooked one crucial detail—unbeknownst to him you had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for the same time as the meeting and couldn’t attend. unaware of your absence, midoriya proceeded with the plan.

as the meeting time approached, midoriya arrived early, his nerves jangling with anticipation. he had meticulously rehearsed his speech and was ready to make his apology. iida arrived shortly after to help set everything up and work the slideshow. the rest of the staff arrived, each person taking their seat, eager to hear what midoriya had prepared.

when the time came, midoriya stood at the front of the room, his speech in hand, only to realize that you were missing. a quick check with iida confirmed that you were indeed not present, and midoriya’s heart sank. he had planned to address you directly, but with you absent, he was at a loss for how to proceed.

in a moment of panic, midoriya decided to go ahead with the meeting anyway. clearing his throat, he began, “uh, thank you all for coming. i, um, had prepared a speech for ms. y/ln, but it seems she couldn’t make it today…”

the staff exchanged confused glances, some shuffling in their seats, unsure of what to do. midoriya, now the center of attention, tried to salvage the situation by improvising a general discussion about recent events and updates at the school.

he spoke about new curriculum changes, upcoming events, and even shared some amusing anecdotes to fill the awkward silence. what was intended as a formal apology session transformed into an impromptu staff meeting, with midoriya as the flustered host. iida attempted to assist by passing around random papers with topics, but this only added to the confusion.

as the meeting dragged on, it became evident that midoriya’s heartfelt apology had become an unintended and rather chaotic discussion. the staff, initially puzzled, became engaged in the unexpected meeting, though with a sense of bewilderment.

when the meeting finally wrapped up, midoriya stood at the front of the room, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. his attempt to make things right had resulted in an unplanned staff meeting.

you returned from your appointment later that day, only to hear about the mix-up from your colleagues. they filled you in on the unexpected turn of events. meanwhile, midoriya was already plotting his next grand gesture, determined to find a way to properly convey his apology and make things right with you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

after the previous grand gestures were a flop, midoriya decided to try something simpler yet still meaningful. with the help of momo and uraraka, he picked out the perfect bouquet: a mix of your favorite flowers, complemented by blooms in colors he knew you liked. the vibrant petals were arranged with careful attention to detail, each one chosen with thoughtfulness and care. midoriya’s heart raced as he made his way through the hallway, clutching the bouquet tightly, hoping this gesture would finally break through the wall between you two.

as he approached the corner where you were about to turn, midoriya took a deep breath, holding the bouquet out in front of him. his nerves were on edge as he hoped you’d see the effort he’d put into this simple but heartfelt gesture.

but just as he was about to step into your view, a loud crackle filled the air. one of the first-year students, still struggling with their electricity quirk, had lost control, and sparks began to fly uncontrollably. midoriya’s eyes widened in horror as a stray bolt shot out and zapped right through the bouquet in his hands. the once-vibrant flowers were instantly reduced to nothing but charred stems, the bright colors now a dark, ashy mess.

 you turned the corner just as midoriya was standing there, holding what looked like a bundle of burnt sticks. raising an eyebrow, you stopped in your tracks and stared at him. “uh… what’s this supposed to be?” you asked, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you.

midoriya’s face flushed bright red, and he stammered, “i… i had flowers for you, but…” he trailed off, glancing down at the destroyed bouquet. his shoulders slumped in embarrassment, and he shifted awkwardly, feeling the sting of failure.

you sighed, the hurt in your eyes evident. “well, thanks, i guess? never been given stems before.” your voice was laced with a mix of sadness and irritation as you shook your head. with that, you turned to walk away, leaving midoriya standing there with a sinking feeling in his chest. he felt like he’d only made things worse, once again.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya decided to try another simple approach to make amends. remembering your favorite coffee shop and the drink you loved, he headed there with a hopeful heart. the bell above the door jingled as he walked in, and the rich, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him. he approached the counter, his nerves making his voice slightly shaky.

“hi, i’d like to get an iced latte with hazelnut and caramel, please. it’s for someone special,” he said, trying to keep his tone light and friendly.

the barista nodded and started preparing the drink. midoriya watched with bated breath as the machine whirred and hissed, the caramel and hazelnut syrup swirling into the coffee. he could almost see his hopes and apologies taking shape in the cup.

just as the barista handed him the cup, the machine let out a loud, mechanical groan and then abruptly stopped working. the barista’s face fell as she glanced at the now silent machine.

“wow, you’re really lucky,” she said with a sigh. “the machine’s down, and we won’t be able to make another one of these until our manager gets back to check it out. probably won’t be able to make another one of these for another two hours.”

midoriya’s heart sank slightly. he felt a flicker of relief that he had managed to get the coffee before the machine broke down, but the frustration of his situation made his shoulders droop. he thanked the barista and took the cup with a shaky hand, his excitement tempered by worry. he hoped this gesture would be enough to bridge the gap between you and him.

just as he was about to step out, a kid darted past him, bumping into his side with a jolt. midoriya stumbled, and before he could react, the cup flew from his grasp, the precious coffee spilling in a slow-motion cascade onto the floor. the liquid pooled around his shoes, the ice cubes and caramel syrup mixing into a dark puddle.

his heart sank as he stared at the mess. “oh no,” he muttered, feeling a wave of frustration and embarrassment wash over him. he glanced back at the counter, where the barista was now talking to another customer.

“we can’t make any more of those for now. that lucky guy just got the last one,” the barista said, pointing directly at midoriya.

midoriya’s head snapped to the woman in front of the register, and he saw you. your expression shifting from confusion to surprise and then to dismay. your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the ruined cup and midoriya’s mortified face. you had somehow slipped past him while he was waiting, and now you stood in front of the register.

“oh, great,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration. “this just keeps getting better.”

midoriya, now red-faced and utterly deflated, stood there feeling the weight of his failed attempt to make things right. his mind raced as he wanted to apologize, explain, and make it up to you, but all he could do was stand there, feeling utterly deflated.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

it was the start of the school day, and midoriya was busy preparing his classroom for the students. he was in high spirits, excited to tackle the day’s lessons and he felt good about his plans to work things out with you. however, his optimism was abruptly interrupted when a group of students burst into the room, their faces flushed with a mixture of urgency and panic.

“sensei, we need to talk!” one of them exclaimed, practically breathless from running.

midoriya looked up from his desk, surprised by the sudden intrusion. “oh, don’t worry, guys! i know you’re eager to start and all, but you still have another half hour before homeroom begins.”

“no, this is urgent!” another student insisted, their voice tinged with anxiety. “it’s about ms. ms. y/ln.”

midoriya’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “what about her?”

the students quickly gathered around him, pulling out their phones with frantic gestures. midoriya’s heart sank as he watched the video they played. it showed you in a training session, ruthlessly taking down a dummy with a green wig and a set of freckles. the dummy’s resemblance to midoriya was almost comical, and you were using a variety of improvised weapons—bats, metal rods, and even a few random objects that had no place in a school setting. your movements were executed with a dramatic flair and an intensity that was both impressive and alarming.

midoriya stared at the screen, his eyes widening with disbelief. “you guys came to school early just to show me this?”

“yeah,” one student said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “we’ve noticed that ms. y/ln has been a lot more relaxed with us lately. she’s been back to her old self, but you’re still clearly on her bad side. we thought you should see this to understand why.”

midoriya tried to keep his tone light, despite the unsettling nature of the video. “gee, thanks. this is... uh, definitely something.”

another student nodded, their expression serious. “yeah, sensei. you really need to figure out what you did. we like you a lot, but i wouldn’t want to be that test dummy. she’s clearly still holding onto something.”

midoriya’s face fell into a mix of worry and determination. “i’ll talk to her and figure this out. thanks for letting me know.”

as the students left, midoriya remained at his desk, replaying the video in his mind. the exaggerated way you had taken down the dummy made it clear that you were still very upset with him. he was more determined than ever to find out what had gone wrong and make things right before your frustration led to even more extreme demonstrations–and hes nervous for the day that you decide you need a human target.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya had been feeling increasingly desperate to make things right after his previous attempts ended in disaster. he remembered a conversation he’d had with todoroki after the ice sculpture mishap. todoroki had suggested, “a carefully written note might be the best way to communicate your feelings without risking another embarrassing mishap.”

at the time, midoriya had thought a note would be too simple and struggled with the idea, especially since he wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. but the test dummy incident had pushed him to his limits, making him realize he couldn’t afford another failure.

determined, midoriya spent hours crafting the perfect message. he poured his heart into every word, making sure you understood how much you meant to him and how genuinely sorry he was for everything that had gone wrong. the note was sincere, filled with his deepest apologies and hopes for understanding.

the library seemed like the ideal place to leave the note—quiet, private, and somewhere you were likely to find it without interference. midoriya waited for the library to clear out, his nerves on edge. when it was finally empty and still, he walked in, his heart pounding.

he spotted your folder resting on a table and took a deep breath. with a mix of nervous excitement and hope, he slipped the note inside, feeling a small sense of victory as he did. as he walked away, he felt a renewed sense of hope, convinced that this time, things might finally go right.

but later that afternoon, as midoriya walked down the hall towards the teachers’ lounge, he overheard two students talking animatedly.

“did you hear?” one student said, their voice filled with excitement. “a love note ended up in mr. aizawa’s folder!”

midoriya froze, his heart racing as he processed the shocking news. “mr. aizawa?!” he thought, his mind whirling with panic. he hadn’t seen you since the incident, and now he was horrified to discover that his apology note had ended up in aizawa’s folder instead of yours. his face went pale as he realized the note was meant to be a sincere apology, not a confession. he had never intended to make his feelings for you so obvious, and now he was mortified to find out it was interpreted as a love confession.

as he continued down the hall, he felt a pang of relief that the note hadn’t ended up in your folder, since it would have been even more awkward for you to see it that way. but that relief was overshadowed by the embarrassment and frustration of his mistake. midoriya’s stomach churned as he realized the mess he had accidentally created. desperate to correct the situation, he quickly rushed into the lounge, his face pale with worry and his thoughts racing.

he began pacing around the room, knowing he had to act fast. he needed to find a way to rectify the situation with aizawa and still make things right with you. his heart pounded as he brainstormed how to salvage his heartfelt gesture before it was too late.

i take it this note was meant for y/ln?” aizawa’s voice cut through the room, startling midoriya.

midoriya jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. he turned to see aizawa standing in the doorway, his usually stern expression replaced by an intense, almost intimidating gaze. midoriya’s face went pale, and he stammered, “yes! i’m really sorry about this, aizawa. i didn’t mean for it to get this messy.”

aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone dropping to a low, almost menacing growl. “you know, midoriya, if you’re going to mess up, you should probably make sure it doesn’t involve the entire faculty.”

midoriya swallowed hard, a cold sweat forming on his forehead. he felt a rush of anxiety as he tried to explain himself. “i didn’t want to cause any trouble. i just thought—”

“do you like her?” aizawa interrupted, cutting through midoriya’s nervous babble.

midoriya blinked, taken aback. “well, yes, i do. i mean, i—”

“do you like her in a romantic way?” aizawa pressed, his gaze unyielding.

midoriya’s face flushed bright red. he began to ramble, “uh, yeah, i guess you could say that. i’ve liked her for a long time, and i’ve been trying to show her that, but everything keeps going wrong. i mean, i’ve been messing up left and right, and—”

“how did you get that idea?” midoriya finally blurted out, stumbling over his own words.

aizawa’s eyes softened just a bit. “this seems like a big apology for a coworker,” aizawa said, his tone shifting slightly. “sounds like a confession to me.”

midoriya’s eyes widened, and his face turned beet red. “oh, well, yeah, you could say that. i’ve been scared to tell her how i feel because i didn’t want to make things worse. i keep screwing up and pushing us further apart, and—”

“you’re overcomplicating things,” aizawa said, cutting through midoriya’s anxious rambling. “maybe it’s time to just talk to her directly.”

midoriya nodded, determination settling on his face. he knew he needed to take a straightforward approach to make things right. with a renewed sense of purpose, he prepared himself to finally confront the situation head-on, hoping that this time, his genuine feelings would come through and truly make a difference.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya was rushing out of the school building, determined to go home and prepare for a straightforward conversation with you. his plan was clear: find out what he’d done wrong, ask how he could make things right, and confess his feelings. he was nearly at the exit when kaminari, kirishima, todoroki, and bakugou intercepted him.

“hey, where are you rushing off to?” kaminari called out, blocking midoriya’s path with an eager grin.

midoriya came to a halt, his frustration evident. “i’m heading home to get ready for a talk with y/n. i really don’t have time for this.”

“perfect timing, then!” kaminari said, his grin widening. “we’ve got a plan to help you out.”

“a plan?” midoriya asked, eyeing the guitar kaminari was holding. “what’s this about?”

and that’s how midoriya found himself standing in front of your house, flanked by bakugou, kirishima, kaminari, and todoroki, all ready to serenade you like a group of love-struck lunatics. the whole situation felt surreal to him. he turned to kaminari, wearing the same skeptical and apprehensive expression he had earlier when they had intercepted him.

“are you sure this is going to work?” midoriya asked, trying to sound confident but clearly nervous.

kaminari, holding his guitar with a grin, shrugged nonchalantly. “works on jirou all the time. chicks love when you sing to them. it’s like some kind of chemical thing, I think.”

“okay, okay,” midoriya said, taking a deep breath. “let’s just get this over with.”

kaminari strummed the opening chords of the song, and midoriya took his place in front of the group, awkwardly adjusting his stance. he started singing, his voice wavering at first but gradually gaining confidence as he got into the rhythm. the lyrics were heartfelt, a mixture of longing and apology, expressing how much he missed you and how desperately he wanted to make things right.

as midoriya sang, his initial discomfort slowly faded, replaced by a genuine emotion that he hoped would reach you. kirishima and todoroki added their backup vocals, harmonizing with the main melody, while bakugou stood off to the side with his arms crossed, trying to look disinterested but clearly invested in the performance.

just as the song hit its emotional peak, the front door of the house swung open. an elderly man, clearly not you, stormed out onto the porch, his face red with irritation. “what in the world do you think you’re doing, making all this noise at this hour?!”

midoriya froze, his heart sinking as he realized their mistake. the old man’s eyes narrowed, and with a powerful gust of wind from his quirk, he sent them stumbling back. the sudden force knocked them off balance, and midoriya barely managed to stay upright.

“run!” kaminari yelled, already sprinting down the street. the others scrambled to follow, scattering in every direction as the irate old man pursued them with surprising vigor and speed for someone his age.

“it’s only seven o’clock at night!” kaminari shouted, his voice tinged with panic as he was flung into the air. midoriya and the rest of the group could only watch in horror as their friend was tossed around like a rag doll by the furious old man.

the old man’s face was a deep shade of red with rage. “it’s late enough! get off my lawn!” he bellowed, his voice amplified by the force of his quirk. gusts of wind howled around them, whipping up leaves and debris.

three houses down, you were grading papers when the commotion outside drew your attention. the sounds of shouting and the rush of wind made you step onto your porch, where you were met with a scene of utter chaos: a group of boys being chased by your 80-year-old neighbor, who was shaking his cane with fierce determination and unleashing his wind quirk with surprising strength.

through the flurry of wind and movement, you squinted and recognized the familiar green-haired figure. as realization dawned, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

midoriya, flailing mid-flight against the gusts of wind, finally spotted you. panic and embarrassment flashed across his face as he was propelled toward your direction. when his eyes met yours, his expression softened into a sheepish smile.

seeing him so disheveled and helpless only made you laugh harder. you hesitated for a moment, then gave him a small, wavering wave. your smile blended amusement with sympathy, recognizing that this wild spectacle was all his doing. 

as midoriya was swept past, he saw you retreating back into your home, closing the door behind you. despite the chaos, he managed to hold onto that sheepish grin. your smile, amid the disaster of the serenade, gave him a flicker of hope. 

midoriya felt himself being yanked out of the wind’s path and looked up to see bakugou standing over him with a smirk. “looks like you finally got her attention, nerd,” bakugou said, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

midoriya, still disoriented from the chaos, brushed himself off and looked around at the scattered group. kirishima and todoroki were catching their breath, while kaminari was sitting on the curb, looking dazed and slightly battered. the gusts of wind had finally ceased, but the ruckus had left its mark.

midoriya’s thoughts raced as he tried to piece together what had just happened. “how did we get the house wrong?” he muttered, he looked up at the house they had just been harassing, his eyes finally taking in the number on the mailbox: 109. realization hit him hard. “we’re at 109, not 106!” he exclaimed, his face falling in disbelief.

the group turned in unison to kaminari, their collective frustration apparent. “you got the address wrong, didn’t you?” bakugou growled, glaring at him.

kaminari’s eyes widened in panic. “it was just a mistake! I didn’t—”

midoriya’s realization was quickly overshadowed by another gust of wind. the old man, still fuming and clutching his cane, had spotted the group again and was gearing up for another attack.

“run!” kirishima shouted, causing midoriya and the others to jump into motion. they scrambled for safety, but the old man’s wind quirk picked up speed, howling as it blasted toward them.

amid the chaos, kaminari, who was still dazed from the earlier commotion, stumbled and tripped over his own feet. “guys, wait up!” he yelled, but his plea was drowned out by the roaring wind.

without a second thought, the rest of the group sprinted away, leaving kaminari behind. the old man’s quirk grabbed kaminari and sent him flying into the air. midoriya, glancing back, saw kaminari flailing helplessly as he was tossed around like a ragdoll.

“sorry, man!” kirishima shouted over his shoulder, guilt evident in his voice as he continued to run.

kaminari’s screams echoed through the night as the old man, now thoroughly enraged, spun him around with impressive strength. “try and sing now pretty boy!” the old man roared, hurling kaminari high into the air before catching him again and sending him spinning.

midoriya and the others continued to flee, their pace slowing as they glanced back nervously. the old man’s furious wind gusts faded into the distance, and with each passing moment, kaminari’s screams grew quieter.

they ran behind the cover of trees and bushes, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. midoriya’s heart pounded in his chest, not just from the exertion but from the fear for their friend. kirishima, breathing heavily, kept turning his head, his face a mix of worry and regret.

“is he still…?” kirishima began, but his voice trailed off as the group strained to listen. kaminari’s cries, once sharp and panicked, had dwindled to distant echoes.

“i don’t hear him anymore,” todoroki said, his voice low and tense.

“he should be alright,” bakugou said, his tone brimming with frustration. “he can take care of himself.”

midoriya swallowed hard, unable to shake the image of kaminari being tossed around. “we need to go back,” he said, his voice determined but weary.

“no way,” bakugou countered. “we need to stay out of sight. we can’t help him if we get caught too.”

they continued to move away, their steps slow and cautious as they kept glancing back toward the fading sound of kaminari’s distress. the screams eventually faded completely, leaving only the haunting memory of their friend’s ordeal.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

the four boys made their way to todoroki's apartment, the closest and most convenient refuge after their chaotic run-in with the old man. as they settled in, todoroki offered drinks and snacks while they waited for kaminari to arrive. they sent a steady stream of text messages to their missing friend, updating him on their location and asking him to join them as soon as possible.

as midoriya was deep in thought, trying to piece together the troubling realization, the front door to todoroki’s apartment burst open. kaminari staggered in, drenched from head to toe. his clothes clung to him, and he dripped puddles onto the floor. the room fell silent as the others turned to see their soggy friend, a mix of relief and confusion on their faces.

“dude, you’re soaked!” kirishima exclaimed, rushing to grab a towel for kaminari.

kaminari, still catching his breath and shivering from the cold, looked around at the concerned faces. “you guys won’t believe it. there’s a huge storm outside. i got caught in it while the old man was still throwing me around. the wind was so strong it messed withhis quirk. managed to escape when he got distracted by the storm.”

as kaminari finally managed to get himself mostly dry, he glared at his friends, still visibly shaken. “i can’t believe you guys left me behind out there!” he exclaimed, frustration and disbelief clear in his voice.

kirishima tossed a towel to kaminari, shooting him an apologetic look. “we didn’t exactly have much of a choice. the old man was going to blow us all away!”

todoroki nodded in agreement. “yeah, and you kind of tripped over your own feet, making it hard for us to help.”

bakugou crossed his arms, smirking. “it’s not like we planned for you to get caught. it’s your fault for messing up the address.”

kaminari’s eyes widened. “are you seriously blaming me for this? you guys should have double-checked!”

despite the lively discussion, midoriya’s attention drifted. sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning back against the wall, he stared at the flickering embers of the fire. the warmth from the fire contrasted sharply with the turmoil in his mind. lost in thought, he replayed the events of the night over and over. his heart sank as he remembered a crucial detail from weeks ago—a fleeting moment he had brushed off at the time but now seemed significant. it was something you had said or done that had seemed minor then, but now it loomed large in his memory.

his eyes widened as the realization struck him with the force of a freight train. his heart dropped, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. the truth of that moment made everything about their disastrous serenade make sense, and the weight of his mistake felt heavier than ever.

it was a few weeks ago, right before fall break. you and midoriya had been sitting at your dining table, grading papers together. the room was filled with the soft sounds of pens scratching against paper, and outside, the leaves were a brilliant mix of oranges and golds. he remembered how content you seemed, how you’d smiled at him, saying, “you know, izuku… this is kind of nice.”

he’d looked up, confused but curious. “what is?”

“just… this.” you’d waved your hand at the table, the papers, and the two of you sitting together. “it’s nice. we should do it more often.”

he’d smiled back, completely missing the undertone of your words. “yeah, i think so too! it’s a lot easier to get through all this work when we’re doing it together. makes it less boring.”

he could see it now, the small shift in your expression as you nodded, pushing on despite his obliviousness. “exactly. it’s… comfortable, being here with you. like, i wouldn’t mind doing this… more often.”

he’d laughed, still clueless. “definitely! actually, i was just thinking how much easier this would be if we had uraraka and iida helping out too. we’d be done in no time!”

the way your smile had faltered, how your eyes had dimmed slightly as you tried one last time. “well, i’m just glad it’s you here with me. it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.”

and he’d laughed again, unknowingly brushing off what had been a confession of sorts. “haha, thanks! i guess we do make a pretty good team. we’re like the ultimate grading duo!”

he saw it so clearly now—the way you’d sighed, looking deflated, your words trailing off as you muttered, “yeah… a good team.”

and he had just continued grading, thinking everything was fine, not realizing that he’d hurt you, that you’d taken his response as a gentle rejection.

it hit him like a punch to the gut. how could he have been so blind? the way you’d smiled at him that night, the vulnerability in your voice—he’d completely missed it. and in doing so, he’d hurt the person he cared about most.

pacing around todoroki’s apartment, midoriya was a whirlwind of anxiety. his thoughts were racing, and his pacing left an impression on the floor.  "i... i messed up," midoriya said softly, almost to himself. but the others noticed. the chatter in the room stopped as they all turned to look at him.

bakugou was the first to speak. "what the hell are you babbling about now, deku?"

midoriya ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "there was this night... we were at her house, grading papers. she said something that i—I completely missed the point. i thought we were just talking about work, but now... i realize she was trying to tell me something."

kirishima raised an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

midoriya exhaled shakily. "she said... 'i’m just glad it’s you here with me. it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.' and then... i just said, 'yeah, we’re a good team!' and moved on like it was nothing."

there was a beat of silence.

kaminari let out a low whistle. "dude..."

todoroki nodded slowly, piecing it together. "you didn’t realize she was talking about more than just grading, did you?"

midoriya shook his head, his face turning pale. "no... i didn’t. i thought she was just talking about us working together. i didn’t even think... i didn’t realize she meant that i was special to her. that being with me was different for her."

bakugou scoffed. "you’re such a damn idiot, even this half and half loser was able to put it together. she practically laid it out for you."

midoriya’s face flushed with embarrassment. "i know... i know, i was an idiot. but at the time, i just didn’t see it. i didn’t think... i didn’t think someone like her would... feel that way about me."

kirishima’s grin softened into something more understanding. "man, that’s rough. but hey, it’s not too late. you can still do something about it."

midoriya looked up, determination sparking in his eyes. "you’re right. i have to fix this. can’t just leave things like this."

“thats the spirit buddy! while you were being all weird in the corner we managed to track down a few people who are willing to do a flash m-”

midoriya was barley registering what kaminari was. his mind was fixated on you and what he needed to do. without a word, he bolted for the door, leaving the others staring in confusion.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

midoriya stood at your door, a soaked mess of a romantic cliché. the rain had pounded him relentlessly, leaving his dress shirt clinging to his skin, almost see-through from the downpour. water dripped steadily from him, forming a small, glistening puddle on your porch. leaves and twigs were tangled in his green curls, sticking out like a wild, untamed halo, while some damp strands clung to his forehead. his tie hung askew, probably snagged during his frantic sprint, and his dress pants were plastered to his legs, heavy with rain.

each step he took produced a miserable squish from his soaked socks, echoing the awkwardness of the situation. his breathing was uneven, each inhale a shaky gasp from the run to your house. normally so composed, midoriya now stood there, a sopping wet contradiction to his usually neat appearance.

he raised a trembling hand to knock, his fingers fumbling with cold and nerves. when you answered the door, your eyes widened in shock. the sight of midoriya was like something out of a slapstick romantic comedy—his usually neat hair was a wild mess, and his clothes clung to him in a way that was more tragic than suave.

“izuku? are you insane?” you asked, bewildered.

midoriya, still panting from his run, looked at you with a mix of determination and embarrassment. “it’s been a long six months,” he stammered, struggling to catch his breath. “i was too afraid to tell you what i wanted.”

you raised an eyebrow, taking a step back to survey the drenched mess in front of you. “what are you talking about? you look like you swam here.”

midoriya took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “that night we were grading papers, you said something that i didn’t understand at the time. you said, ‘i’m just glad it’s you here with me. it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.’”

you blinked, still processing his soaked appearance. “yeah, i did. no need to—”

“i thought you meant you were just glad to have me as a coworker,” midoriya interrupted, his voice trembling with vulnerability. “but now i realize you were trying to tell me something much more important. i was so focused on keeping you as a friend that i didn’t realize i missed my chance to be something more.”

your eyes widened, and you took a step back, your mind racing. “wait, so… you like me?”

“yes, i really do,” midoriya said, his voice trembling with cold and nervousness. “i’m sorry it took me so long to figure this out. i want you in my life, no matter what. i know i’ve messed things up, and i want to make it right. you mean so much to me, and i’d wait as long as it takes to prove that. i like you, a lot.”

you stared at him with a mix of frustration and relief. “oh my god, i thought you hated me! you tried to give me flowers, then there were the puddles, and the coffee—”

midoriya’s eyes widened in realization. “the flowers…the puddles—those were all me trying to show you how i felt!”

you groaned in disbelief, “and you didnt understand my way?”

midoriya’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “i’m sorry. i thought—”

you cut him off, frustration clear in your voice. “i thought you didn’t care! after i tried to confess, i needed some space, and you acted like nothing happened. then all these weird things kept happening, and it felt like you were mocking my feelings for you.”

midoriya’s shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with regret. “i was trying to show you how much you mean to me, but every time, something went wrong. i thought if i kept trying, it would get better, but it just made things worse.”

he stepped closer, the rain drenching his already soaked clothes. “i’m here to make things right. i want you to know how much you mean to me. i’m not just sorry for misunderstanding—i’m sorry for not realizing how special you are until now.”

he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he took yours. his gaze was full of hope, his green eyes reflecting the soft glow of the porch light. “please, give me a chance to show you how much i care. i want to be more than just a good team. i want to be someone you can count on, someone who truly understands you.”

midoriya’s hand, cold and trembling, felt reassuringly warm against yours. the droplets cascading down his face highlighted the emotion in his expression, his eyes locked on yours. every sound around you—the distant rumble of thunder, the soft patter of rain, and the steady beat of your heart—seemed to magnify the intimacy of the moment. 

it felt as if the world had come to a standstill, holding its breath for this delicate, significant moment between the two of you. as you took a shaky breath, the weight of the past weeks seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile sense of anticipation.

with a small, tearful smile, you finally found your voice. “okay.” the word was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of your emotions. it was a simple affirmation, but it felt profound in the context of your shared experience.

midoriya’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy as he stepped even closer, the warmth of his presence nearly overwhelming despite the cold rain soaking through his clothes. droplets of water dripped onto your porch as he gently squeezed your hand, his thumb tenderly tracing over your knuckles. his eyes were filled with nothing but pure adoration, and before you knew it, he pulled you gently into his embrace, his soaked clothes pressing against you. the cold of the rain was undeniable, and you shivered as the chill seeped into your warmth.

“izuku, you’re freezing,” you managed between giggles, squirming slightly as the coldness of his wet clothes made you shudder.

he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear despite the rain-soaked predicament. “i know, but i just couldn’t stay away.”

midoriya pulled back slightly, his arms still around you but loosening just enough to gaze into your eyes. his smile was wide, his expression a perfect blend of admiration and pure joy. he took a moment to fully appreciate how beautiful you looked, even as you laughed and tried to escape his embrace. the rain highlighted the sparkle in your eyes and the joy in your smile, making the moment feel even more special. he was overwhelmed with how lucky he felt to be here with you, sharing this perfectly imperfect moment.

slowly, midoriya cupped your face in his hands, his fingers brushing gently against your cheeks. the warmth of his touch contrasted sharply with the chill of the rain, and you could feel the delicate tremor in his fingers, a sign of how much this moment meant to him. his gaze was tender, his eyes holding a mix of admiration and vulnerability that made your heart flutter.

you could feel his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and soothing against the cool, damp air. his closeness was both comforting and electrifying, the sensation of his presence enveloping you completely. midoriya’s gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he leaned in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wished. when his lips finally met yours, the kiss was gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the cold rain that drummed against the porch.

the kiss deepened gradually, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring every second. the warmth of his lips, paired with the lingering chill of the rain, created a stunning contrast that sent shivers down your spine. as his kiss conveyed both an apology and a promise, you felt a wave of warmth flood through you, banishing the chill of the downpour. the connection between you was profound, a blending of emotions that left you breathless.

midoriya’s hands, still cradling your face, were careful and reverent. the world outside—the rain, the noise, the chaos—seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared warmth and connection. his lips lingered against yours, his touch gentle as if he were afraid to break the spell of this perfect moment.

when he finally pulled away, his eyes were still locked on yours, and his smile was filled with pure, unrestrained happiness. he opened his mouth, seemingly ready to say something heartfelt, but before he could speak, loud cheers erupted from the bushes nearby.

“so manly!” “let’s go, young midoriya!”

the sudden outburst startled both of you. midoriya turned, his expression shifting from soft adoration to surprise as kaminari, kirishima, todoroki, and bakugou emerged from their hiding spots. kaminari was grinning widely, fist-pumping the air, while kirishima gave midoriya an exaggerated thumbs-up. todoroki offered a subtle nod of approval, and bakugou, arms crossed, smirked and muttered, “finally got her izuku.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

an: reach out?? the embers?? guys did i eat or what like tf anyways guys i have so many ideas so much i wanna write but why does it take so LONG FUCK but anyways enjoy this while i try to shit out some band au stuff (i love my band au plotline so much but i cant do any of the in between stuff its like a partial writers block)

cw periods, gn reader/mc

i hc that demons can smell blood, right? idk if it's canon or not but they are predators so it would make sense in some degree.

now imagine mc coming back from somewhere where they went without the brothers (preferably after running some errands alone) and the moment they step in it's pure mayhem: demon lords running around in a frenzy, coming out of their rooms and offices and crowding around them like there's no tomorrow because why blood smell on mc?? why blood if no wound???

lucifer and satan's heads especially are going into overdrive with their cute brains going internal wound? hidden wound? other human's blood? magick? human in danger???

that is until beelzebub comes from the kitchen with some chocolate and just stands there like 🧍‍♂️🍫 because he was the only one that actually saw (and remembered) the big "mc's period week" on their family calendar (which is plastered on the kitchen fridge for obvious reasons) and has to watch mc explain that this is the fifth time in a year this has happened and if it happens again they will lay down and play dead until they're left alone.

bonus: it does happen again, which lead to the infamous picture of mc laying on the floor on the entrance of hol and lucifer nudging them with a stick (think "do something" meme) (it's now lucifer's home screen on his ddd).

I GOT A 5 STAR RAFAYEL CARD... HES SO NGHHHHH

insecurities is just the most common thing a human being can experience..no matter your power, strong will, immaculate self discipline, insecurities are normal and everyone goes through it once in a while.

And like everyone else, you have your own insecurities. Being fat is something everyone seems to look down on. Everything is funnier and way easier to make fun of when you're fat. You hate looking at yourself and seeing your body. Your chubby tummy, your fat arms and squishy cheeks. They were the bare minimum of what you disliked about yourself, dare you say hate.

It will always befuddle you when you see your super handsome strong and admirable boyfriend. I mean he's well built, sexy, and damn was he just blatantly perfect. There's no point in pointing out small features about him when everything you seen was perfect. Anyone with eyes could see he is a walking piece of art perfectly made.

It hurts you to see that you're holding something like him down. It makes you feel terrible.

You're sulking in bed, you haven't moved since he's left this morning. It worries him terribly. It's normal for you to feel gross and icky but that doesn't mean it doesn't upset him as well. He hates seeing you cry, and when it gets this bad he can't help that stinging feeling he feels his heart give.

While you're hidden under the cover not bothering to lift your head up to see anything he slowly and quietly walked towards you, a small smile on his face as he climbed into bed behind you. You feel the extra dip in the bed added given his weight. you open your eyes beneath the cover before you swing the cover off of you whipping your head around to see your loving boyfriend.

Calm eyes full of love and adoration for you. He scoffs lightly and pulls you into a deep and tight hug causing you to whine. Small kisses are planted on top of your head while he holds you closely and you listen to his breath, his heart beating behind his chest.

“ ’s everything okay.”

It wasn't really a question but it was good to feel like he cared. Of course you knew he did, he cared so much and he made sure that you knew that....in his own weird ways.

You give a small nod before you try to scooch impossibly closer to him. He chuckled above you and sinks deeper into the comfort of the bed, not bothering to remove the clothes he was wearing after the long day he's had. Holding you was simply enough.

Sure he might not be done much of anything, but him just being near you was enough to make you feel loved. Like regardless of your weight, you're loved. He had a knack for that, he was a damn good person and an even better boyfriend. You were impossibly lucky, is all you could think.

“ I love you. y'know that.”

You nod again, he hums in disapproval above you his brows furrowing as he looks down at you giving the top of your head a rather aggressive kiss before he grabs you by your chin and cranes your head up to his so you can face him, he gives you a stern yet pouty look huffing as he stared down at you.

There is no way this big strong manly (for the most part) man was sitting here pouting. If only the world could see your man now. He was adorable that's for sure. You can't help the giggles and laughs that escape you as you stare up at him, admiring his handsome yet cute features. He truly was a work of art, the gods definitely took their precious time sculpting him and those abs.

“ I love you.”

He says once more while he continues to pout. You snicker and realize what's got him so peaved, he wants you to say 'i love you' back. You always say it back when he says it to you, mainly because it's true, you do love him as well. But another reason is because it makes you feel like he loves you just that little bit more when you say it.

For the fun of it, you decided you weren't gonna say it. Just to see how far you could really take it. A small displeased groan leaves him as he eyes you up and down eyes squinting at you as your teasing smile grows wider, you try your best not to crack but you can't help it. He's too cute, you burst out in laughter and let your head fall onto his chest.

He groans and kisses you all over, pouting and slightly annoyed with you but he can't deny the fact that he loves you far too much. You eventually tire yourselves out, small giggles leaving your two motionless and entwined bodies. Your arms draped over his body while his legs were in between yours, fingers locked together as you hold hands smiles on both of your tired faces.

He looks over to see your eyes closed, you weren't exactly asleep just in more of a dazed estate really thankful for what you have and how much love you feel even when you get in this mindset. A heavy sigh leaves him as he looks back up at the ceiling deciding he'll just do what he needs to in the morning. He quickly sheds his day clothes off and turns in for the night in only his boxers holding you close and kissing your temple, his hand on your tummy as he occasionally squeezes it, giving you a ticklish yet discomforting feeling.

You squirm at the touch and then to give him a warning look that he simply dismissed with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. He pulls you closer and chuckles in your ear lightly, you can feel his breath fan the side of your face as he sighs heavily.

It was hard to feel insecure about your body when regardless of what he does he managed to make you feel loved.

mha ➥ izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, EJIROU KIRISHIMA, mirio togata, denki kaminari silently.

hq ➥ HINATA SHOYOU, BOKUTO KOTAROU, atsumu miya, kuroo tetsuro, asahi azumane but quietly aswell.

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

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//spiderverse 2 spoilers

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮…𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Miguel! Ah!” You squealed, feeling the cold ocean water on your skin. “You got my hair wet! I'm gonna fucking kill you!l You giggled, splashing more water at him.

Miguel laid awake as the sun began to dawn over Nueva York. His eyes were red, watery, and sore, but he insisted on staying up, just to watch his home videos a bit longer.

His lips winced into a smile before jumping at the sound of his alarm. His growing smirk faded almost as soon as it came.

Miguel swiftly waved his hand, making all of his video tabs disappear in thin air, then sitting up.

“Morning Miguel!” A chipper voice greeted him.

He looked over, pretending to be annoyed at his AI companion.

“Oh…” You grimaced at his appearance. “You really need to get that insomnia checked out.” You commented

Insomnia was a lie Miguel made up so no one would ask questions as to what he was doing that made him so grouchy during the day. He also didn't want to break your code by confessing he was watching memories of the two of you together…well not you, but you, his wife.

“Today is gonna be a sunny day. Eighty two degrees with a windchill of eighty.” You spun and appeared in shorts and a tank top. “Don't forget your sunscreen O’Hara.”

“Don't need it.” He groaned getting out of bed.

“That's a myth! Us people of color still need our sunscreen Migs.”

His head snapped up from brushing his teeth. He quickly spit out his toothpaste and looked towards your floating algorithm. “What did you just call me?”

“Migs.”

Miguel stared with an indifferent face for a few moments. The way his nickname rolled off your tongue….It was almost as if-

“Don't call me that again okay?”

“Fine?” You stomped mid-air.

Miguel suited up and you began the morning sequence. Playing some soft music, starting the coffee machine, and lifting all the blinds in his apartment, switching on the TV, and opening up his closet.

Miguel walked over to the kitchen and made him a bagel, something quick and easy. He held the bagel in his mouth as he suited up in his spidey-suit for the day.

After a coffee break, his alarm started beeping. Once

“Great.” He muttered. “Y/n what's the problem?”

You appeared in front of him. “Anomaly detected on Earth-65.”

“Take me there.”

---

The building was destroyed…to say the least but Miguel and Jessica saved the day. They ended up inviting the spider of that earth to join the spider society, of course after a bit of convincing from you and Jessica.

Miguel walked into his headquarters and powered on his large device, where multiple screens popped up. Camera feeds in each universe, at least the ones that were hit spots for anomalie. He swiped through, checking to see if anything was out of order.

“You know it's unhealthy to stare at screens for long amounts of time…and that close.” You popped up.

Miguel looked at you annoyed. “Who summoned you?”

“Summon is a very…strong word. I can tell you're looking for something so i'm here to help.”

He scowled at you before sighing. “The Spot villain. I need to know more about him.”

“The Spot is-”

“No, No.” Miguel stopped you. “Do the explany thingy.”

You smiled softly and nodded. Soon, the room turned into a fake void, and you grew to full size. You spun and turned into a man with long hair and a beard.

“Don't-. Turn back.” Miguel demanded.

“Ugh you're no fun!” You turned back into your normal self and shrunk back to pixie size. Resting on his shouldersu, you waved your hand.

“Doctor Jonathan Ohnn worked for Alchemax on Earth-616.” You displayed the human, pre villain of course. “He worked closely with Doc Ock, but unfortunately became a laughing stock after…being hit with a bagel.”

“A bagel?” Miguel asked.

“And everything bagel with cream cheese.”

“No peppers?” Miguel said amused, referencing his own bagel go-to.”

“No peppers!” You exclaimed back. “Anyways, he HATES that kid Miles Morales, the one you were talking about.”

Miguel's face fell flat seeing the events replay in front of him. His eyes narrowed at the clumsy young boy, and he shook his head.

“Would you like for me to continue?”

“No.” Miguel turned back to his screen. “That's enough for tonight.”

You turned the room back to normal and pulled up a few screens of Miles Morales spidey-profile.

“Would you like me to elaborate on-”

The change in Miguel's face intensified seeing Miles again. “No! Cut it off!” He yelled.

You quickly did as told and crossed your arms.

“Migs, what is with you and that kid?”

Miguel took a few deep breaths in before turning to face you. “What did I say about that nickname?”

“Miguel- Okay listen. I know you're the boss and all but the mere mention of that kid sets you off. Why?”

Miguel didn't want to tell you that he envied Morales. Watching him from a distance and seeing him go home to his parents, his family. While he was stuck in a world without you-

“Shut down for tonight.” Miguel places his hand over his eyes.

“Miguel-”

“Lock the computer and shut down.”

You nodded and disappeared.

---

The internet is an endless void of searches, media, content, and texts. When Miguel allowed you in the computer during his free time you opted to watch youtube videos on stupid things like cats getting scared by cucumbers

When Miguel ordered you to lock the computer, it was like being a security guard for a museum. You only had access to personal files, which was far too complex for you to want to see anyway. So basically you chilled on the home screen until Miguel summoned you again.

You waited on the dark home screen, one of which was a spiderman logo. Groaning, you cursed yourself for angering your boss. Miguel was so emotional, and it drove you crazy at times.

Standing on the deskbar, you stomped, accidentally opening the already open tab of his files. And what came up shocked you.

Hundreds of videos and pictures of….you?

“What the hell?” You walked closer to a video of your face that was close in a camera. You put your hand on the play button and watched

“This is Y/n and…man.” Y/n turned the camera. “Miguel got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton for our honeymoon.”

You watched confused as you….but not you, showed the luxury hotel room.

“Here's a bottle of champagne and- oh! These fancy robes.” Y/n pushed the camera out to show that she was in a robe.

“Thank you so much baby.” Ricky smiled before turning the camera to Miguel, who was on the bed, in his robe reading….a book?

The video ended, and you quickly went scrolling through pictures. Going down a rabbit hole, you found pictures of your wedding, the trips you took, the two of you playing around in the spider suit…and some spicy moments between you two.

It all came to a halt when you came across an obituary. Your face was plastered on it, with a birth and death date.

---

The next morning you were more quiet, starting the morning sequence and watching Miguel prepare for the day.

“Miguel.”

“Hm?” He said looking down over the skyline of Nueva York from his window.

“We need to talk.”

You watched his body stiffen at your tone. He turned around and tilted his head. “About?”

You looked at your hands and shivered. “Who am I?”

“You're an AI, named Y/n.” He answered with a snarky tone.

“Who was I?”

He fell silent for a few moments. “A program.”

“That's not what I meant Miguel.” You waved your hand and multiple screens of your findings popped up. Miguel's eyes widened and his breathing stopped once he saw you everywhere at once.

“Y-you're….I-”

“I'm not just an AI am I?”

Miguel shook his head. You looked at him in disbelief as he pulled a screen in front of him, playing a video.

“You were my wife.” He stated at the video with loving eyes, “My beautiful, sweet wife…” He trailed off.

You looked at him with a sorry expression.

“On Earth-2099 you got sucked into a wormhole…one of my failed experiments.” He looked at his hands as if they were covered in blood. “I jumped through every dimension trying to find you and never did. Then I found a new dimension where you were just normal old Y/n.”

He looked over to you. “We were happy…for 6 months. Got married and everything.” He sighed deeply. “But I didn't know that if I attempted to call another dimension my home it would be destroyed I-...I fucked up a canon event…I think. You- You were never meant to marry me, not in that dimension.”

A body camera popped up in front of you two and it showed the demolition of your dimension, running while holding your hand. Y/n ran as fast as she could, but the next time Miguel turned around she was gone. He didn't even feel her disappear.

Miguel sat on the edge of the bed sobbing, holding his face as he cried. You'd never seen this before. Eyes red, nose runny Miguel. You could hear the pain in his voice, and it made you regret bringing this up to him.

“If I- If I- If I made you like this…kept you like this.” He motioned around your body. “You can't leave me.” He choked out. Miguel tried reaching for you but his hand went right through, which made him lean his head down and sob. “I can see you! I can get through the torture of every day if I can just see your face.”

“Oh Miguel-”

“Don't! I don't wanna hear it!” He yells.

You looked at him somberly before smiling softly.

“If it helps. I am programmed to absorb information and adapt. If you give me access to your files, I can accurately depict Y/n.”

Miguel stopped his crying and looked up at you. “You can do that? From just photos and pictures?

“Yes, social media and personal documents as well.”

“And you'll be the same? Just like her?”

“Like she never left.” You reassured.

Miguel quickly wiped his eyes and ran over to his laptop, opening it.

“Do it. Do it now.”